I’ve journaled for as long as I can remember.  I recently came across a notebook from my younger self with complaints about how my parents always favored my brother scrawled out in my 8-year-old handwriting.   The page has always been a place where I can vent, work out issues, or just be myself.

This morning I opened my notebook to write down a topic that I wanted to explore later, only to discover that the last time I had written was before we said our goodbyes to my mother-in-law and before we buried her.  It has only been 2 ½ weeks.  The last time I wrote, I had no idea what was ahead of us. 

All the gurus urge us to stay in the present moment, that we only have this breath.  In times of crisis, I understand this point completely.  Time essentially stood still while I sat by her bedside.  So much has happened in the span of 2 ½ weeks and it has also flown by as time usually does. 

The other indication that time did not stop, aside from the date in my journal, was the flowering cherry tree in our neighborhood.  When did that happen?  Just a moment ago, it was winter, my mother-in-law was alive, but now she’s gone, and the trees are flowering.

The only other period I can remember experiencing this time warp was when our children were born.  Life was going on all around us, while we were living in the moment-to-moment of bringing a new life into the world and home to live. 

Birth and death strip it all down to the heart of the matter.  Only this moment, only love matters.  The rest of it is all noise.  Things come and things go.  Trees blossom, leaves fall, and weather changes. It’s nearly impossible to live every day in the immediacy of the moment that you do while ushering a life in or out of this world.  That said, slowing down to take a breath, pausing to look out, being fully present with those you love, and enjoying time in nature may be a small start.