This is it.

This is It.

Today morning was the first day of Spring and the clocks turned back. So when it was 6.55 am my son jumped into my bed and woke us up and wanted to start our day but after finally shushing him and taking him to his room so that my husband could get some well-deserved sleeping it I realised the clock was already showing 7.55 am! After getting over the reminder that the clocks had moved one hour back and the real challenge would start on Monday, when work and school begin, I was able to somehow convince my son to play with his toys in his room while I snoozed on his bed. Of course, the sleeping was interrupted every 5 minutes by a comment or question or a loud banging of toys. The effect of this was somehow a vivid fever dream in my sheer exhaustion coupled with the sudden streaming in and out of consciousness with my son’s questions. I was having dreams that stood out vividly and remained in my mind. I was 83 and watching my grandkids play. Life had neither been bad nor amazing, there were no real hardships and no real euphoria but here were my grandkids and my two healthy grown adult kids and I was helping with childcare because I was physically, mentally and emotionally able to and willing to. As I watched everyone in front of my, in my 83 year old mind, I thought, without any strong feelings, “This is It.”. Somehow, even in my dream I knew it meant two things. That this is it, there’s nothing more. It’s just this melodic tune without much deviation, staccato, or crescendo. That’s it. As the same time, I also felt “This is IT.” It is painless, the fears were unfounded, the anxieties didn’t play out and it is what I have hoped for (of course, the other feeling was negating at the very thing I had hoped for).

It wasn’t a very long dream but it was a feeling that stayed with me as I woke up and remembered the short, vivid, realistic dream (memory?) and started the day with my son somehow syncing up with the requests I made of him, and as I glided through making breakfast without much thought, going through the repetitive yet comforting motions of making what I have made everyday for so many days now. This is it. This is It.