A Day Like This

by Kelley McNeil

He who loves an old house Never loves in vain, How can an old house, Used to sun and rain, To lilac and to larkspur, And an elm above, Ever fail to answer The heart that gives it love? —Isabel Fiske Conant

Because deep down, I’ve accepted he’s right. Though right now I hate him too much to tell him. Everything inside me twists at the thought of leaving. This house was the kind of place where people land for good. A final destination home where roots are planted, beloved pets are buried, picnics are held, and grandchildren visit. Most people don’t leave yellow houses. And most people don’t leave things behind. But sometimes, they do.

But what I loved most about it was the sound—falling snow on a dark night or a quiet afternoon. The tiny pings of the icier snowflakes bumping up against one another as they fell, hitting tree branches and windows. As if the whole world had stopped to take a quiet breath and then held it.

Every life has choices. Do we take the job or don’t we? Do we buy the house or not? Do we break off the engagement or go through with the wedding? Do we go through the yellow light or wait? Our path—the people we love, the life we lead—is forever altered by each decision large and small.

Some choices are easier than others. The key is to be at peace in the moment. To celebrate the here and now. No life is perfect, I’ve learned. But if you’re lucky, it can come pretty close.