This month has been particularly rough on my family. My great-great aunt had surgery. My father had a heart attack on the 4th. (He had competent, immediate care, healed quickly, and was allowed to return home on the 6th. He is a workaholic but this has forced him to slow down.) On the 11th, the pastor of our church passed away. He’d been an integral part of my life for thirty years.
Even with all of this stress and worry, my inner critic refuses to quiet. I’m ignoring her comments about not accomplishing enough the past few weeks. In the midst of all this, I’m focusing on the things I did accomplish: knitted a Cara Bear, knitted a dress for the Cara Bear, made twelve dozen cookies for the funeral, finished two books, held an impromptu photo shoot with my sisters, rearranged my kitchen and living room, made dinner for tomorrow, and dessert for the Bible study, read over the home economics curriculum I purchased. Honestly, I’m quite proud of my accomplishments. In the midst of all the emotional upheaval, I endured. I allowed myself downtime, knowing the emotional upset would wreak havoc on my fibromyalgia. I’ve played board games and cuddled with my children and my nieces.
In short…I’ve lived the past few weeks. I didn’t force myself through the motions. I felt every emotion, allowed myself to feel and express them, instead of hiding. I’ve reveled in the everyday: my soon-to-be-twelve-year-old daughter climbing into my lap, my fourteen-year-old son embracing me constantly, the sixteen-year-old sharing his favorite television episodes, my niece leaning against me as I knit her Cara Bear, savored scones with lemon curd, played in the rain. These moments I remember. The ones I cherish. That is life…and I’m so very thankful for every moment.