Last week, I woke to the smell of warm and delicious.

Bacon, I wondered?

I’d forgotten to buy it and we had talked of grilled cheese sandwiches thick with pork for my sweet son-in-law.

Homemade tomato basil soup was the plan, the sharp cheddar mingled with bacon.

But, I’d forgotten, or was there bacon after all?

I woke up slowly, had words in my mind and some in my hand, added those that were for me using thin leaded pencil on my page in my book called “What God can Do”.

The little room with the window welcoming the day once the curtain had been pushed aside.

Two days here, three nights and sleep wrapped ’round me deeply.

I rested well.

I’m lazy today, the one caring for the one in the kitchen.

My daughter, recovering from surgery and I’ve settled in, grown accustomed to being down the hall, being with her.

Soft footsteps shuffle my way and I look towards the slightly open door.

My daughter brings me breakfast, a burst of energy this morning she says and I say “oh, sausage!” and she says pancakes, good for you, honey not syrup and blueberries on the side.

I stretched my legs long towards the foot of the old bed and indulged as if privileged to be here and knowing surely, I’ll remember.

This morning before I drive her to her places.

We spent the day together, me driving like before. The day, a schedule this, then that and I felt like a mama with the itinerary in place. Still getting better; but, told not to drive.

We treated ourselves to a lunch that made us both feel like we’d never dined. Fancy coffee, fancy little corner we perched and we made a memory.

We made lunch an occasion.

Privileged I am and fortunate for sure.

For I’ve enough little memories of pancakes and times together and sweet little spaces that I’d never have gone,

Were it not for the privilege of being mama and being asked to be with

To be with the one who causes my faith not to waver, who believes, always believes.