My granddaughter returned to college this week. She is a senior, and she is happy. She'll be leaving the school in May. What will the future bring? Graduate school, we hope.
Which school? How will she pay for it? Will she be happy with her choice of program?
So many questions--for tomorrow. The moment, this moment, is important. It's all we have, every day, all we know for sure is the moment. I think my granddaughter should stop, my daughter should stop, and I should stop right now and enjoy the moment.
A moment in time: Two beautiful pets who filled our days with joy and who are no longer with us.
So much of our lives is spent looking ahead. Planning. That's natural, especially for the young, who are still growing. The future is built on today, and the future is important. But so is today. Today, the moment, is all we know we have for sure.
We wait for tomorrow, for an event. But that event, that tomorrow is made of moments. Are we going to spend them also waiting, for the next day, the next event?
A moment in time: My granddaughter was on a ferry. We were all on summer vacation together.
We should stop, right now and look around. Particularly if we are having a 'happy' moment.
I want my granddaughter to appreciate today. To appreciate that she has friends. That she is well. That she enjoys school, has a family that loves her and that she gets up every day in a peaceful, positive environment.
I spoke to her yesterday. I had news, bad news and then good news. The news was a series of moments.
Her grandfather, my husband, received a test result that had dire implications. We saw the result at 9:30 in the morning. Both of us, my husband and I, were desperate at the news. I started reading on the Internet and the implications of the report seemed even worse.
I called the doctor. She called back two hours later, at 11:30. It turns out we got it wrong. Those results didn't mean at all what we thought they meant. The results were innocuous. The darkness that had surrounded us for two hours was lifted.
All those moments of despair, each moment heavy with dread. How intensely I planned to live every day after that. How much I planned, in those two hours, to hold onto life, as long as we had it.
I told my granddaughter about this, and about the reprieve. I wanted to share with her the joy of life I was enjoying in the moment.
I'm sure the full import of this experience did not impress my granddaughter. Maybe she caught a glimpse of the transient danger, and then the joy at our good news. Did I know, did I understand at 21 the value of every moment?
A moment in time: We all went to the beach one day, just before my granddaughter left for college. We had the sense that a stage in her life was beginning, a stage that was not as tied to family as her life had been so far. My husband and I had helped to raise her. For most of her life, we were her only babysitters, her only caretakers, besides my daughter.
All my life I've had the desire to be productive. What does that mean? Does it mean I was working in the moment for an outcome that would come in the future? Did I spend those moments vaguely aware of the present, not appreciating the gift of my existence?
Maybe we do have to sacrifice a little bit of today, so that we can have a tomorrow. But we should keep in mind, always, that all we have for sure is today. Nothing is promised. And we have the past.
If we lived wisely, we can look back at the past and remember those precious moments. Time we spent living, not planning to live.
Today my husband and I have the intention of going to my granddaughter's graduation. That's in four months. It's a nice thing to anticipate. But I'm not going to pass those four months looking ahead to that one moment, when my granddaughter leaves behind another stage in her life.
With every transition she moves further away. Life does that. She still wants to spend time with us. She still calls us on the phone and sends us pictures. During this last vacation she took walks with us around the block, and we all sat down together and played a very friendly game of poker. She had a guest, and she incorporated that guest's visit with the family activity. But never do I doubt that she is moving further away.
The graduation ceremony in four months will be a symbolic representation of her separation. I hope we are there on graduation day to celebrate her growth, her advancement. Four months is a long time. A lot of moments. I hope my granddaughter lives those moments consciously. I know I will.
A moment in time: My granddaughter was in Ireland, with my daughter, when this picture was taken. She is looking out to sea, perhaps toward home. Almost a hundred years ago her great grandparents crossed that sea and made a life for themselves in a new country. What a moment that must have been. Did they revel in it, in the adventure? Or were all their thoughts tied up in the future? Where would my thoughts have been, in their place?
Thank you for reading my blog. Peace and health to all.
May peace and goodwill prevail in my country.
All photos, even the little accent picture, are mine, from my family album.