Still Waking Up. Still Grateful.

Most mornings I wake up, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and have this tiny quiet thought:

Still here.

My body may creak a little more now. My face tells more stories than it used to. But I am still waking up. Still breathing. Still getting messages from my kids. Still laughing with my friends and the man I love in a house that holds our mess and the old and new memories we are creating.

I am grateful for that in a way my younger self could not have understood.

Grateful that my senses still let me be here in this life. I can smell the delightful aroma of coffee brewing. Hear Lou stretch and shake out his noisy collar. Feel our soft blanket in our comfy bed. Taste fresh salsa with a little bite to it. See the way the sunset lands right from my living room.

Are those senses as sharp as they were at 25? Not even close. My hearing takes a second sometimes. My eyes ask for readers. My knees negotiate with every set of stairs.

But they are still doing their jobs.
And I am so thankful.

The Sofa Incident

Now let me tell you about a recent “oh right, we are not 30 anymore” moment.

Harold and I had just gotten some new furniture. You know that feeling when you look around and think, “Ok, this home is feeling more and more like us.”

There was this small but heavy sofa sitting on a thick rug. We needed to move it. Not far at all, to get it in just the right spot. We decided we could not push it because of the rug, so we would lift it.

No problem. We’ve both moved furniture plenty of times.

We each grabbed a side.
On 3.
One, two, three.

We lifted and started to move. Harold was walking forward. I was moving backward. Somewhere between my brain and my feet, the message got scrambled. I could not quite keep up with him, and my balance just… checked out.

Next thing I knew, I was going down. Hard.

I fell straight back, knocked the breath out of myself, and bumped my head. When I dropped my side, it yanked the couch out of Harold’s hands, and it came down on his foot.

So there we were:

Me on the floor, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe.
Harold hopping around holding his foot, “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” like a cartoon.

Both of us talking over each other, asking,
“Are you ok?”
“I’m fine, are YOU ok?”
“Just give me a second.”

We did that older person inventory we do now.
Can I move my fingers?
My toes?
Is anything bleeding?
Do I need ice or prayer or both?

Once we realized we were not going to the ER and we were, in fact, going to live, we just looked at each other.

And then we burst out laughing.

Big, ridiculous, can’t-quite-catch-your-breath laughing.

We laughed at the idea that we still think we can do everything we used to do

We laughed at the picture we must have been just a few minutes ago. 

We laughed as we said, “Well, we will not be doing that again.”

And under the laughter, there it was.

GRATITUDE.

Grateful we did not break anything important.
Grateful we could still get up off the floor, even if it took a minute.
Grateful to have someone beside me who checks on me first, then jokes about how stubborn we both are.

Aging Is Not The Enemy

I’ll be honest. I do not always love what I see in the mirror. There are days when my own face surprises me. My skin is softer, but not in the baby-soft kind of way. There are lines that did not used to be there. Things sit lower than they used to.

I could spend a lot of energy fighting that.
Or I can remember I earned those lines…because I have lived a full life.

Laugh lines from years of smiling at kids, family, friends, and my students over the years.
Frown lines from nights of worry that eventually passed.                                                                                                                                                            Sleeplessness from walking the floors and working hard to provide for those I love.
Softness in my body from dinners shared, babies held, grief carried, and then peacefully put down.

Is my body the same as it was at 40? Nope.
Is it supposed to be? Also no.

This body has carried me through raising kids, loving people I had to say goodbye to, moving, starting over, making hard decisions, and all the regular days in between.

So yes, I am grateful.
Not in the “everything is perfect” way.
In the “I am still here” way.

The Quiet, Ordinary Gifts

Here is what I am grateful for in this season of my life:

• That my kids still love me, exactly as I am

• That my partner and I can fall (literally), then sit on the couch we were trying to move and laugh until our stomachs hurt

• That my senses still let me taste fresh cilantro and lime in my salsa, enjoy my favorite music, smell coffee brewing, feel a soft blanket, and see a magnificent sunset

• That my body may complain, but it still carries me to the people I love

• That I know more now than I used to, and I am kinder to myself than I have ever been

Aging is not a punishment.
It is a strange, beautiful privilege that not everyone gets.

So if you are also noticing your face changing, your bones talking back, or your balance adding a little drama to the day, maybe pause for a second. Put a hand on your heart and thank the body that got you here.

Thank your knees for every step they have taken.
Thank your hands for every meal they have cooked and every back they have rubbed.
Thank your eyes for every sunrise, every book, every loved one’s face.

You do not have to love every part of aging. I sure don’t.
But you can let gratitude sit beside the frustration.

You can fall with a small sofa involved, gasp for air, and still end the story like this:

We are here on this Earth.
We are alive.
We get one more day to love and be loved.

And that, wrinkle by wrinkle, is something worth being grateful for.

I’m sending love and gratitude your way this week,

Diana
Love is ALL there is