We aren’t hiking Bald River Falls. We aren’t driving through the Smoky Mountains. We aren’t even sure about eating out at one of our favorite restaurants, but we will play that by ear and go if James is up to it.

He is so very tired. He is the first to bed and the last to rise and is napping twice in between. He hadn’t been up for long today when I found him asleep in the living room. I joined him on the couch, resting his head against me and just sat.

I am acutely aware that every moment matters and so while my phone was nearby and Wordle had yet to be completed and I had news to catch up on and reservations to book, I chose, instead, to be as present in the moment as I could possibly be.

My hand rested across his chest, feeling his every breath. I could smell the memory-inducing scent of One Egg Cake that I had just put in the oven to have with strawberries later. George Winston’s all-too-familiar album was playing softly in the kitchen. Dad was shooting pool at the clubhouse and Judy was working on her crossword in the other room.

I looked around the living room, a home I didn’t grow up in, nor the one the older grandchildren associate with their grandparents, and yet one filled with familiar furniture and knick-knacks. The rocking chair in the corner has been reupholstered, but still reminds me of my grandparents’ house. The washstand makes me remember a childhood hiding place that still elicits a giddy joyfulness in my soul.

The sunshine pouring in through the windows leads my gaze to the feeders hanging from the trees outside and the constant motion of feathered wings as the birds gather for a bite.

As I look back at my beloved, lying in my lap, and I watch his peaceful sleep, I realize this might not be the typical itinerary for our time in Tennessee, but being here, in any capacity, has the same effect as always- it does our souls good. And I am mindful, especially, of how precious such moments are.