Taking the time to be

This is Labor Day Week-end, and we drove up to Montreal to see my husband’s mom with our son Daniel. The trip was lovely, it is so nice to just be–together. Once we got here, life just changed.
Time just stops out here, or rather slows down drastically. We sat in my husband’s mom small apartment, and visited. Set the table, cut the bread, ate. Sat some more. Talked, remembered the past. Set the table, cut the bread and ate. Talked some more. Sat the table, cooked some dinner, cut the bread and ate. Looked at some pictures and talked some more. Went to bed. And started all over again. Such a simple life, but good.
I took the time to purposefully listen to her. My husband set her up for winter, checking her fireplace, replacing batteries; he moved a piece of furniture, tightened a couple of screws. My son is very good at listening with his heart, and people notice. Then he shared some of his life with her, and she lived through him. We made her happy. And that made me happy.
Taking the time to be–what a lost art these days; what a precious gift…

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