My home has been my address for about twenty days, and I thought it would be sheer bliss. But I must admit it has been a learning process and utter chaos. It feels like our home has been transformed into Grand Central Station! Various aides come in three times a day to help me. I have had to train a new batch! Then you add in construction workers with annoying drilling, sawing, and pounding. (I’m not complaining, it’s just a little headache inducing. We are nearing the end of remodel. “After pictures” coming soon.) My writing time has been heavily impaired. (But I love it!) I live out in the sticks, so I have rarely had this many visitors!
New schedules, new faces, new challenges face me daily.
Me and my hubby traveled down to St. George this past weekend to settle his mother’s estate and generally clean out. I spent a lot of time waiting on him sitting in the front seat. (Gas stations, hotels, quick trips inside when he wouldn’t want to go through the process of getting me out.) I watched a lot of people rushing in and out, and I came to a personally significant conclusion.
Life goes on.
No matter what your history previously entailed, the sun keeps rising and setting, the world keeps spinning, and the people keep on moving. They continue on with their lives in autopilot. Like ants constantly scurrying about through the anthill, making things happen. Busy, busy busy. No time for complicated drama. No time for illness. No time for silly inconveniences.
I wondered if I’d be in the same rat race if I didn’t experience my change of life. (I dislike the term “my stroke.” You can tell most people see me and wonder how they would handle my predicament. Some have even verbalized it! I’m evidence of an uncomfortable reality.)
One’s perspective is really altered when you endure a hardship. You see things with new eyes.
After going through my sweet mother-in-laws home, the “life goes on” outlook was solidified. We work so relentlessly hard all our lives for stuff. Our homes are overflowing with stuff. The accumulation of stuff might seem important and pivotal to our lives, but it’s plain and simple: we can’t take it with us when we leave this dimension. I admit some items carry timeless memories, and must be kept. (That’s what I continuously told the dump-happy men.) The memories of love, our accumulated education, and our mutually shared experiences are what we take with us. We split up the temporally needed and sentimentally wanted stuff that remained, said goodbye to her loving walls, and our lives went on.
The moral to my story:
Don’t sweat the small stuff
Life continues even if you have earth scattering hardships.
Live life to the fullest.