I woke this morning early, slightly overwhelmed. Over the last year, in my retirement, I've gotten involved in a lot of different things, and my “to do” list is starting to look a lot like it did when I was still working, as does my calendar. I love it, just like I did back then, but it does have a tendency to make you wake up worrying about all the things you might have neglected to do.
Today will be an average day, a day to catch up, check a few things off my list, maybe add a few more things to it. Nothing special.
Two years ago today was such a day. I would be lying if I could tell you precisely what was on my mind, but I can with reasonable certainty say that like today, I woke up thinking about all the things that I needed to get done. There was nothing special about the way that day, like today, started.
That evening when I closed up my office, I went downstairs to run on the treadmill. After I had changed into my running clothes, I am absolutely certain that I would have come up behind Cindy, rubbed her shoulders, and kissed her on each cheek (several times). Right, left, right, left, etc. Because that is what I always did. She would have been sitting on the bar stool at the kitchen counter, laptop open Googling recipes or checking her Facebook. We are, after all, creatures of habit. Before I went downstairs I would have said “I love you Grandma.” Because that is what I always said.
Two years ago today, April 2nd, I went downstairs to run. When I got back upstairs 45 minutes later for me, for her family and friends; our world fell apart.
I am so thankful to know that my last moments with her were loving. I rubbed her shoulders, I kissed her cheek, I told her I loved her.
I’m not writing this so people feel sorry for me. I’ve done enough of that for myself over the years, thank you very much. But as today approached, over the past few weeks, it has been on my mind. A lot. And I miss her.
I guess I’ve come to realize that one never knows what a day, even a seemingly average day, has in store. How much any of us really have left. I dare not take any of it for granted. To waste whatever time I have left on anger, hatred, judgment, resentment? When I’ll never know if those are the last words I will speak.
Or perhaps they may be the last words someone might hear.
