I've learned recently that I speak to my cat the same way my mom speaks to her dad.
My grandfather is ninety-one and my cat is fifteen. And so when I say my mom and I speak to them the same way, what I mean is that we are on constant alert. We know their time with us is coming to an end and so we find ourselves panicking when we lose sight of them, haven't heard a peep from them for more than a few minutes.
Last night as I was sitting in the recliner, the cat was laying on the floor behind me, sleeping and snoring softly and I loved that snore because I knew as long as he was snoring, he was still with me.
Lately it seems like my brain is spinning out of control, trying to reign in my feelings on my cat, on my grandfather, on the disability company's latest request for copious amounts of paperwork, on my health, on the holidays, on finances, on just about anything and everything.
But at the same time, there is a peace inside my heart, a place where emotional turmoil doesn't spin into storms. There's a stillness.
It was so windy this morning at church, too windy and cloudy and sad. But even as the wind whipped up all around me, the stillness inside me remained.
Today I did not look for birds. I did not fight the wind for that perfect picture. I looked for things that held strong against the wind, that were unmoving and beautiful in ways that maybe I hadn't noticed before because I was too caught up in the splendor of the osprey or the hawk.
My grandfather is ninety-one and my cat is fifteen. And so when I say my mom and I speak to them the same way, what I mean is that we are on constant alert. We know their time with us is coming to an end and so we find ourselves panicking when we lose sight of them, haven't heard a peep from them for more than a few minutes.
Last night as I was sitting in the recliner, the cat was laying on the floor behind me, sleeping and snoring softly and I loved that snore because I knew as long as he was snoring, he was still with me.
Lately it seems like my brain is spinning out of control, trying to reign in my feelings on my cat, on my grandfather, on the disability company's latest request for copious amounts of paperwork, on my health, on the holidays, on finances, on just about anything and everything.
But at the same time, there is a peace inside my heart, a place where emotional turmoil doesn't spin into storms. There's a stillness.
It was so windy this morning at church, too windy and cloudy and sad. But even as the wind whipped up all around me, the stillness inside me remained.
Today I did not look for birds. I did not fight the wind for that perfect picture. I looked for things that held strong against the wind, that were unmoving and beautiful in ways that maybe I hadn't noticed before because I was too caught up in the splendor of the osprey or the hawk.
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