Ghost of librarys past

We entered the double doors, hand in hand, not minding the passerbys as we skipped our way through the corridor. Slowing our pace once our feet touched the worn carpet below. The library always has a wonderful vintage scent and everyone is quiet, too quiet. The only sounds heard are those of typing fingers and of books being heavily placed onto tables. My son and I quietly scooted past the adults section, walked through the doors into the sealed off children's room. This room has a much different lively feeling. Very colorful, and no adults glaring in our direction. My son immediately breaks free of my hand and runs down the isle, reaching his favorite section. He scans each row of books, hunting for the precise book he wants. He can't read, but he's familiar with the general whereabouts of his interested books. 

It doesn't seem that long ago, when my daughter and I would burst into this same section of the library, like she was entering Disney for the first time. We would spend countless hours just sifting through books and playing with the tall cardboard blocks. I would read the random books that she would hand me. We would finish some, but most of the time she would walk off and become distracted by another book. I could still picture her gently rocking back and forth as she was captivated by a book she pulled from the shelf.

Today, my son and I stand in that same section, while she's away at kindergarten. She's off with her friends, creating new memories in a completely different library, away from mommy. I have a hard time moving on from past memories. They seem to come and go so quickly, I hardly have time to enjoy them. My daydream was interrupted by my son handing me a Pinkalicious book and says, "read this one mommy." I smile at the precious little boy that stands before me and I nestle closely into him, as I gladly continue the circle of our library experience. Holding onto the opportunity as long as I can.