Three generations in one place.
Conversations that loop back to stories you've not heard in a while.
Nothing urgent.
Nothing scheduled after.
These days don't announce themselves.
They arrive looking ordinary.
A long lunch.
An afternoon that stretches.
Laughter between people who share more history than they talk about.
Gratitude doesn't hit in the moment.
It lands on the drive home.
When the car is quiet and you realise how full you feel.
Not because anything remarkable happened.
But because everyone was there.
And you were present enough to notice.
Some days aren't milestones.
They're borrowed hours you didn't know to ask for.
