Some dates are easy to remember. 

Like the first time, my husband said

he loved me. 

We were sitting at the bottom of Yosemite Falls, his voice was sure, clear and not expecting an answer as if his statement was enough for the moment.

There are a lifetime of other moments when time expands sideways and your heart whispers to you, 'remember this.' 

January 4, 2019, is such a date. We moved my parents into an independent living facility. In the two months since:

• They moved into an assisted living care level
• They sent their beloved dachshund  Peanut to live with another family
• They call me 2 or 3 times a day (I have phone records...)
• Dad fell and was subsequentially admitted as a Hospice patient (he's doing better, thank you)
• They move into a Memory Care facility next week

So many dates, too many events that need their own space, but these moments must share with all of the other pulls on my time and attention. 

While I write my daily list to do for my parents:
       wash their clothes (run Dad's through hot water twice)
       grocery shop (smooth Peanut Butter ONLY)
       pay their bills, address change of address cards,
       negotiate their requests (demands?) to the facility staff,
I am listening to the radio conversations in the background:                              
       the loss of death to mudslides,
       the threat of loss of homes because of fire,
       the refusal to respect all rights for every human

       and I find the weight of my circumstances shift.


The shift is not from perhaps a first world problem to a pang of white guilt. There are plenty of times when that awareness is appropriate and neccessary. This, however, is a shift from isolation,  from feeling overwhelmed by the big and small decisions you face when caring for others, to experiencing the connectedness of being a member of the larger human race. The broader perspective does not diminish my worry, sadness and or overwhelming tiredness, but places my experiences next to those I see in my counseling practice, those I teach, those I supervise, those I parent, those I love.

The shift welcomes me into the world's embrace as it whispers to me, 'remember these moments.'

This shift reminds me of what is perhaps even more sweet to me than my husband telling me he loved me  44 years ago, which is his recent comment to me, 'you don't have to do this alone.' 

This is what I want to remember as I experience these dates, we can share them with those we love.

I hope you have friends and family you can share both these big important dates and the ones that no one will remember past the event.