heavy heart

The words floated across my phone screen -  I love you big guy.  I swallowed the lump in my throat and replied, "I totally just heard your dad saying that."

We have this thing - it started a couple of years ago when Jimmy was gone.  The girls love to send messages using emojis.  I let Luca in on the fun when we were away for Meredith's bridal shower.  Jimmy told me that he caught himself saying that every now and then and thought the same thing.  I sat and stared at the message - boy things followed the message in exchange for the girly emojis he sends the girls.  Sometimes, I still can't believe it.  I can't believe his dad is gone, I can't believe I'm a boy mom, I can't believe the way life arranges itself.

 It was an emotional weekend anyway as we realized how sick my Grandma was and were thrown for loop after loop of news, mostly bad.  I'm struggling with the spontaneity of it all - what if my favorite things are now packed up, only to remain in the boxes of my memory?  I don't ever take my moments with my family for granted, but I never prepared myself for the way life actually works, which is to say not the way I had in mind.

It serves as a painful and humbling reminder, this life that is but a vapor.  She's alive and fighting for every ounce of strength and energy after a virus capitalized on a weakened immune system.  Damaged vocal cords have left her with a voice I can hardly recognize and 2 AM brings me haunting thoughts of the letters I should have sent and the phone calls I should have made - will I ever write her address again?

Sixty-five years of marriage between her and my grandpa - the way he speaks about her leaves me emotional and thankful that I know love like that.  Life looks a lot different at the moment with her in the hospital and him in the nursing home.  I don't know what the future holds for them here, but I know they are looking forward to eternity together, with healthy minds and able bodies, and that gives me great comfort.

Be thankful today.  We don't know about tomorrow.  That breath you just took, that word you just spoke? A gift.  Treasure them.