"What is it we remember of a life? From those 28,000 days if we are lucky enough to live that long? Those 960 months? ...Surely our days are measured in small things, small connections, small thoughts. It's not meetings and deals closed. It is our children. Talking of the day, of lunch, of coloring, of nonsense, the parent listening, half listening, not listening, because this is a thing we do, we daily do, morning and afternoon, the little holy rituals that make up a day, a life, a drop-off and pick-up, an expected thing, a known thing, a wave to the crossing guard, to a mom friend, to Ravi and Angie and Brandon, little school friends. My, how they've grown. New lunch box? New backpack? Good day? Hold my hand, sweetheart. Listen to your mother. A shared smile with the other mothers. They know this world. Can you believe this new principal? Did you hear so-and-so got laid off? The deli charges $5 for a half gallon of milk now. Ineffable feelings. The best kind. Words overrated. Time to go home now. She puts him in the car, in his car seat, buckles him in, burying her face in his neck, a little kiss. We'll go home and have a snack and play and then dinner and a bath and bed. A story. Frog and Toad again. Fishy kisses. Super-tuck. He asks for a super-tuck. That's what he calls it. Night, Mom. See you tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. We have time. Of course we have time. Please dear God."
-John Kenney, I See You've Called in Dead
