Our Days Are Numbered

Strange, lately I've been a bit more melancholy than usual.
Maybe it's due to my being forty-six and female which really screams, "hormonal!" at many different levels.
It could also be this head cold (are there any other kind?) that seems to keep me in a chronic daze.

I've also considered that it may be caused by my mothers needing me more than usual of late. And her overall condition being one of dependency on me.
This past visit, where we tried to have her knee replacement surgery done, I was acutely aware of how old she's really become...how frail...and feeble, her body worn out.
I became more aware of her mortality.
And in becoming more aware of her mortality, I became more aware of my own.

Days of climbing stairs to the children's bedrooms remind me that these knees are not new.
I'm reminded of many years ago, sitting in my grandparents living room, and watching Barnaby Jones, my grandmother complained about her knees.
Not much later, she would have surgery on both of them and the picture is still crystal clear in my mind of her scarred knees, the walker, and the sighing, groaning, and moaning.
Our days are numbered. Not to say that with sadness but to alert me to the fact that I have little time to make a difference, a positive difference in the lives that He has entrusted me with.
I take so much for granted and blindly walk through life at times begrudging the housework, the responsibilities, even so sadly the time I must give to my family.
Selfish, selfish one...am I.
The time will not be returned...it is precious and fleeting.
My days are numbered, my time measured.
~Julie~