Today was supposed to be a day off.
But in truth… it was more a day of in-between moments.
We started with rehabilitation.
Then off to a specialist appointment for my son’s back. He has the same injury as his sister and apparently it is genetic.
I had been quietly counting down, just a little longer and this whole journey would be behind us.
Until today, when I heard he’ll have to start again but with our son in a few months.
And in that moment, something in me sighed.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just a quiet, internal ugh.
Here we go again.
And yet, somewhere in the middle of all that, there was softness.
I found myself at home for a bit.
And home actually felt… like home.
The sun was out. My husband walking through the garden. The kids nearby. A dog flopped lazily in a warm patch of light.
Simple things. But they landed deeply.
I sat outside for a while and noticed a flower pushing its way through dried leaves.
And I remembered what I wrote not long ago:
That grief isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it’s quiet.
It’s the moment you feel joy again and wonder if it’s okay.
It’s the knowing that life keeps going… and so must you.
But differently now. Slower. Softer.
Even when the days are filled with logistics, appointments, routes from A to B
the sun on your face,
the scent of new blossoms,
the sound of birds returning
they can call you back to your breath.
Back to now.
Back to you.
Today wasn’t really a day off.
But it gave me a moment of freedom.
And sometimes… that’s exactly enough for me!
