Just For Today

Over 5 years ago, my mom bought new bedroom furniture. And funny enough, I bought the same set as well. So our bedrooms are matchy-matchy. Kindof. Hers is elegant. Mine is packed with extra decorations, loads of puzzles and empty frames waiting for a future.

Before the new goods were delivered, I quietly packed away all of my dad's things. All the things he had touched last. Personal things. Change emptied from his pockets. His glasses. The tie he had last taken off after work. Up until this point, no one had gathered up enough bravery to even open his drawers. So one afternoon, while my mom was away, I packed it all up. And part of my heart fell into the boxes as well.

The other day, we finally opened those boxes back up. Not because we were brave, but because my mom was strong enough to tell us it needed to be done. So, we did. We touched, we held, we remembered. I opened his work bag and it felt as if he had just set it down the night before, ready to be picked up in the morning. Notes from a meeting, a pen from a Disney trip when we were all together.

We gathered, we stored, we set aside items to give away. And we breathed. Because even that felt too hard.

And after a while, time sped back up to its usual speed, and went on. Just like it always does. Normal settled right back in. The kids came home and wanted to know what was for dinner.

Time can be a fluid, fragile thing. It's something I take for granted. But not this week. Opening those boxes brought out a bit of truth. Love fiercely. Today. Let those around you, those people you hold in your soul, know that you love them. Let the world stop, just for today, and gather your heart and hold it close.

The world will still be there tomorrow. With all its stress and lists and problems. But maybe today, you can set it aside. Open the boxes. Hold the ones you love and let them feel your joy. Soak it in and store it up. Your heart will thank you.