EACH. SINGLE. PART. of this weekend

My thirty-two hour visit home was a weekend snap chat of sharing life. With set aside schedules,  the text of our lives stilled space at a resting heart's rate where the soul's private oases became the basis of chatter. Indulging day dream talk of dreams suspended and bucket list chases as the sun reigned down and the wind danced  leaves above our heads. Mom's dream to sky dive was as high priced as dad's dream to continue to drive.  Walking the parkway the way we each share life with each other: ahead, behind, beside, quiet, and close. Blowing to cool home-made pot pies while we fanned the flames of  wishes and words. Oohing over the gooey cake and buttering the jokes thick. Searching and finding the owl in Carondelet park as we do the wisdom from our days: expecting and deliberate.  And then when life's end is discussed while sitting in the middle of these days, the mind's tunnels envision that   each.    single.    part.    of.     life.  should.    be.    held.    hard.  

The power of these passing moments propels us to the possibilities of the heart of our chatter, the genuine matter: his story became her story and her story became my story and my story became her story. Our stories merged our seeing with another's eyes and our feeling with the another's heart. 

And never again do we argue this life but absorb this life.

And in the margin of this weekend's page I write: 

EACH.       SINGLE.       PART.       SHOULD.   BE.       HELD.       HARD!