No doubt Disney World always has been and always will be  "The Happiest Place on Earth."

Bob and I took our boys for their first Disney trip when they were about six and eight—or maybe five and seven. The exact ages have faded with time, but the memories have not. We originally subscribed to the "once-in-a-childhood" philosophy. 

That lasted exactly one trip. 

We returned several times over the years.

On that first visit, before we had even unpacked, I dropped off my rolls of 35mm film at the neighborhood Eckerd's. Photography was a beloved hobby, and I couldn't wait to see the pictures.

Two days later, I picked them up only to discover they had been ruined.

My camera had malfunctioned.

There were images of my gleeful boys standing next to beheaded versions of Mickey Mouse and their parents. Every photograph was unusable.

I was devastated.

Those memories were lost forever.

Or so I thought.

Somewhere along the way, I remembered how Scripture tells us that Mary "treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." So I gave it a try.

I became intentional about taking in life's moments with all my senses. Really seeing. Really hearing. Really smelling, tasting, and touching. Long before I knew the word mindfulness, I was practicing it. Thomas Merton described it beautifully: "Now. Here. This."

It became part of my gratitude practice that has saved my life.

I don't remember exactly what year that first Disney trip was. But I remember the delight in my boys' faces. I remember their excited voices. I remember the magic they experienced through the eyes of children. It was chaotic, but joyfully so. Exhausting, but fulfillingly so.

Those memories remain treasured in my heart.

Another trip was when  the boys were ten and eight. It was Thanksgiving week, and I was still shell-shocked from the news of an unintended pregnancy. My mother and stepfather joined us. We enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner in Liberty Square with characters dressed as Pilgrims. 

We would return again during toddlerhood with our youngest and make several more family pilgrimages through the years.

For a long time, that Thanksgiving trip was my favorite.

Until now.

Experiencing Disney as a grandparent is hands down my favorite role yet.

My daughter-in-love Brittany is a true Disney enthusiast, and somehow my oldest son has become a Disney Dad—which still makes me smile. This trip celebrated Grayson's second birthday. 

And it wasn't even his first visit.

One of the things I love most about Brittany is how she understands something many young parents don't realize until years later: while Grayson may not remember much of this trip, she will.

She often says that his childhood is also her motherhood.

I have thought about that phrase many times since I first read it on her magicwithmilam Instagram post. She has such wisdom I did not as a young mother . 

As parents, we spend so much energy creating memories for our children that we sometimes forget we are creating memories for ourselves, too. I sure did . We assume the investment is all for them—the birthday parties, the vacations, the bedtime stories, the traditions, the photographs, the ordinary Tuesdays that somehow become sacred in hindsight.

But those moments are shaping us as much as they are shaping them.

His second birthday at Disney may eventually fade from Grayson's memory, but Brittany will remember the way his eyes widened at the sight of the castle. She will remember the little hand reaching for hers. She will remember the exhaustion at the end of the day, the stroller naps, the sticky fingers, the laughter, and probably a few meltdowns too.

She understands that she is not simply raising a child.

She is also becoming a mother.

And motherhood, like childhood, happens only once.

There are no do-overs. No rewinds. No opportunities to return to a particular season and live it again.

One day, she will not just remember Grayson's childhood. She will remember her own motherhood within it.

As I watched her navigate schedules, meals, rides, naps, and logistics with a level of preparation that would impress a military commander, I realized she was doing something much deeper than planning a vacation. She was intentionally creating a life she wanted to remember.

Not because every moment was magical.

But because every moment mattered.

As a grandmother now, I can see what younger me could not.

The children are never the only ones growing.

Parents are growing.

Grandparents are growing.

Families are growing.

And if we are paying attention, God is growing something in all of us. Even you. Even me. 

This trip was also different for another reason.

My role was simple: be an extra set of hands and eyes.

Push the stroller.

Help with some of the expenses.

Slip back to the room with Grayson for bath, books, brushing teeth, bedtime, and all the rituals that follow.

Nap when he napped.

Stand watch when needed.

It was refreshing.

Liberating, even. Every second was a privilege I’m eternally grateful for. 

Of course, there was bittersweetness woven throughout.

There always is.

I know Bob would have treasured this trip in his heart, too. He would have delighted in Grayson's wonder. He would have watched our sons with pride as father and uncle. He would have marveled at Brittany's energy and competence.

He would have shared a tube of Bengay with me, napped beside me, and I’m certain he would have even tried sushi with me.

Every time a ride launched us skyward in simulated flight, I found myself whispering, "We sure miss you down here."

Now we are approaching our fifth summer without him.

The tears still come, though less often now. The ache remains tender. 

Grief has changed, but it has not disappeared. I suspect it never will.

But alongside grief, there is so much to anticipate. So much to celebrate. So much life unfolding within our growing family.

Over these years, I've learned that bitter and sweet are not opposites.

They are companions.

They travel hand in hand. And gratitude always tags along . 

Perhaps that is what Mary understood when Scripture tells us she "treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart."

She knew moments pass.

Children grow.

Roles change.

Life unfolds in ways we never expect.

The only way to truly keep it is not with photographs, calendars, or souvenirs, though those are lovely. The only way to preserve it is to receive it fully while it is here.

To notice.

To savor.

To treasure.

To store it away in the heart where neither time nor loss can completely erase it.

Maybe that is what I've been learning all these years.

Cameras fail.

Bodies fail.

People we love leave this earth.

Children grow into parents, and parents become grandparents.

We cannot hold onto any of it for long.

But we can treasure it.

We can receive it while it is here.

We can store it away in our hearts and trust that God will tend those memories long after the moment itself has passed.

Perhaps that, too, is part of making do while God makes the way? 

Comment on you favorite parenthood memories !