Ever feel a worry hangover? Cause I think that’s what I am in right now.
Last night while I was making dinner, my five year old daughter took a head-first trip down the stairs. I was sitting at the kitchen table and got to watch as she went over the basket on the steps, only to land on the floor, forehead first. Between cradling her, assessing the damage and trying to mentally figure out whether a trip to the doctor’s would be necessary- along with how to stop a dinner mid-making in a way that wouldn’t ruin everything… I think I lived 5+ hours during one 60 minute period of time.
She’s fine, thankfully. A small, not even dark, bruise rests on her temple and on her cheekbone. She didn’t exhibit any signs of a concussion.
I, on the other hand, after dinner, and taking her brother out looking for a Halloween costume (buying wonder woman and candy corn pumpkins instead)- had a dream that I lost her on a walk with a group of other kids and parents in the neighborhood I grew up in…
My brain just had to use that worry somehow. But now it’s spent all that worry, and I only just got back on working my way through my stack of things an hour or two ago.
Our time together is such a precious and fragile thing. That alone is reason enough to value it, and to fear for its loss. I’m a lucky woman in oh-so-many ways. I have so much to lose that’s not replaceable. Money can’t give me her precociousness, or her brother’s snarky intelligence. It can’t give me the soft skin of her arms, or the dot of freckles across his nose. Let’s not even get into all the joys my husband carries (especially of note: giving me these other two). In a second, it could all change, and yet here we are.
I’m grateful for so much in the world. Foremost is that I have so much to worry about, and yet it continues to change mainly only by the slow advance of time. I know the worth of the time I have been given and the relatively light worries laid upon me.