The alarm tapped into my mind like the incessant buzzing of a mosquito. Quickly snapping it off, I lay with my eyes closed for a couple of seconds. I didn't want to run. My eyes remained closed as my brain warred with the pros and cons of running. Eight miles seemed infintely longer at 3:00 in the morning than it had a mere 4 hours earlier when I closed my eyes to sleep. The dark room lit up momentarily as I glanced at my phone for the temperature. 55 degrees was perfect running weather. Change was coming and runs at that temperature would be fewer and further between. Rolling out, I gathered my watch, phone and earbuds, vowing to get it finished.
Stepping onto the front porch I breathed deeply, stretching my arms above my head. The moon lounged plump and bright in the western sky. It's light bathing the ground and mixing with pre-dawn blackness to paint the sky deep charcoal and blue. Only the brightest stars defied the moon's beams, peeking out at irregular intervals. Giving myself an internal pep talk, I set my Garmin and took off. The focus would be to finish without thinking about mile splits.
Striding the first stretch, my muscles warmed up quickly, allowing me to enjoy the morning. Getting into a rhythm I savored the surrounding beauty and the silence of my sleepy town, thankful I chose to get out of bed. My thoughts, for the most part, were quiet, which is unusual considering my mind is typically on maximum overdrive. The internal quiet allowed me to reflect on the past week and weeks to come. Change. Today would be the first full week of school for my youngest. Summer is officially over. My heart ached thinking about it. I was now hugging a junior in high school each morning.
Summer flew by and I thought of the little moments over the past few months that meant the most to me; the few sleepy mornings Rockstar wasn't up for weights at 6:00 or 7:00, when he would search me out for a morning hug, the hugs and smiles as he headed out the door before the sun was up. The rustling of T as he was up for weights and then work, the hugs, prayers before breakfast and then watching them both drive off to meet their day. Each morning as they left I stood at the door or on the porch and waved. They always drive slowly and wave back. It seemed a simple thing to wave the first time T drove off in his truck at 16, but now I treasure those quick moments. The ability to watch them grow up in a single snapshot taken over and over again.
My oldest has been slowly moving into his new apartment and yesterday was his final day at home. I cried and I'm not a crier. I have savored every moment with him this summer, hugs, laughs, memories, meals and even laundry. We have been prepping and planning since before the 15th, his official move-in day. He's excited, as are we, but I believe we were all dreading the change. He might have even delayed making the final jump to help his parents transition. An apartment is more permanent, without the need to come home for meals or laundry and seems to be the next step towards self-sufficient independence.
With each step this morning I work to regulate my breathing and heart rate. Thinking of the over six years I've run this town, I glance at homes I've passed hundreds upon hundreds of times. I've watched patterns, routines and seasons change with each home. I've seen grass and flowers grow, bloom and die, winter wind bang the windows and snow pile around the sidewalks. I've seen sprinklers paint the dark streets and golden leaves chase each other to the ground. I have seen windows bright with red, white and blue bunting, jack-o-lanterns, turkeys and glowing Christmas trees. Change is inevitable and necessary and just like growing pains, can sometimes hurt. It helps challenge us, forcing us to grow by looking for new and different experiences.
With each step I kiss the pavement and absorb the beauty of the summer morning. Music streams through my buds, but doesn't impact me as much as in days past, simply providing background music for my swirling thoughts. The sky seems darker mid-run with the moon dropping for a much needed nap on the other side of the world. Hidden stars begin to peek between what is left of the dark dawn. Warm breezes, full of summer, touch my senses with smell. Wanting to cling to summer as long as possible I breathe in; a field of flowers, freshly mowed grass mixed with the sweet scent of a cherry lollipop, brewing coffee drifts from the hospital and a few fast food places warming the stoves for breakfast. Each car I pass carrys its own signature; fresh cologne, cigarette smoke or the pungent smell of an unwashed body. It is a tapestry that mixes beautifully or painfully with the vision of the morning.
Moonbeams bounce off leaves, turning them from dark summer green to fairy world silver. Grass, damp from sprinklers, catches the moon and reflects glowing diamonds caught between the blades. Orion, the mighty hunter, begins his hike slowly across the sky waiting for the bright camouflage of the sun. I imprint all of this, knowing this will change as well. In a month, or even a week the bite of fall will change my runs. The fairy silver and green leaves will morph into the yellow, red and orange of autumn. The soft edges that accompany heat filled summer days will give way to the sharpness of cold air and biting wind.
Despite my earlier struggle, the run is going well, my legs are loose, my shoulders remain relaxed and I continue knocking out mile after mile. Bunnies race me up empty streets and cats watch and wonder with shining eyes. Each one receives a smile, wave and a quiet good morning. The time changes with each step and I am closer to finishing. Toward the final mile the solitude and stolen moments of quiet begin to disappear. Others begin to rise, preparing for their day. Lights click on, shining through windows, bathing sidewalks and streets in a calm yellow glow. The purr of engines can be heard coming behind me and the unblinking stare of headlights trumble toward me. The morning is beginning and homes are waking up.
I think of my house, the beginning and end of my runs and home to so many, moments, memories and changes. Though not fancy, our little house has watched us grow, making many changes with us along the way. It was our first major purchase as a couple, with two empty bedrooms and plenty of room for guests. It has seen us raise our boys, provided shelter, kept us safe and weathered many storms internally and externally. Guest rooms turned to offices, a nursery and toddler rooms. Toys changed to sports equipment and we changed again by adding a basement with separate bedrooms. Decorations changed to reflect the seasons and the boys' ages. Now it changes again as we have a quasi-empty room that will once again be used for guests. The fence was the first addition to our home 22 years ago. We were giddy with excitement to finish enclosing our backyard, providing a place for our big dog to romp around. In the years that have elapsed the space has changed, seeing plastic toddler slides and kiddy pools, a trampoline, slip and slides, nerf guns, golf balls and now a deck.
Change. I kick up my pace for the final half mile thinking of our life. In two more years our life will face another major change. Our house will be quiet, echoing only the ramblings of empy-nesters, but we will be thankful and embrace the new adventure.
Finishing the last hill I turn off my Garmin and smile. We have raised incredible young men, created amazing memories and a life to be thankful for and proud of. Each season of change hasn't been easy. We have fought, cried, laughed and loved. We have jumped in with both feet on big decisions, sometimes winging it as we went. Our lives have been measured by embracing moments during change; hugs the boys never stopped giving, regardless of their ages; "I love you"s in front of friends, waves and smiles as they drove to school, sports or a job; pride and excitement for a first apartment. Life is measured by a simple, uprompted text from our 20 year old, the day after he moves out, "I love you guys."
