I tend to have a lot of projects going on at once. I bustle from one to another, stopping only for the briefest of breaks. Last week, I stayed up far too late finishing a project, and the next day I was tired. And, if I’m being honest, a little cranky.
Still, I was determined to squeeze as much work as possible into the day. I huffed around, drank some coffee, and dove back in.
I tend to have a lot of projects going on at once. I bustle from one to another, stopping only for the briefest of breaks. Last week, I stayed up far too late finishing a project, and the next day I was tired. And, if I’m being honest, a little cranky.
Still, I was determined to squeeze as much work as possible into the day. I huffed around, drank some coffee, and dove back in.
I stood in the breakfast room of a weathered motel in Amarillo, waiting impatiently for the coffee maker to finish its cycle. I had no real schedule that day, no urgent destination; just a restless need to move. This was the return leg of a cross-country trip, a journey that had started as a favor to a family member and turned into a chance to explore before heading home to work and routine.
At the beginning of the week, I found myself staring at a dozen bottles of medication. They weren’t mine. They belonged to my mother, who had moved in with us about two years ago. Her dementia had been progressing steadily, and each week brought small but unmistakable changes.
Some days were good. She’d pass the time reminiscing, reading, or watching for deer out the window. Other days were harder. On those days, she became painfully aware of what she was losing; her memory, her independence. And her tears came easily. It was heartbreaking to watch, especially knowing we couldn’t fix it. We had to learn, slowly and painfully, to simply be there with her. Acceptance didn’t come quickly. It came through shared tears and quiet moments.
Imagine you’re at a grocery store, rushing to pick up a few things on your way home from work.
You roll your cart down the frozen food aisle, thinking it might be a good idea to grab something quick and easy for dinner. As you weigh your options among the overpriced microwave meals, you notice a woman slowly pushing her cart nearby. She’s just disconnected from a phone call and looks deeply troubled.