I turned on a light switch in our laundry room this morning and poof a light bulb went off, er, on, actually. I remembered nearly a year ago moving in to this house and being positively twitchy about the fact that a) the light switch for the laundry room is in the laundry room (not as bizarre as that sounds since the switch is behind the door in this teeny tiny room and the door has to be somewhat closed to get to the switch) and b) the room is windowless and therefore dark much of the time and gets more so as you close the door to find the switch located over the utility sink and under a shelf – baaaaad idea, and c) the switch is the middle of three switches. The other two are for the garage and the kitchen over the table. Yes, technically, the laundry is “in the middle” of those two other rooms, but c’mon people. When you move into a home that hasn’t been cleaned properly, smells musty and is not what the doctor ordered (but has since been rectified) you can get peeved about the “little things”.
My brain then shifted gears and did the analogous thing it usually does and I realized that with time, many things seem to lose their all-fired importance or hurt or the sharp edges they used to have when we were “in the moment”. I immediately thought how the hurt I felt immediately after my Dad died has softened some. It’s not ever-present any longer and I have tender, happy memory-filled moments now, too.
Then this tricky brain of mine did the jump to the reactions I have to my mom’s dementia. I used to get frustrated and irritated and impatient. That doesn’t happen nearly as frequently as it did in the beginning. And watching her progression is watching a softening as well…at least to this point. She’ll allow me to provide her the word she’s desperately searching for. Early on that was a personal affront.
Another thing that came to mind was our secondary infertility. It used to consume me. I would be checking dates and reading articles and be hyper-focused on it. Now, I’m only reminded when I read about another’s struggle or when our dear daughter asks for a sibling. I keep telling her to pray and heck, hit Santa up, we’re still open to the miracle, but so far our numbers are steady.
It was a great reminder to me that God’s in charge and if I wait long enough the pains will ebb.
Photo by Chance Agrella from freerangestock.com