I just finished another fabulous book, The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted - and other small acts of liberation, and thought about writing a post about it. I probably will. But not today.
When I couldn't decide on a blog topic, I clicked over to my facebook page, scrolled down a few entries, and discovered a link to this remarkable New York Times article on parenting a dying child. How does one do that? In the only way you can - for this day, this moment, this hug, this meal.
Here's the truth - that's all any of us are doing - parenting dying children, loving dying spouses, spending time with dying friends. Perhaps we don't have a declared diagnosis. Perhaps no timelines have been drawn up of how much time is left. But none of us will survive this trip on planet earth. And none of us knows how much longer we have.
Love the one you're with.
Or get with the one you love.
Write the letters you've postponed.
Or the emails.
Or the text messages.
You are dear to me, a soul friend.
I am glad you are in my life.
You are being remembered fondly.
This isn't working anymore.
It's time for us to give each other our freedom.
We need to make some changes around here.
Speak the truth.
Thanks to the aforementioned article, I have been challenging myself to stop worrying so much about grades on math tests, tennis scores, five-paragraph essay forms, whether or not my shirt matches my skirt closely enough, and whether or not I've folded the laundry while it is still warm, you know, so the wrinkles won't set in. I'm gonna drink more tea, go for more walks, read and play more games with my kids, create more art journals, reach out to some of the friends I let get away, accept more invitations from the ones who won't let me get away, and let go of the relationships that have stopped growing and thriving altogether.
I am looking forward to the ways in which I will keep parenting, life, love, and everything else in perspective.