I started a post on December 10th. About the evening of November 28. Blogging is not at the top of my priorities as you can see.
However, since the tragedy (though tragedy may not be a strong enough word, nor is devastation, gut wrenching, or piercing) at Sandy Hook this evening is even more meaningful to me. I hope they had moments that will sustain them a lifetime.
Last month, the month of November, the month where it was a delight to read what my friends' treasured in their statuses, I had one of those days.
At the time, I made notes about what made it one of those days. I jotted down some observations, which I fully intended to write about-to get it out of my system.
You see, friends, on a dreary Wednesday in November, I had one of those days. And it was glorious.
It started in the kitchen. While preparing supper, I went to discard my trash. While dumping it in the trash can, I noticed the trash can had hulls in it. Hulls of walnuts, almonds, hazelnuts.
And it was at that moment I realized the holiday season was upon us. And, simultaneously, I realized that very often the most mundane, small acts can help us see how fragile and precious life is.
For as long as I can remember, my father welcomed the holiday season by purchasing mixed nuts-the kind you need a nutcracker for. And for as long as I can remember, I've seen those shells at the bottom of the trash can.
For about 30 minutes, it seemed as though time stopped. I could hear the news in the background from one direction and snoring in the other.
And for that brief amount of time, I understood just how fully blessed I am-to have a family, a home that is a respite from the literal and metophorical storms. I saw for that amount of time how silly things, like shattered walnut pieces, helped me grasp that for that one moment, all was right in the world.
After my father's stroke, you never know what will go next. He no longer drives and when he's a passenger with me, he doesn't critique my vehicular skills. Just this evening, he informed my mother we needed to set our clocks back an hour. Little things aren't the same-the way he answers phone calls, the way he stays in the house, the way he no longer jokes.
But for that one amount of time, life was good. I know it's silly and sappy. But one day, hopefully years from now, I will look back on this memory and smile. Or cry. And I will continue to celebrate the tiny, ordinary moments.