My checklist.

Food on the table.
Roof over our heads.
Minor aches.
Son playing guitar.
Daughter watching "What Not to Wear."
Husband paying bills.
Bruno and Lizzie asleep on the floor.
Washer running for the 200th time.
Dishwasher unloaded and ready to go again.
Vacuum needs to be run.
Out of milk.
A few slices of pizza left over.
Sun peaking through cold, fresh clouds.
Yellow finches bouncing around our feeders.
Prom next week.
Spring football in two weeks.
Thankful, isn't large enough.
Gratitude almost reaches.
I hear as she tells me of a very sick young man.
Fighting for life and his parents are looking for the correct plan.
The doctors have told them just how serious it is.
No dancing or pranking.
Bones just too fragile to stand.
Cancer has risen.
It's cruel, ugly head.
Causing a young soul to worry about dying, instead.
Parents whose knees buckle under the news.
Their breath comes in grasps at the truth.
I stand as I listen, feeling my own knees become weak.
No, it isn't mine, but I feel the answers a mother would seek.
As I hang the phone and my head.
I look at my floor, that needed attention.
And suddenly I can't see the dust.
I see my family.
I see their faces.
I feel one mother's grief.
Mychecklist is most beautiful this night.
Infact, each item, now gives me delight.