Mother, Son, Grandson


Yesterday I took the time to do one of those things that I would one day regret not having done. I picked up my 20 year old son and drove with him to visit my 84 year old mother in the assisted living facility she lives in nearly two hours away. It was a lovely day all around: the time spent with my son, home from college, enjoying his animated mind and heart and the things passing through them these days; the time spent with my mother, who, despite failing eyes and ears and a need for a walker still remains the bearer of the same lively mind and gentle, calm spirit; an exquisite early summer day and the thunder shower that cleaned out the air. My son had not seen my mother in over a year, and so it was good to bring them together — she who spent a good deal of time delighting in and caring for him when he was young and she still retained her physical vitality; she who’s genes reside in him, giving him the capacity to have his expansive mind so fascinated by quantum physics and black holes and such.

Life hurries along, and too often I fail to make time for that which is most precious in deference to the pressing demands of every day routines, but yesterday, through the grace of God, I got it right.

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