Seven days spent in the hospital last year were full ones, not so much because time went slowly, but in many ways because the activities were so intense. Working up to getting out of bed was a major effort many times a day, followed by increasing the length of walks down the hallway and eventually a welcome walk to the car to go home.
When nephew Royson started preschool this fall, every morning during the first week of school he asked his mom Kelsy how long was the day going to be. She reassured him it would be the just like the last day, same length, and that she or Papa or Nana would be there without fail to pick him up.
He cried each day of that first week to leave his parents or grandparents who dropped him off. Now he cries when he gets picked up because he enjoys school and his friends so much that he doesn’t want to leave.
Hal sent me flowers on the one-year anniversary of my surgery with a card that said, “Every day a treasure.” I keep that one handy. It’s the same 24-hour period as before, but sometimes it is good to stretch an hour or two appreciating what counts and who matters. It may not change the length of our day, but it changes the quality of the time. Just ask Royson.
Beyond Six Five 