Thankful at last

It's been a long time since writing, I know. The theory that certain things are not true if I don't commit them to words others can read is, sadly, a faulty one. But difficult truths are truly gifts if we will only unwrap the package.

A little over a week ago, my younger daughter, Jess, very somberly asked me to sit with her on the couch. This usually means something I don't want to hear. True again. She said that watching my health decline was affecting her own health, and that she was leaving to live with her sister and her dad. "I'm 15, Mom. I need to be a kid." While I sobbed in the shower, she packed a few things and left. Just like that, Jim and I were empty-nesters.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and both girls rode down with us to Mom's for the meal. Kelsey regaled us with Tales from the Dissection Table and her new knowledge of worms, grasshoppers, and sharks. Jess said very little. The day quickly wore me out, and toward the end of our visit, Kelsey came and sat with me on the couch, and we lapsed into old habits of conversation and teasing. It was easy and comforting. Jess circled the couch and made touch-downs long enough for a hug and then was gone.

On the way home, I fought sadness. At Mom's, it was easy enough to pretend that we all lived together, but the ride home brought us closer and closer to Kelsey's car and the truth that we don't. As I got closer and closer to tears, my new spiritual training kicked in, and I was able to ask myself what the truth really was. The answer: my children were with me in the car right now, and all I could think of was them being gone. I reeled myself into the present, said some prayers until the sadness lifted, and decided to be grateful.

And that's the real topic today: intentional gratitude. It's the balm for all woundedness. The old song, Counting Your Blessings, contains a lot of wisdom. There's a magic within the act of noticing the joy, peacefulness, revelation, what-have-you, in the moment and being grateful for it.

I am not glad my children are gone, but I am grateful for so many things in their absence:

• Time with my husband. Since we married later in life, already parents, we've never had "just us" time. It's important time for any couple.
• Time for me to heal. It is an incredible gift to be able to focus on my own health and no one else's.
• The possibility of moving to a smaller home. Two-story living has been difficult most days and a great hardship on some. I crave a smaller, single level space.
• The knowledge that my kids will be OK on their own. We've done our primary job as parents, to raise independent children who can set forth into their own lives with confidence.

Painful as change can be, the sooner I looked for the gift in it, the sooner that pain changed to peace and thanksgiving.

Namaste.