Sunday Pause

On my heart this Sunday is a morning with my fur baby, Reese, that I wish I could have back.

A year ago today, I woke up with her and cuddled with her, as I always did. I told her not to jump off the bed. She had stairs, but she loved to jump. She was getting older, and I was afraid she’d hurt her back. It seemed like any other morning.

I got ready for a tea house date with my life partner. Before I left, I kissed Reese on the forehead, stopped by my daughter’s room, knocked and let her in. Reese knew weekends were for time together. She was with the little lady she helped raise.

When I left the house, there were seventeen hours remaining before she passed. There hadn’t been a single clue that anything was wrong. I had no idea that life was about to change in ways I wasn’t prepared for, hadn’t even considered as a possibility that day.

If I had known, I would never have gotten out of bed. If staying there with her could have meant she stayed forever, I would never have left.

This Sunday, I keep thinking about that ordinary morning and how much it holds for me now. I wish we had more time. I’m grateful I woke with her, that we cuddled, that I kissed her forehead before I left. I thank God for the time we shared that day, for our fifteen years together, and for everyone in my life.

I’m grateful for the everyday moments that fill our lives. I don’t want to take the typical for granted. We are not guaranteed more time with those we love.