A Light for My Path

Last week I wrote about our rural neighborhood and our interactions with our neighbors. If you’re a frequent reader, you may have wondered what that post had to do with child loss. I’ll tell you something I’ve learned in the seven-and-a-half years since my daughter died. 

It’s the little things in life I’ve come to appreciate. Not huge parties. Not extravagant vacations. Not a closet full of designer clothes. Little things. Like watching the sunset over the river. Like an early morning walk. Like my husband being goofy and chatty while I’m trying to have my first cup of coffee. 

I think about all the times when my girls were little that I “didn’t have time” to play Barbies with them or watch their favorite Disney movie with them for the fourth time that week. Because I needed to clean up the kitchen or review status reports from my team. I promised there would be time over the weekend. After our errands and cheer practice. After Sunday School and as soon as I get the next load of laundry in the washer. 

It wasn’t just my children, though. I was always in a rush. Trying to be perfect. One more mile on the treadmill. One more graph on my PowerPoint. One more notch on the ladder to success. As soon as one thing was accomplished, I barely spent time appreciating it before it was on to the next goal. 

But my kids didn’t care if I made Director. The sweet, talkative cashier at Publix wasn’t timing my workouts. And my husband spent a lot of time massaging the knotted muscles in my shoulders because I sat hunched over and tense at my desk for hours every day. 

I wish I could say I would have eventually learned to slow down and smell the flowers if my younger daughter hadn’t been killed in a car accident. I hope so. 

I do know that when my company offered an early retirement package a year after she died, I realized that my mental and emotional health were more important than a promotion. I started looking at the scenery instead of my fitness tracker when I ran. When my son-in-law had to travel and my older daughter needed help with the kids, I didn’t have to take my laptop to her house. I had time to prep our house for sale so we could finally move fulltime to the river. And, after a while, my shoulders relaxed. 

I’ve come to cherish the time we spend on our porch. Just my husband and me, a couple of neighbors, or a passel of grandkids. If there’s not a line behind me at Publix, I can chat with the cashier for ten minutes and not worry about my next chore or errand. And, if my youngest granddaughter wants to wade in a creek for an hour, it doesn’t bother me a bit just to sit on the bank and watch her. 

Time is precious to me. It always has been. Because there’s never enough of it. But speeding up doesn’t give you more time. Time here on earth is finite no matter how fast you run. 

Slow down. Appreciate your neighbors, your friends, your family. Your life. It could all be gone before you know it. 

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Laura