If you follow Emily P Freeman on Instagram, you know she is a fan of reflection, as in paying attention to themes and rhythms in life in the hope of learning from them. At the end of every week she posts a “these are the days …” recap of what her life has looked like for seven days. And since I came to my mother’s without my laptop this week, which means I am writing and posting from my phone, I thought it would be an appropriate time to use fewer words and more photos. We’ll see how the “fewer words” idea goes. We all know my penchant for verbosity, at least when I’m faced with a blank page.
If you’ve been here any amount of time, you know the major theme in my life right now is helping to care for my elderly parents. Big changes are happening for them, and my brothers and I are trying to make the transitions as smooth as possible. My days include laughter and tears and frustration and emotional exhaustion and profound gratefulness for the staff at Daddy’s rehab facility. And loads more, but here I go using all the words.
Let’s get to it.
These are the days of puppies who are tired of Mommy traveling.
These are the days of cinnamon raisin toast on apple dishes, because that’s what we always have for breakfast. And always on a placemat. But if you lift the placemat, there are many folded napkins underneath. Why? No one knows.
These are the days of listening to my mother play hymns every night after dinner, because that is how she both worships and de-stresses. I wish I had an ounce of her talent.
These are the days of washing the king-size quilt so we can have it made into two twins …
And watching Daddy do brain exercises he learned from one of his grandsons.
These are the days of looking through a lifetime of memories stored in albums and slide trays and boxes—big ones—of photos in every nook and cranny of the house.
These are the days chock full of shared joy that is underpinned by a shadow of sadness. I am reminded that joy and sorrow can coexist. Life is wonderful and sweet and hard at the same time.
These are the days of watching the sun rise over the pasture blanketed in fog, with hot coffee in hand.
The promise of a new day. New difficulties maybe, probably, but also new mercies, new grace.
May your days hold the same.
The napkins are there "just in case."
Such a lovely read - thank you