She didn’t survive. But she lived.
I read some variant of that phrase today.
A guy stole a plane in 2018. He flew over Mt. Rainier, marveling at its majesty. He took in some other mountains. Eventually, he crashed the plane in a non-populated area, apologizing to everyone who loved him.
“He didn’t survive, but he lived,” read one of the comments.
I thought about Mom when I read that.
We lived a small life. But she always said I gave her more of a life than any man did or could.
I thought about my grandfather, always so happy with so little. I spoiled Mom as best as I could. Though I could have done better. Did as much as she’d let me.
Like my grandfather, she was so grateful for so little. A good meal, a waterfront house, a couple weekend trips a year.
I barely looked at her because I worked so much. But she spent long days making crafts with Kadie and collecting beautiful things and memes.
And she was happy.
She didn’t survive her awful illness.
But oh how she lived. And loved.