My first waking thought this morning was of the time when my children were under my roof; every day brought something new. I didn't have to do anything but show up for my responsibilities and I would have a full and interesting day.
The afterthought was a mini-epiphany, realizing the harder challenge for people like myself, formerly stay at home parents of now grown children, is to put fresh energy into our own lives. It's easier to give in to the jet lag of mind and heart, sadness that this part of life is over. People who've traveled this leg of the journey of life are sympathetic, acknowledging the hard part, assuring that the passage of time will make it all easier to bear.
It will, and it does. That said, I know it's not a one-time-and-done grief.
But that is not my point. Anyone in my shoes could blather on and on about the sweet times of having one's children safely at home, but the truth of the matter is from the moment they were expelled from the womb, they began working toward independence--if all goes well, but that's another story, thank God, that I haven't had to tell. So far, so good; neither have boomeranged.
The point is there is not a soul on this earth who will do the work of energizing this phase of life but me.
Some of the posters on Facebook are ghastly, sappy, poorly worded, but as simple as this one is, it spoke to me where I am now. I am ordinarily a thankful person; that is not much of a challenge. I'm still learning anew, though, to intentionally make the best use of a day without the luxury of having it pre-planned by circumstances. I must plan and set out to use each gifted day in the best way I can.
