I will remember today

You know when you're doing something, even something ordinary like sitting on a park bench, and you know, this is a moment. Even as it is happening you know, I will remember this.  

That was us today, talking at the park while the kids played. Ordinary and yet, remarkable. Remarkable because you are still with us. Months before, there were only wisps and bald spots, now your gray hair, unruly and thicker than ever, blowing in the breeze. My son's favorite dog blanket, wrapped around your shoulders on this unseasonably chilly August afternoon. 

You said yes and came to the park with us! The whirlwind of the day could stop on that park bench. And we just were. Together. Alive. Talking. Mother and daughter. Thank you for showing up to Life. 

All your body has been through, invaded with cancer this past year, and your eyes, your eyes still sparkle blue like the sun dancing on the lake. And your face, glowing. Not only are you still with us. The doctor is right. You are vibrant right now. 

None of us know how long we will live. But you, you've been given extra time.