Wednesday, July 7, 2010
The weekend brought a break in the fever, and a renewed feeling of strength and purpose. We spent long days at the beach, quiet evenings laughing, playing games, talking.
Somehow over thirty years have passed with the blink of an eye, and it's my turn to be the Mom.
In the past seven days I have witnessed little miracles, as the person I thought wouldn't make it woke up the next morning to fight another day.
I felt my heart swell as my Mom dug in the sand with Greta and my Dad hunted minnows with Finn, just like they used to do with me.
In the past seven days moments have slipped effortlessly from joyful to fearful, redemptive to mundane, sublime to ridiculous.
But has it really? It has just been, well, a week. Seven days, all full of their own miracles, sorrows and surprises. Time marches on with its own agenda, thoughtlessly buffeting me about in ways I can't predict.
Moments that tick by with impossible speed, adding layer upon invisible layer to life.
I want to pluck each moment out of the air, capture it in a jar like a firefly, so I can examine it to my heart's content.