Capacity

She used to be busy. Managing. Directing. Controlling. A real take-charge person. Sure I'll do it she'd say. And she'd think of ten different ways to do it. And she'd do them all. And when those were done she'd think of ten more.

But then her mother died. And her husband retired. And she retired. And her last child went off to college. And her dog died. And she was bereft. And tired. And bored. Her color changed from rosy to grey.

But slowly it came to her that she was released. She no longer needed to be of service. To anyone. Anymore. Anywhere. Her work was done. No more child rearing. No more nursing home hassles. No more bosses. 

I am set free she said. But she didn't know what freedom looked like. Her capacity felt diminished. Shrunk like a starved stomach. Caved in. Dry. Satisfaction faded away. Fulfillment evaporated.

But then, from the grave, her mother gave her a gift. One year later, as the gravestone was placed she received a message. Be happy her mother said. Do only what pleases you. 

And so she did. Will this make me happy she asked about each decision that crossed her. In a very short time she became filled. She sloshed with satisfaction. Her capacity returned.      ©kcasady