Stop and Savor The Small Moments

Thanksgiving is a reminder to be grateful for the chaos of being in a sandwich generation.

I am 47. My dad is 88, with mounting health issues. My twins are 11, still in kid-world enough to want to hang out with their parents, but in middle school and growing up fast.

This thanksgiving feels like an important one.

I feel like I have very little precious time with all the Beings that I love so much to be together before a LOT changes. And I am trying to be as present as possible to soak it all in before my dad’s health issues make it impossible for him to attend, understand, or remember family gatherings.

For the kiddos, I’m trying to embrace this time when family is still at their center, before peers become their main focus and their world gets much bigger than home.

And I’m right in the middle, watching both ends with a little anxiety because I know change is inevitable and I am not thrilled about what the future will hold.

I know the holidays with my dad are limited. And I’m pre-sad for the loss of Norbert, my dad. He has always been larger-than-life, know how to fix anything, got a story for every occasion, funny, kind, and compassionate guy who I get to call dad.

But Norbert has already had so many changes, and they seem to be coming faster and faster.

Just recently my mom confessed that she really can’t leave my dad home by himself anymore. Not even to run to the store less than a mile away. She’s afraid he will fall, or take a nap in his recliner (as he often does) and wake up confused and not know what day it is or why he’s alone.

So, I have started going over a few times a week to hang with my dad while my mom runs errands or does her appointments.

At lunch the other day, Norbert suddenly said, ‘I’ve lost so much already that I have to grieve.”

“Yeah? Greive because you’re getting older?”

“I have to grieve all the things I already can’t do. Driving, working in the wood shop…gone. I know sometimes I can’t remember… getting older…sometimes it just sucks.”

And he’s right. It does suck. But I’m holding on to every moment we get.

And then I look at my kiddos, growing up so fast. Middle school, more activities, more friends, bigger world, bigger life…which are all things I want and celebrate for them…and I am pre-sad for the loss of Friday night hang outs with popcorn and movies and jammies and snuggles.

When my anxiety starts getting really loud (being pre-sad is really just anxiety projecting into a future) I try to bring it back to the present.

Right now, my dad is still here.

Right now, my kids still love to hang out.

Be here now. Savor the present.

Back at lunch with my dad, he sets down his soup spoon and sighs, “And now I can’t even be home without a babysitter.”

I pat his hand. “I’m not your babysitter. I like hanging out. Take a walk, have some soup, take a nap…are you kidding me? You’re describing my perfect day!”

He gives me a wry smile, and continues his lunch.

I think back to when my twins were born, and they were opposite sleepers. One would fall asleep soundly at 7:30, not make a peep all night, but be AWAKE at 4:30am. The other would not go to sleep, wake up screaming every 2 hours and never wanted to be set down.

My husband and I didn’t sleep for more than 2 consecutive hours for a year and a half. We were at a breaking point. My husband even went to the doctor because he thought he was having heart issues, like pre-heart attacks (if that is a thing).

The doctor just said: “You need sleep. Your system can’t function under these conditions.”

I called my parents, crying. Without hesitation, they said, “Come over tomorrow. Bring the babies.”

Every Wednesday, for the next several years, I would bring the babies to my parents’ house. They would each take a twin, my mom would snuggle and cuddle and read them stories. My dad would sing to them, “You Are My Sunshine,” and they stop fussing, entranced by his deep voice, his big Santa-beard, his huge heart.

My parents saved us. They kept me and Tom from going under.

As the kids got older, my dad taught them to ‘work in the workshop,’ which meant pounding nails into scrap wood, and using the shop-vac to clean up sawdust. He took them sledding in the winter and had water fights in the summer.

When the riding mower was having issues my dad patiently explained how an engine works to my enraptured son, whose first words were: “What’s that?” and “That, that?” Which meant how does it work? So when I picked up my two-year olds that day, Bennett walked me over to the mower, “See the pistons, mama?” And went on to explain to me how it all worked.

Still have no clue how an engine works. But Bennett knows. Because of my dad.

My dad and I have finished lunch now and I clear our bowls.

“Little nap?” He asks as he moves to his recliner.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” I take the couch.

Before I can get my blanket on, he is asleep. I get this from my dad, and so does Bennett. We can be chatting away and then, “Okay, I’m ready for sleep now,” then like a light switch, out.

Before I switch out my light and nap, I glace at my dad and watch him breathing like I used to watch the babies tucked in the cradle together.

In, out. Everyone’s okay.

My kiddos have gotten 11 years of experiences and memories and wisdom from Norbert. They’ve heard his camp songs, and stories of growing up on a farm, and learned how to use a drill-press. I’m so grateful for time that it makes my heart ache.

The future will come. He will be gone.

They will go to college and hopefully live big lives outside my home.

But for this year, they are all still here.

The holidays will be messy and chaotic, and make me a little nuts.

But for fuck’s sake, I will slow down and savor the small moments that we have all together. I will be present for the present, because that’s the most precious thing we’ve got.

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all.

Hug your loved ones. Grieve the ones you’ve lost.

Be here now. And know that I’m sending you a little love.

Xo❤️Viv