As I’ve mentioned here before, one of the richest memories of my life is how I used to get up at 5:30 in the morning with my dad. It was our time. We’d eat GrapeNuts and tell each other about the miracle(s) we’d seen the day before. I still try to like GrapeNuts and I still try to look for miracles every day.
Finding the miracles has been harder for me lately. I might notice (my word for 2015) lovely people, places, or things, but I’ve allowed circumstances, over which I feel powerless, to cloud my ability to recognize them as miracles. That’s gotta change.
Here’s how I’m going to change it. Yes/And. I completely accept the reality that YES there are many things going on the world, over which I have no control. AND while I continue to attend to what I can, I’m going to focus on the light, the good, the possible, along with the people doing the light, good, and possible.
YES, the divisions, gloom, fear, and darkness will still be around. My focus, however, will not be as glued to it, as it has been lately. I’m going to focus on the power of miracles. When I find myself tempted to dwell in the negative longer than is necessary, I’m going to seek out AND people, places, and things. AND people, places and things are the miracles Daddy and I used to share with each other daily. I’ll share some of them with you here.
This past Tuesday was Mom’s 92nd birthday. She didn’t know it was her birthday. I did though. So, Tom and I headed to the hospice house in Goldsboro, where Mom’s been living, since mid-April, to help her celebrate. We were armed with her favorite flower (blue carnations), three birthday pies to share with the staff and other hospice family members, and a small apple pie just.for.Mom (including candles, of course). She loves flowers. And she loves pie. I had everything planned. I wanted it to be unforgettable.
We shared a few precious moments of conversation and recognition. Thanks to increased dementia, she was surprised to hear it was her birthday. She was thrilled with her flowers, which she could barely see, thanks to macular degeneration. When it came time for Mom to eat her birthday pie, she refused to put her dentures in. She.was.determined. That meant no pie.
The rest of our time together was shared, by simply holding my mom’s hand/hands and reminder her how much I love her. It was beautiful and sacred.
When I got home that night, I was a little blue, but couldn’t really name why. Then it hit me ~ yet again, Life didn’t go as I’d planned. I had a little cry. And then I ate Mom’s pie.
YES, it wasn’t the kind of unforgettable birthday I’d planned AND it was beautiful sacred, and unforgettable.
Has anything like that ever happened to you? Do tell.