My daughter and I were sitting on the front porch yesterday, enjoying the sun and visiting with each other. Just home from her freshman year in college, she’s brimming with excitement for the summer ahead and having time off from her studies to work and earn some money.
“I wonder what we were doing on this day a year ago?” she mused.
I looked up at the bright blue sky, searching my memory. Nothing specific jumped out at me.
“Grammy and Pop were still here for your graduation week,” I said. “We were doing something with them.”
“I was probably hanging out with friends for part of the day,” she said.
“And I was probably going to the grocery store, thinking about meals, making sure Grammy and Pop were enjoying themselves.”
I paused. Then added:
“Isn’t it interesting how it’s only been a year and we can’t remember details of a day?” I said. “I wonder if a year from now, we will remember that we had this conversation on this day?”
She smiled. “Probably not.”
“Yet this day is important, isn’t it? You and I sitting here, enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon together? Not headline material, but important in its own right.”
“Kind of like Facebook,” she laughed.
“And my Twitter feed!” I added.
We gazed out at the roses. Their petals were backlit with sunshine.
“Life keeps on going like that, doesn’t it? One moment after the next. What we’re experiencing right now, right this second, is the only thing, the most important thing of our lives.”
“Until it’s not.”
“Until the next important moment comes along.”
“Like right now,” she said.
I reached over and patted her hand. “Yes, honey. Like right now.”
“And it’s enough.”
And it is.
