Once upon a time, not so long ago, I had a really wonderful husband whom I adored. He felt the same. We were a team of two who could conquer anything we set out to accomplish. We never started out in a quest to amass an empire. Our goals were short-term in nature, focused on nourishing healthy habits that lead to long-term success. We had plenty of missteps along the way, learning from them and trying to avoid them in the future. Our main success was making each moment the best it could be.
VST was a man on a mission. After working 8-5 at his professional job, he would race home for dinner at 6 pm sharp. Every night. Those moments were filled with dinner-table chatter about the whole day held for the kids and us. If you have a family, you know, those days are moments of crazy times. So many things planned and done because they must be. VST embraced his moments shared with the kids because he saw them as fleeting, which they were. No matter how many hours of tractor work were waiting, he always had time to share with us. No matter how many hours he had worked all day, he would wait up until the last child was home and in bed. Everyone accounted for, in those quiet moments, he could finally rest.
We had the rare treat of having his parents live on the ranch across the drive from us. One really scary moment came when we needed to be fully present. VST’s dad was given 6 months to live shortly after we bought the ranch. He was in the hospital, as we held our breath while his heart was stopped for some very long moments and restarted to regain rhythm.
At that time, VST and I wanted to buy a respectable vehicle to cart the kids around. It was embarrassing to drive our young girl to Jr. High in a red-and-white VW bus from the 1900s. She insisted her dad would drop her off down the street. We had found a brand new Suburban that was gorgeous right before J got sick. We were working on financing it when we got the news.
Across the drive from our farmhouse, there was a large, empty 1/2-acre space. VST and I discussed the possibility of putting a home there for J and J. It was perfect. While others were at J’s bedside at the hospital, we went to look at mobile homes. VST had measured every room in his mom’s house to make sure she would have the same or more space, and we found the perfect home. It happened to be exactly the price of the Suburban. This was not even a question at that moment. The suburban could wait.
We asked if they would move on the ranch with us. They gleefully accepted. J & J were the best in-laws I could have wished for, being equal parts of VST from the generation before. Wise and hysterically funny. Spiritually grounded in God. We would stop our busy lives for a few minutes every evening for Porch Therapy at their house. The four of us spent the next 12 years coaching, supporting, cheering, and badgering each other on that porch. We were the perfect neighbors for each other and wouldn’t have chosen it any other way. In those moments, we were really living the good life. Right then. Right there.
So many moments in our lives were frozen in gold. Moments when boys turned into the USA’s finest airmen. Moments when marriages were formed. Moments when new grandchildren filled our arms. Moments when we lost our shirts farming, and those when we did okay. Moments when we held each other and cried at the horror death brought, robbing us of J and J. Moments when we found each other as we crisscrossed the United States, being wild and crazy.
The past is a beautiful birthplace of all the comforting moments that, together, are a tapestry for each life here on earth. The future is a fertile bed of rich soil, ripe with possibilities for growth and success. But there is nothing tangible in either place. The claws of the past and future can dig into our souls and paralyze us, holding us from moving forward in the present. Living in either one can bring fear, sadness, regret, remorse, loneliness, guilt, and so many other harsh feelings. Moving through them to make a quick retrieval or appraisal is not to be confused with putting an air mattress in the middle of either and camping out there for days or weeks.
Living in the moment means making choices that shape the memories you will hold dear, while walking toward the future you will face after losing a spouse. Honor your loved one by really embracing life this very moment. This moment is life’s gift to us. Use it wisely.