There’s something about the mountains that makes everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Maybe it’s the way the morning light slowly finds its way across the valleys. Maybe it’s the quiet, the changing leaves, or simply being surrounded by something so much bigger than ourselves.

This past weekend, I escaped to the mountains with my dear friend Kathy. We laughed, talked, listened to music, watched movies and true crime, enjoyed some beautiful views, and spent a little time just being. No schedules to manage. No appointments to coordinate. No problems that needed solving.

And after the last several weeks, I needed that more than I realized.

Back home, the last few weeks had been anything but peaceful.

The days following Mike’s surgery were difficult. He experienced some changes in his comprehension and communication that were concerning, particularly because those things had been relatively unaffected before surgery. There were moments when he struggled to find the right words or confused simple things that ordinarily wouldn’t have given him a second thought.

I’m happy to report that he’s doing so much better.

His comprehension has returned to his pre-surgery baseline, and he’s much more like himself again. He’s been released to return to light work and can even drive short distances. Those might sound like small milestones, but in our world, they’re pretty significant.

Yesterday was a rough day as he continued tapering off the steroid he was prescribed after surgery. But today, he’s up, feeling much better, and moving forward.

And I’m grateful.

We’re still living from one MRI to the next, with December 1 being the next date on the calendar. And while I’m thankful for the good news we’ve received, there’s always that little bit of uncertainty lingering in the background.

But life doesn’t stop between appointments. And neither should we.

Something I’ve been thinking about lately is how easy it is to become so consumed with what might happen tomorrow that we forget to appreciate what’s happening today.

In the mountains this weekend, I watched the sunrise slowly illuminate the ridges and valleys. It didn’t happen all at once. The light came gradually, finding its way into the shadows, one little piece at a time.

There are still things we can’t see clearly, but there’s light, too.

It’s in hearing Mike sound like himself again. It’s in watching him regain a little independence. It’s in laughing with a friend until your cheeks and your belly hurt. It’s in a quiet mountain morning when, for just a little while, the world doesn’t demand anything of you.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. None of us do. We don’t have to have all the answers to appreciate the moment we’re in.

Mike is feeling better. We’re finding a little normalcy again. And I got to spend a few days in the mountains, filling my cup with friendship, laughter, and some much-needed peace.

I’ll take it.

One day at a time. Moment by moment. Every day. ❤️

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