This is not a crisis note. It is a reflection on grief, aging, motherhood, mortality, and the strange ache of being alive.

Life is fragile, and no one makes it out.

Nothing really matters in the way we sometimes want things to matter. Nothing will be remembered forever. Chaos is always waiting to take over and rule. Seeds fall. Saplings grow. Trees bloom, and then they fall too.

I am not scared. I understand it is coming for us all.

I just want to see my children grow into the people they are becoming. They are what anchor me to life. They are not my only reason for living, but they are part of the motivation that helps me keep seeing each day through.

I can do this. I can continue to push forward.

Nothing is wrong, exactly. I just find the pull of the end strong sometimes.

I do not like watching my parents grow old, but I enjoy watching them live their lives. I hate seeing my aunts and uncles get older as time and the world take their toll. I hate that my mother-in-law left this world so soon, even though she was trying so hard to live long, strong, and healthy.

I hate that I know others who are still living after abusing their bodies, while she is gone.

I hate that I even make the comparison.

None of it seems fair or right.

And still, I know I am lucky in ways that should make me feel grateful. I know there are ways I should never feel sad. But the feeling does not stop. The emotions keep flowing like black water.

I hate that I think in levels of performance. Even when I write honestly, there is always a thought in the back of my mind: What if someone reads this? What if someone sees what I am doing? What happens if I end up on the internet or TV? Then what?

Why do I always think about that?

There is so much to do and nothing to do at all.

I am not important. The world is big, and the universe is bigger. I will be fine. There is all the time in the world, and no time at all. So maybe I should just do what there is to do now. Plan for the future I would like. Move in that direction with the people I love.

That can still count, even if we have to go slow. Even if we take a detour. Even if we rearrange the pieces and start somewhat over.

In the big picture, I may be small.

But in my picture, I am everything.

To my children, I am their foundation. I am one of the pillars of their lives. So I have to hold it together. Not because I am pretending to be untouched by grief, fear, or heaviness, but because my life still has work, love, and meaning inside it.

I do not need to worry so much about those to the left or right of me in comparison. I just need to help the people entrusted to me thrive where I can.

Maybe I will continue to mean nothing and everything in my own small speck of the world.

And maybe that is enough.

“Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life…”
1 Thessalonians 4:11