Saturday evening I call my parents to chat. We catch up, and discuss our travel plans and estimated arrival time at their home for the Thanksgiving holiday. Mom sounds happy to hear my voice and occasionally contributes to the conversation. It is when she mistakenly thinks my nephew lives in my family, and has far to travel. He actually lives 45 minutes from her house. It's a small thing, but it tells me her memory is slipping away a little more. My heart lurches. The sadness creeps back in, like an intruder lurking for an entry point. What will Mom be like at Christmas? How soon will the doctor's diagnosis of total memory loss from the brain tumor kick in? I try not to stay there.
Our older daughter calls to discuss the Ohio State victory over Michigan. She and her girlfriend watched the game in a pub in downtown Chicago where she lives and had a great old time. She asked me where we watched the game. I replied that we stayed home. Saying it aloud made me feel kinda boring. That lasted a second. It was just a little thing. I realized I like staying home to watch the game. I have the best seat in the house. I don't want to be in a bar.
Sunday morning I happen to put my hands on my waist. It feels thicker than it used to. Not a lot. I still wear size 6. It's a little thing. But it tells me that my weight doesn't distribute itself like it used to, like in the curvy places. I sigh. I'm a little bit closer to coming to terms with the fact that my body is aging. Bit by bit.
If someone were to peer over my shoulder during the rest of my Sunday, they would see nothing that stands out. My husband and I stay in our pj's til noon (the advantage to going to church Sat. eve.) We read the paper and listen to music. We take a walk. We putter about. We cook. We call family. We don't do errands or chores or work-related activities. It is in the little stuff that I realize we celebrated Sabbath as we did as kids - by taking it easy.
Little things tell. What are you learning from the little things?
[Photo by Sanja Gjenero]