Again, I find myself writing about how quickly life is moving.
When I was younger, I remember hearing older people talk about how fast the years go by. They would say, "Just wait. One day you'll understand." I would smile and nod, but honestly, I didn't get it.
Now, at 59 years old, I understand exactly what they meant.
Life doesn't simply move—it races.
The minutes become hours. The hours become days. The days become weeks. The weeks become years. Before we know it, entire chapters of our lives are tucked behind us, waiting to be remembered.
I often find myself wishing there were more hours in a day. There are so many things I want to do, need to do, and hope to accomplish. Yet today, I was reminded that peace often comes from simply doing the things that matter most.
This morning was beautifully ordinary. Raymond and I walked our usual two miles. I finished catching up on my gratitude summaries and completed my ten-minute arm workout on YouTube. Small acts. Simple commitments. Yet these are the moments that ground me. They remind me that fulfillment is often found in following through on the daily habits that bring me peace and a sense of accomplishment.
Later, I talked with Briana and exchanged texts with TeaRae. As I reflected on our conversations, it hit me that tomorrow my youngest daughter will turn thirty-three years old.
Thirty-three.
How is that even possible?
It feels like only yesterday I was holding her in my arms, memorizing every detail of her tiny face. Now she is more than thirty-six weeks pregnant with her first child.
Our baby is having a baby.
Life has come full circle once again.
Briana & William gave us Ansel, my first grandchild, who is now eight years old. We have also been blessed with Joseph and Camryn, Colin's children, who became our bonus grandchildren and have brought so much joy into our lives. Watching TeaRae love them, nurture them, and help raise them has been a blessing. She has such a tender heart, and I know she is going to be an amazing mother.
As I think about my children, gratitude overwhelms me.
I have been blessed beyond measure.
Not because life has been easy—it certainly has not—but because love has remained. Through every triumph and every tragedy, love has endured.
Even Matt's love remains.
Though I can no longer hear his voice, I feel his presence everywhere. I hear his whispers in the wind. I see reminders of him in unexpected places. I notice signs that feel too personal and too perfectly timed to be mere coincidence. The connection between a mother and her child does not end with death. It simply changes form.
Matt still finds ways to remind me he is near.
And because of those reminders, I continue to heal. I continue to grow. I continue to create the life I want to live. Matt still teaches me to pay attention—to the beauty, the lessons, the opportunities, and the people placed in front of me. His life continues to inspire me to live with purpose, gratitude, and hope.
Maybe that is what aging is really teaching me.
Not to mourn the passing of time, but to treasure it.
To recognize that every day is another opportunity to love deeply, forgive freely, learn something new, and embrace the people who matter most.
Life may be moving faster than I ever imagined, but it is also richer than I ever dreamed.
As another generation prepares to enter our family, I find myself filled with gratitude for every chapter that brought us here.
The joyful chapters.
The heartbreaking chapters.
The chapters that changed me forever.
I am grateful for all of it.
Because every experience, every lesson, every loss, every healing, and every act of love has helped shape the woman I am today.
And today, that feels like more than enough.
