If You Could Hear My Heart

Last week, I celebrated my 61st birthday.

 

Once again, I could hear Little Mama's voice gently chiding me for telling my age. But the longer I live, the more I understand what a blessing it is to see another day. To be able to move, walk, do Pilates, drink wine, and enjoy the simple things in life without assistance.

 

But if I'm being completely transparent, July felt incredibly heavy.

 

July 4th marked three years since Papa Kemp graduated to be with Jesus. Nineteen days later was my birthday, which also marked three years since I held his celebration of life at Saladworks. Add in a three-day conference, client proposals, and then the frosting on the cake: the bittersweet process of letting go of catering and baking supplies from a chapter of my life that no longer exists in the same way, and it became one emotional weight after another.

 

Saying goodbye to a part of yourself that doesn't exist in the same form anymore must be Webster's definition of mixed emotions.

 

You may be wondering, "Why is she telling me all this? This feels like a diary entry!"

 

Well... stay with me for another minute because this is where the story comes together.

 

I'm guilty of looking at how much I think still lies ahead instead of giving myself credit for how far I've come or celebrating the life I'm living right now. Anyone else guilty as charged?

 

One of the greatest lessons Papa Kemp didn't even know he was teaching me was to stop waiting for the "perfect" moment to spend time together.

 

I'd simply ask if he wanted to ride along while I ran errands. Nothing fancy. Nothing elaborate. Nothing super secret. Just me and my dad buzzing around town in Little Mama's 20+ year old Honda CR-V under a beautiful Carolina blue sky.

 

Those ordinary trips became extraordinary memories because they weren't centered around doctors' appointments, hospitals, medications, or his paranoia. They were simply opportunities to be together and for him to see a little piece of my everyday life.

 

I still remember one afternoon when I asked if he wanted to come with me.

 

At first he said no. A few seconds later he changed his mind and said, "Well, hell... I might as well go with you. It sure as sh#t beats sitting around here!" Classic Papa Kemp.

 

After he graduated, looking over at the empty passenger seat and seeing his sunglasses still sitting in the console felt incredibly lonely.

 

Lately, I've realized I've started doing something I promised myself I wouldn't.

 

I've been so focused on the next keynote, the next proposal, the next opportunity...The next. The next. The next.

 

I've forgotten to celebrate the life I'm living while I'm busy building it. Papa Kemp taught me better than that.

 

I don't think his late-stage Alzheimer's could have survived a traditional vacation, but we had holidays, birthdays, running to Aldi, picking out supplies at Michael's, and his unwavering love for lunch or dinner at Saladworks.

 

If your loved one isn't mobile or is homebound, involve them in simple household tasks or invite them along on everyday errands. Let go of the quest for perfection and simply know you're helping them feel seen, valued, useful, and like they aren't just "in the way."

 

The same principle applies at work. Sometimes the most memorable support isn't a grand gesture. It's simply helping someone feel seen.

 

 

Maybe it's a loved one, an employee who's quietly balancing work and caregiving, or simply someone who's carrying more than you realize. You just might create a memory they'll cherish long after the errand is forgotten.

 

At the time, those moments felt ordinary. Today, I'd give just about anything for one more ordinary errand.

 

If you could hear my heart today, it would simply say this...

Because one ordinary afternoon of errands may quietly become one of the moments you treasure most.

 

As I blew out the candle on my birthday, I realized the greatest gifts weren't waiting somewhere in the future.

 

They were already happening. They were sitting around the table celebrating with me. You may already be living the memories you'll one day wish you could have back.

 

 

More to come,

Chef Maria