Learned the movements as a kid, lost on what they mean

My grandchildren run past my prayer mat at fajr, chasing the rooster I used to keep. I still fold my hands the way my mother taught me, I still say the words she taught us on a hot courtyard evening, but I do not know how to make them mean anything to me now. I am a grandmother with nine names to call, but when I bend in sujood my mind is inventorying the kitchen, a text left on read, the dry bread by the stove. I feel quiet and grown, like a person who remembers the choreography but never learned the music. Has anyone else felt this small, and what did it look like for you?