The Cicadas Are Back.
I stood in the “yard” – a patch of mud, really – staring at the unpaved driveway, the non-existent sidewalk, and the patches of grass that would someday become a place to play badminton.
I held my newborn in my arms. Shane and the house had been due on the same day: January 15. Shane was eight days late; the house was three months late. But now, finally, we were a family living in our forever home.
Dylan skittered about on the gravel, running for a minute, then stopping to pick up a rock and examine it more closely. Then he’d drop the rock and run some more. Dylan was three and had the energy of a scared rabbit.
In the background, there was a hum – a distant sound that was both soothing and deafening. Every few minutes, the hum would get louder and louder until it became a roar… and at those points, Dylan would stop moving, throw his hands over his ears and beam at me.
Isn’t this CRAZY? he seemed to say. I smiled back at him. Yes, Son. It really is!
As I stood there listening, watching Dylan spin, holding tiny Shane, I thought to myself: This sound isn’t going to happen for another 17 years. That number of years seemed infinite.
Where would I be in 17 years? Would we still live in this house? Would Bill still have the same job? Would I have a job? And what about the children?
I looked at my smiling toddler. I thought: If he lives that long – because, as a new mom, it was always a question of “if” – Dylan will be 20 years old! How could that even be possible?
I looked at the baby in my arms. Shane will be 17! I nearly gasped. How could this baby be a teenager? Shane would be able to drive! Dylan would be able to vote! That little three-year-old spinning kid with a smile as bright as the sun – voting? And this little ball of joy in my arms – driving?
It just couldn’t be.
And yet, it is. This year, the roar is happening outside my window as I write. The cicadas are back.
Seventeen years have passed.
The driveway’s been paved, a sidewalk created, and the muddy yard is now covered in grass. Where I once stood holding a baby is a Sycamore we planted, now taller than our two-story house. We’ve had four basement floods, replaced the washer, dryer, refrigerator and dishwasher. Our dog – who didn’t exist 17 years ago – came into our lives, brightened it immensely for more than a decade, and then died. A new dog is now part of the family. Kitty – with me since college – also died. We’ve had five fish, a guinea pig, half a dozen hermit crabs and three petsitting businesses.
Bill has the same job, still. I’ve gone back to work several times. Even “little” Dylan has now had numerous jobs. He survived Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, was diagnosed with ADHD, somehow survived school, and got into the college of his dreams where he’s getting great grades, making wonderful friends and planning a career. Last week, he bought his first car. Shane survived dental surgery, successfully treated a vision processing disorder, wore and outgrew glasses, tackled OCD, learned to play ukulele, drums and guitar, and is a TikTok video star. He takes his driving test this summer and he graduates from high school next year.
Meanwhile, the cicadas huddled underground until, finally, it was time for them to emerge and remind us how very, very fast time flies.