There’s a moment that lives rent-free in my mind—a golden memory that replays itself like a slow-motion movie reel every time I need a reminder of what matters.
It was nothing extravagant. No Eiffel Tower in the background, no champagne toasts or designer gowns (though I’m usually down for all three). Just me, a threadbare picnic blanket, and the familiar scent of honeysuckle wafting through the air.
My kids were chasing fireflies under a dusky summer sky. Derek was sprawled out beside me, one arm behind his head, the other lazily tracing the edge of mine. The sky had just tipped into that deep velvet blue, and the world felt hushed—like even the stars were holding their breath.
In that moment, there was no pain, no grief, no past, no future. Just us. Laughing. Breathing. Being.
We didn’t know then how much life would demand from us later. How many hospital rooms we’d sit in. How many times our hearts would shatter and somehow keep beating. But on that night, we were whole. And that memory has become a lighthouse for me—a fixed point I can always return to when the storms roll in.
It’s funny how your favorite moment often doesn’t come with a caption or confetti. Sometimes, it’s just love, quietly existing in a moment you almost didn’t realize was perfect until much later.
What’s your lighthouse moment? The one you return to when life gets loud? Share it with me in the comments—or better yet, write your own post and tag @voguegenics. Let’s build a memory bank together.
✨ P.S. If this touched you, you might also love my post about Letting Go of Kid-Mom—a raw look at another moment I’ll never forget.
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