The Little Things

The other day a friend posted on Facebook that her daughter told her she was thankful for stairs. I chuckled when I read it. It was a little ironic though since in recent weeks as I have vacuumed the steps at my house I think about how I hate stairs.

It may sound weird. I don't hate them because I have to vacuum them. Or because it takes a little effort to climb them.

No, I hate them because they remind me of my mother's death. She fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Nine days later she died. I was with her when the accident happened. I didn't realize she was there by the steps. I heard a little, "oh" and turned just in time to see her fall, but not enough time to race over a catch her.

That moment has tormented me for the last three years and often I get to the top of a set of steps and suddenly I am reliving it and can't breathe.

But I don't want to live in those moments and so I push them away and remember who my mom was. I remember her smile and her zest for life. I remember all the little things she taught me about life and living. That's what life is made of after all; the little things that we share with one another and teach one another. And for those memories and those things I shared with my mother I am very thankful.