The Things That Matter

Remembering the little things that make a life whole

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that life is built on both the grand and the quiet moments. The big ones — wedding, honeymoon, finishing a half-marathon — were easy to spot as they happened. I knew instantly they’d be memories I’d carry with me forever. But just as powerful are the smaller moments, the ones you don’t recognize as special until you look back and see how they stitched themselves into the fabric of your life.

This past holiday weekend was one of those rare blends of both. I’ve always leaned toward being an anxious introvert — a bit of a recluse, really — but I’ve been making more of an effort lately, partly for Caleb’s sake, to spend time with extended family.

My grandmother has lived in Florida for most of my life, yet during the season of planning my wedding and honeymoon, our relationship deepened in ways I hadn’t expected. Despite the miles between us, we grew close. Distance never really stopped me anyway. We talk nearly every day on Facebook, and she’s become one of my greatest supporters — and one of Caleb’s biggest fans. Ever since he was born, I’d been counting down to the day they would meet.

That meeting finally came this summer. It wasn’t picture-perfect — Caleb was a little crabby — but perfection and meaning aren’t the same thing. What mattered is that Caleb was held by his great-grandmother, smiled at his great-grandfather, and began building the kind of connection most kids aren’t lucky enough to have. That thought alone fills me with gratitude.

The weekend unfolded the way it always does when my grandparents are in town: family everywhere, food, laughter, and the kind of chaos that feels oddly comforting. There were countless moments I’ll carry with me — Caleb snoozing on his great-grandma’s chest, posing with his cousin in their matching holiday shirts, riding his first carousel at a Chuck E. Cheese birthday party.

I snapped dozens of pictures so I wouldn’t forget, but the truth is, I don’t think I ever could. These moments — both the grand and the fleeting — are what a life is made of.