MOMENTS
We are given moments, not days and weeks, months and years. We are given moments. One as distinct and audible as a single sigh. I am sighing a lot these days. Not from a feeling of something ominous, but from the glorious revelation that life is longer, stretched like a slow sunset, when I will my thoughts to settle in on the what now in defiance of the what next.
I’m looking over at Quinn and Karla, sneaking little glances of their evident romance playing out like a silent movie and my heart grins.
Love, the kind that endures, pays attention to hands reaching, fingers caressing and the laughter that lives in the crevices of shared and quiet knowing.
We are given moments. Firsts—first kiss, first dance, first heartbreak. Benchmarks—engagements, weddings, babies, grand-babies.
I’m remembering our hushed voices, lowed in reverence of a mama’s agonizing hours, pressing through, her body willing baby [our little Archer] to come. Finally the call, and the time-stands-still refrain of an exhausted son’s voice testifying that no matter what is expected, all of life takes us completely by surprise.
I wonder, do our whole lives really flash before us just before we depart? Does the spirit store up its favorite lines, underlined and highlighted to be referenced and remembered, to call upon in that last sacred hour?
In all my life—the grand adventures, the enriching career, even the soul-escaping writing deep into the night—my favorite moments are those when my body finally gives way to rest, nestled under the covers, and Ron’s hand reaches over in search of mine.
This is the season of the simple life, made even more so by the necessity for the body to heal.
This is the season of lessons, a time for welcoming new, deep wisdom and a time of letting go of long-held beliefs that hold us back and narrow our vision, especially of ourselves.
Mostly, I am am mindful that healing comes in many forms and the best medicine isn’t something you ingest, but something you experience, in small doses, moments at a time.
