Living Life

With my daughter on my hip, I walk into my parents house. I thought my Mom was at work so I was stopping by yesterday morning to check on my Dad.

My Mom had to leave for work in a couple of hours. She was cleaning the kitchen and then had to get ready for work.

My Dad was sitting on the couch. His usual spot sense he got home from the hospital. He has a hint of color to him. Not much. He is still so very pale. And . . . he is so thin.

He lost over twenty pounds in the first two weeks after his surgery. It's just too much weight to lose.

I told him a week before that he needs to eat. "I don't want to. Everything tastes funny," he tells me.

"I know, Dad. I understand. But your body is using a lot of calories to just heal itself. Drink those protein drinks. That will help."

I walk into the house, say hello, ask him how he's doing.

"Not bad." That's my dad for you.

My daughter runs to the kitchen to see her Ma maw.

"I had a long conversation with God yesterday. I cried for a good while. I told Him that I wanted Him to heal me and to do it fast. I'm tired of this. I don't like being like this."

His eyes well up with fresh tears.

"I have that same conversation with God all the time. I've had it a lot over the last seven months. Sometimes life . . . it is so hard."

"I cried yesterday for no good reason."

"Dad, I cry every day. At least once. It's okay to cry. And there is always a good reason to cry."

"I don't like this."

"Tell me about it. The healing really hurts."

I grabbed the leash and then Toby (their dog), placed my Dad's shoes at his feet and put a jacket on him.

"The sun is out and it is so warm for the last day of January, lets go for a walk."

We walk, not far, but we walk. It's good to get out of the house sometimes. Specially when you feel little desire to move at all.

I was just doing for my Dad what he did for me immediately after the loss of Emmerson and Vivienne. He would come over, sometimes drag me out of my house and take me over to his, telling me that getting out would do me a world of good.

We return from our short walk and I tell him that I have dinner already cooking in the crock pot. I tell him to get his medication and that he's going to be spending the day at my house.

"I don't have anything at my house that you don't have here, other than different chairs to sit in and walls with different things to look at. It will do you good though."

He tells me that a coconut cream pie sounds good. I go and get him one. I was so excited that something sounded good to him.

Before dinner, he asked twice for something to snack on. I would fetch the goodies for him, all too excited to see him eating. He ate all of his dinner and a piece of pie. When I saw his cleared plate, I felt like a proud mama.

Life is strange sometimes. How places can be traded. How life can take turns and make you appreciative . . . grateful . . . for things, moments that you would not have considered blessings previously.

I haven't done anything huge or magnificent or prize worthy. I am doing for my dad what he had done for me. I'm going over to his house to check on him. I'm bringing him back to my house so he can have a change of scenery.

Breathing love is expressed in all of those little moments that leave an impression . . . leaving a footprint of a memory.












Stephanie

Simple Gratitude

I began a project months ago. I started it when I found I was expecting for a second time. The project: my daughter's Big Girl Room.

I wanted to do it in Cherry Blossoms but I could not find pictures I had in my mind. So, I bought some canvases and paint, searched the internet for images I liked (the images in my head didn't hold the detail I needed to paint a picture) and I got to work. 

That was months ago, when I was still expecting my twins to come home.

Needless to say, her Big Girl Room project got put on the back burner. A lot of the smaller projects were done but the room was not completed. 

I made a step out of my grief, a step to begin a "New Normal", and I (well we, my husband helped by putting the appropriate holes in the walls) finished the room. We finished it while my daughter was at pre-school. 

When she reached the door way of her room her already big brown eyes became huge and a sweet smile swept over her face.

Did you get that lamp for me? It's so bootiful!

Did you do those flowers for MEEE! It's purtee! 

I have cutains! Yeah!!

Did you do this for ME? 

Thank you Mommy!

She expected nothing. She was content to have a bed to sleep in every night and blankets to keep her warm. 

She was pleasantly surprised by the completion of her room and she let her simple gratitude show. 

She noticed every detail. From the largeness of her curtains to the pink on the tiny petals. She was in awe. She was appreciative of what was done for her. 

She did not refuse to see the beauty of her room because she did not get something else.

In the first weeks of my new grief, I despised the sun. The brightness, the beauty of its warmth hurt. I kept the curtains closed. I kept myself locked indoors. I did not want to see what beauty God had created for my enjoyment. 

I wanted the Earth to weep with me. I wanted it to grow dark and for water to flood. 

When my daughter asked if I did all of that for HER, she was just simply grateful.

I wanted my daughters to live before me.

When I did not get what I desired, I closed off to what was to be held in awe. I refused to see what was done for me. Refused to open the eye to what I did have.

That little girl of mine, she teaches me everyday. She shows me what true faith is.

The process of completing her room was to help me make a step towards a "New Normal". It ended up being a slight tap on the shoulder to show me how to be grateful. How to praise. How to give thanks.

It is simple to be simply grateful.

All that is needed is to open the eye and then the curtains.

Stephanie