After a missed Easter, I resolve not to let other holidays slip by unnoticed
I realized I’d let COPD take the meaning out of the days that once mattered to me
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This Easter, I found myself at home with nothing special planned. No ham in the oven, no table set, no small ritual to mark the day. Just a quiet house and a long afternoon. And somewhere in that stillness, I realized I’d let chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) shrink my holidays more than I ever meant to.
It’s easy to do — when your breath is limited, your world can start to feel limited, too. But as I sat there, I felt a tug of truth: I don’t want illness to take the meaning out of the days that once mattered to me.
So I made a vow, right there in the quiet. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that requires more energy than I have. Just this: Every holiday for the rest of the year, I will do something special. Something small, something chosen, something that reminds me I’m still here and still capable of joy.
Finding joy
The key, I realized, is flexibility. COPD doesn’t give me the same body every day. Some mornings I wake up steady; others, I’m working with half a tank. So instead of one ritual, I’ve given myself a little “holiday menu” — three gentle paths I can choose from, depending on how I feel.
The first is beauty. A single flower in a jar. A candle lit with intention. A favorite mug brought out just for the day. A moment by the window noticing the way the light falls or how the season is shifting. These are small, breath‑kind gestures that remind me the world is still full of loveliness.
The second is remembrance. One sentence about a woman who shaped me. One sentence about the woman I’ve become. A memory tucked into a book or placed on the table beside me. This is the quiet honoring — the kind that doesn’t require movement, only presence.
The third is sweetness. A slice of pie. A new candle. A small plant for the windowsill. A short drive down a familiar road just to see what’s blooming. These are the little treats that say, “This day deserves a bit of delight.”
None of these requires a crowd or a feast or a perfectly decorated table. They don’t demand breath I don’t have or energy I can’t spare. They simply ask me to notice the day and choose one small thing that makes it feel like a day worth marking.
So that’s my vow for the rest of the year: not to let holidays slip by unnoticed, not to let illness decide what matters. I’ll wake up on each one and ask myself: What kind of day is this — beauty, remembrance, or sweetness? And then I’ll choose something small and do it on purpose.
Because joy doesn’t have to be big to be real. Sometimes it’s just a flower in a jar, a sentence on a scrap of paper, or a slice of pie eaten slowly at the kitchen table. Sometimes it’s simply deciding that even in a changed body, life is still worth celebrating.
And that’s enough to keep me moving gently toward the next holiday — and the next small joy waiting there.
Note: COPD News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult your physician or other qualified healthcare provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of COPD News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues about chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.
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