I am not one to write of doom and gloom. Not one to write about the ending. I am so much more adept at the beginning, at the journey, at the hope that the process ushers forth.
Yet life, every single life, has an ending.
And so today when I received an email at work, informing us that a member of our work family had passed away Tuesday after a car accident, I could not escape the need to ponder, for a moment, on the end.
Sometimes we forget, actually far too easily we forget, how precious just one more day is. How important just one more breath is. Or how fleeting our worries, our cares, our burdens are when the final curtain closes.
This father of two did not know when he shut his car door that he would never open it again. He did not know when he last spoke to his wife, those words would be their goodbye. And he did not know that he would never walk his daughter down the aisle or celebrate his son’s first “real” job.
He did not know. And neither do we.
So sometimes we need to stop. We need to press pause. We need to re-evaluate the weight of our days, the heaviness of one more try, one last time.
Sometimes we need to realize that even a sunrise is a treasure beyond any other in our world of tangible goods. Just one more day is worth all of the dreams any tomorrow will ever hold.
Infertility is hard. Seeing our dreams shattered is devastating.
Yet today, I woke up. Today I walked my dogs in the morning mist. Today I kissed my husband goodbye. And today I wrote a letter to my future child. Today I got to try again.
Don’t waste a day. Make sure you get the gift before it is gone. The gift of just one more of everything, every single time you get it.