Like, seriously. What in the actual $*&% am I supposed to do.
A real hurricane is headed our way and yet, I already feel like I am in one.
How many fires a day can one firefighter endure before she needs a break?
So many little personalities, so many big needs.
The demands seem insurmountable.
Until I remember where I’ve been.
And how much more challenging it truly can be.
So, I cry. I mourn my inability to juggle it all. To feel like a “good” mom.
And I focus, instead, on what I do have.
A family. A free country. Health. Resources.
And I begin again.
They see opportunity, I see the end of an era.
They see a new purpose, I see the memories.
I’ve never been a big fan of thrift stores, yard or estate sales, but it wasn’t until today, when my elderly neighbor’s estate sale went “live” that I understood why.
I don’t see a record player, I hear the music it played over the decades.
I don’t see a dresser, I see the clothes it housed for birthdays, beach days, and every days.
They see dishes, I see Thanksgiving dinner.
They see a chair, I see the person who used to sit in it.
To many, they are just things.
To me, they are a story.
Of a life lived.
Of a past, now gone.
Of a future, without these things.
Perhaps this isn’t their end.
It’s just a new beginning.