It’s been a week surrounded by mortality. I think of my dear friend, who lost a baby before he was able to enter this world.

My grandmother, who lived a full life and who recently passed away at 98. And my grandfather, who left this world less than twenty-four hours ago.


I write this with my son cradled in my lap, peacefully asleep, and so very alive. I feel his breathing, and hear his tiny snore.


We brought two new baby bunnies into our home this week. Their tiny lives gracing us with their presence.


And our first Spring seedlings are sprouting to life behind me in their miniature earthen homes.

I feel swept up in the heartbeat of life. The flow of it, and the piercing wonder of it.

All mixed in, I have been reading Half the Sky. Reading heart-wrenching stories of people around the world in situations I can not begin to imagine.

And I re-read this post on The Regrets of the Dying. I wonder – did my grandpa have any regrets? I never got to ask.

What will I regret on leaving this world? And what will my life have to say? If my life is my message, what will my message be?

Looking back on my year thus far, and its Everyday Beauty, I feel so incredibly blessed, so tiny, and so fragile all at the same time.

Life.  So fleeting. And so impossibly beautiful.

I’ll miss you, Grandpa.