Blank pages

 

The house is quiet and seems to sigh, content with memories and echoes of laughter from the last several days. Darkness peeks in through the windows, a contrast to the bright Christmas lights and decorations that still fill my home. The week between Christmas and the new year is a golden week for me, a time to be still, close my eyes, reflect on the past and dream of the future.

The beginning of a year can be just another day, an opportunity to start fresh, or the chance to regroup and find more direction. Although, we don’t need to be held to the first day of the year, we can choose a fresh start every minute, every hour, every day. For me, though, there is something soothing and hopeful about January 1.

Each year is a book with the year stamped in gold on the spine. On January first I open the new book, fluff the empty pages and the distinct smell fills my senses. 365 white sheets wait quietly to be filled. My heart yearns for the first page with pen poised but as with each year, I look at the pages from the previous year, the now full book.

For me, 2022 looked at the COVID years and said, “Hold my beer.” 

                As I began to thumb through, I saw that loss filled pages and pages of 2022. In February I suddenly lost my dad, and the ensuing family chaos was brutal. My heart was broken as I spent months and months and months trying to stave off grief to do my best for my mom and her unhealthy, poor, living situation. I was in survival mode and became the target of attacks accusing me of being an egomaniac, jealous, narcissistic, and many other things. Quietly placed lies accusing me of unbelievable things were selectively shared. Those who chose to believe or perpetuate those lies added loss and heartbreak to my pages. Words splayed in harsh ink, painted a picture, some were neat and coherent, others in caps, red and scribbled with a fierceness betraying the inner sorrow and turmoil that dictated a large portion of my year. Dried tears bubbled the pages in places, causing the ink to bleed and run together.  

As I read, I find other things peppered throughout the chaos. Small, organized quiet words that make my heart smile. Beautifully scrolled words of encouragement, memories and hugs from friends and words filled with light. In those quiet words of last year’s stories, I treasure the moments full of color, clarity, and hope.

A long-awaited trip with our little family to our favorite place, finally celebrating a graduation. Eight days of food, laughter, and memories. The joy of following our oldest as he competed for his final seasons as a D1 track athlete. The miles driven, the flights taken to cheer, hug, love and enjoy watching him do what he loved. We made time, despite negative forces, to attend indoor and outdoor championships.

My heart calms over memories of Wednesday night family dinners, favorite shows, movie nights and quiet conversations. It heals over Sundays with my youngest, chatting over laundry. Joy filled simple moments grace latter pages; dropping off groceries, helping move my oldest into a new place, conversations, and laughter on quick weekend trips. Tyler’s graduation with honors fills a page along with the wonderful things the college and his professors said about him. Austin’s successful first year of college paired with incredible words of praise from his professors. Pages where both boys stepped up in challenging moments to help ease a difficult situation.  

The story of injuries and races slipped into the pages. Moments in the car, beautiful locations, amazing sunrises, and sunsets paint memories. Traditions stayed alive from Easter to Halloween to Christmas. Tyler’s engagement fills pages with our excitement over adding a daughter to the fold and sharing memories with our new expanded family.

It was a “hold my beer” year. So many words, visions, memories forever written into the 2022 novel. Reflecting, I realize breaks in my heart will take years to heal as will the damage from the personal attacks, but I will remember the moments that fed my soul during the chaos and darkness. The moments that reminded me to stay true to myself.

Watching the snow drift through the air, I am thankful for what I learned in 2022, the memories created, and the stories written. 2022 slides onto my shelf, the story finished. My pen is now poised, and a quiet hope is bubbling for the start of a new story, a story with more of the quiet, reflective and thankful moments. Happy New Year. Begin your story!

Everything Changes

 

Darkness was broken for a short time as I stepped onto the porch. A tiny sliver of moon sat in contrast on the horizon, slowly waiting for its climb into the sky. I overslept starting almost 30 minutes later than normal. My body needed to run. Music pumped through my buds, and I began the quiet shuffle. Seemingly full of lead my legs were tired and heavy, taking time to warm up. The tiniest pricks of light peeked through the black curtain as I immersed myself in the run. The first half mile was completed before I had to cautiously pick my way through road construction. Working to find my balance I thought of the hundreds of times I picked through road construction during a run. I reflected on how much has changed since I beginning my distance running journey.

My steps began to sing as they find their pace. Smiling quietly to myself I realized I have laced up my shoes for ten years. Settling into a rhythm I thought of the simple training I started and then transitioned when my sister and I decided to race the Princess Half Marathon together at Disney World. I went from a sprinter to a distance runner with a goal. In the beginning I hammered out hundreds of miles on a dreadmill. Now I have coursed thousands of road miles domestically and abroad. The one constant in my decade of running is everything changes. On my streets I see and feel the changes of life.

When I began this journey, I had little boys and now I have men. I chose early morning runs to ensure I was finished and ready before they got out of bed. They have seen my discipline, watched me succeed and watched me fail forward. They understood my dedication and chose to travel and cheer me on during race weekends. Our relationship has changed and evolved as they have grown. To match the growth our family choices and outings have changed. We have gone from naps and Phineas and Ferb, to new traditions like attending the Rockies Star Wars night and hiking Manitou Incline. At times I miss my little boys but am so thankful for the men we have raised. They have hearts of gold and an unwavering sense of family. Every season is peppered with family traditions we all look forward to. They were raised knowing we do things as a family. Our schedules have changed to match their busy lives, finding it infinitely important to meet them where they are and not try to force them into our schedule.   

As I tip toe through more construction, I think about how my town has changed. Roads have been added while others were closed off. Entire residential blocks have been hazed for additional university buildings. Businesses have opened and closed, houses changed hands and schools were leveled and new ones built. Change is necessary for growth, inevitable and easier if embraced.

Starting to feel more of a rhythm, I dance up the first big hill thinking how the last few years have been fraught with change. Stress has been a constant companion. In a year and a half, I lost my brother, I lost my dad and my mom moved across the country. The last seven months I have been trying to balance losing my dad, doing my best to help my mom through her grieving process and help with the thousands of necessary decisions sudden death brings, all while trying to clean and sort through decades of stuff to create a livable, safe space for her. In that time, I was yelled at, screamed at, accused of things that were untrue, all a result of other people trying to deal with change, grief, guilt.  

In the last several weeks change hit full force as my mom moved to Pennsylvania with my sister. Like my dad’s passing this came as a surprise, and I was once again trying to catch up with my emotions and the things that needed to be done. In a few short weeks I helped clean, pack and move as my parent’s house went from packed full, to near empty. Walking through with the auctioneer my heart ached at the change, finding things my dad had written, seeing his handwriting with a list of things he meant to complete.

I realized as the stress level began to drop off, I had created a wall preventing myself from breaking down. I needed to get through everything first. As I stood in a garage that was my dad’s escape, I realized one of the most difficult changes is those in our lives will not be there forever. There are no second chances. Wiping tears away, I vowed that when everything was finished, I could cry. I could grieve not only the loss of my dad but grieve all the things that have happened in the last seven months; the moments of exhaustion, heartbreak, sadness, false accusations, lies, loss, being overwhelmed, heart wrenching change. I will grieve it all.

As my mind wound its way through the heaviness of my heart, I continued kissing the pavement with my shoes on a favorite route. I was thankful for the stability of running, the familiarity of my town, knowing the turns, the cars I might see, the buildings. Thankful that I make the choice to be up and running. Thinking about change and the fragile moments of life made me once again grasp the idea that we have one opportunity at life. Recognizing the finality of everything and knowing how this will end I worked to create the life I want. Our little family is solid. We have our ups and downs, but we work through. Our adult children spend time with us, and we adjust schedules so we can spend time with them. I work a challenging job I love, doing what I am called to do. Many years I worked ungodly hours, 20-hour days for weeks on end for a paycheck. Making the change to write required focus and belief. My career choice has garnered disdain, flippant comments, and the belief that I really don’t work. What I realized, though, was it didn’t matter. Our life is better balanced, we are happier, stronger, and healthier as a family because I shifted to a different career.   

My body was adjusting to the run, hitting the comfortable middle miles. It felt great to stretch my legs and watch the sky. Most mornings I choose to pull myself out of bed and run. I can’t choose what the morning will hold, what the weather will be or how my run will feel. In life we can’t always choose our circumstances, but we can choose how we respond to the circumstances. We can choose the people we allow into our inner circle, choose how we greet the day, choose to live life and not simply exist. I have wanted more, just existing through the daily grind was not enough. In striving to experience a full and wonderful life I have chosen to focus on the positive and to surround myself with like-minded people. I limit time with negative people who wallow in mediocrity, content to stay stuck and complain. I want people who challenge me to be the best version of myself. Those who are there in an instant when things aren’t going well, there to celebrate the good times, those who make me laugh, cry and everything in between. We have found those wonderful people. We have created a life where we surround ourselves with those who see the positive and who live out loud.

As I continued to dance in the darkness with the moon and stars, I thought about the time I have left. Tomorrow is not promised, the next minute is not even promised. Life can change in a split second. When it is my turn to leave this world, I want to exit knowing I was better today than yesterday. I want to have lived, experienced, tried and made a positive impact on the lives I touched. I want to have loved deeply and eeked out every single moment of goodness.

Racing down the final hill of my 8 miles I breathe deep. Clicking off my music I smile at the moon realizing it is in a perpetual state of change. I am thankful for the miles and thankful for the opportunity to let my mind meander through the knots in my heart and soul. Change is necessary and welcome. I am imperfect and hope with each passing day, I will embrace change and grow to be a better person. Run happy.

Learning to Fly

Running is my vice, the nectar for my soul, the glue that sometimes holds me together. It waits for me, travels with me and is always ready. The draw on the muscles, the labor of the lungs is intoxicating. It has limped through injuries with me and taught my body strength and discipline. Running doesn’t pass judgement – ever – and is just thankful for the time. It provides me solace and joy, teaches me beauty in everyday miracles. When I first laced up my shoes, I learned to fly and have been flying ever since.
  

The thrill captured my heart when I was young, transitioning 9 years ago into something I never could have imagined. My body slowly adjusted, and I began my relationship with distance running. I went from a mile on the dreadmill for a little cardio to running a 62.18 mile ultra. The beginnings were meager at best, proud of myself for completing anything more than once around a block. Looking back, I can see my defiantly sassy self, swearing I would never do anything over a 5K. Oh girl, if you only knew.

Running is a solo activity, calling to me before the sun begins to rise. For the last nine years I have answered that call. When the sky is black and the town is quiet, I lace up and hit the streets. My soul craves the 3:00 am wake-up call, longing to run on empty roads while everyone else is asleep. I yearn for the hours of solitude where I run my town. I don’t have to share my time or space that early. The air is clean and fresh, free from noise and the chaos of a busy day. The darkness, the shooting stars and the wildlife welcome me.  Alone with my music, the vast sky, and my thoughts I fly.  

I have run tens of thousands of miles, gone through hundreds of pairs of shoes and amassed a wall of medals. What means the most, though, are the quiet moments during training runs. Hours of solitude to look internally, seeing parts of myself I never knew existed and deal with parts I knew were there, but would rather leave hidden.

Running reaches into my soul, shapes me and draws me into spaces I would never go otherwise. It gives me moments to pause and feel deeply. In the warmth of summer, warm breezes kissing my cheeks, I revel in joy and new life. During runs when I am freezing, the snow is pounding me and the ice is building on my lashes, I realize the depth of who I am. It has helped me find beauty in the mis-matched parts that are integrally me. It has taught me I am stronger than I ever realized and to look gracefully on myself. I have learned more about myself in those dark miles than any other time in my life.  

In the quiet mornings I feel closer to God. His presence protects me as I navigate black roads and lonely paths. His grace is evident in the miracles of being feet from mountain lions, deer, antelope, and foxes. He paints the dark skies and cheers me on through the twinkle of the stars. I have played tag with the moon, hide and seek with the clouds and sang as the fog rolled in. I have danced in empty intersections and whispered good morning to wildlife. My runs have been blessed with warmth, wind, rain, snow, ice, and beauty, sometimes all in the same run.

Running has taught me persistence, consistency, and determination. My discipline was learned and honed, in pursuit of my goals. Kissing the pavement, I have realized everything is cyclical. There are good and bad days, good and bad runs, and good and bad years.

As I take time off to heal a stress fracture, I think about, the goals and desires I have for my running in the new year. I reflect on what I have learned and the things that need additional work. I am not good at taking time off to give my body time to heal. The desire has been to push myself as hard and as far as I can. I have learned there are consequences to pushing harder when my body is hurt. Moving forward I am striving to make smarter decisions when hurt, even though I am edgy, wanting, desperately needing time on the asphalt when I can’t run.  

Running is joy for me, life and as much a part of who I am as breathing. It has imprinted so much I can’t think of my future without running. The quiet moments, the feeling of getting my body stronger and faster, the ability to set goals, work for them and reach them. It is seeing weekly progress and knowing I have the power to achieve the incredible, by staying focused and working hard. Running speaks to me in a language that paints my soul, heals wounds and incites joy.

In the quiet of my office, with the snow blanketing the ground and whipping through the air outside my window, I think of the opportunities lying before me and the run.  I am thankful. I am thankful for the experience, the strength, the power not only physically, but mentally I have gained. I am thankful for this one aspect of my life that is within my control. My heart jumps to think of another year of asphalt, quiet mornings, and growth. Joy races through my veins for another year to test myself in races and find myself in the early morning miles. Goals are set, shoes are ready, it’s time to fly!

The Atlantic

She draws me in and speaks to my soul. There is a connection I never knew existed. Sitting beside her, I pause and breathe in, closing my eyes I bask in the sun as her warmth kisses my cheeks. It has been an adventure. I have felt exhausted, exposed and at peace all at the same time. Listening to the beautiful Atlantic, watching the sand roll in and out, I allow her song to soothe me and am thankful for these moments. The clouds majestically bank in three directions and the sun shines through. The music of the waves gives voice to the strong rhythm of a woman on a mission. Every day she moves, one moment calm and soothing with the undulating quiet of rolling wave after wave and the next churned up, dirty and angry. Within her are thousands of lives; they depend on her, believe in her and are thankful for what she brings. 

Regardless of what storms come, the beautiful mother ocean will continue. I stood in her small waves, being respectful of the big waves full of strength, power, and determination, and wonder if I have that in me. Do I have the power of the ocean? Does she share her power as she caresses my toes? Does she share with me the strength of the life she supports? For the first time in ages I feel calm and at peace. I realize I missed and needed the Atlantic when I hadn’t even met her. I needed the music and beauty, the ever changing canvas on the horizon, moment after moment of waves. 

Her life force moves in first one direction and then next. Watching her I feel, deep in my heart, the constant motion, not content to be still, not content to simply watch, but to move, wave after wave every second. Pipers, on spindly legs, play tag with the waves, finding life within the foam. She shares the water and then draws it back as they burrow their beaks in the sand capturing food. Pelicans ride the gusts, soaring into the grey sky and then dipping down to tickle the waves. Seemingly with ease they feed from the Atlantic plucking fish from the constant motion. From darkest depths to the white capped waves it is a circle, life never more present than this single moment. Even when the beach is quiet and night shrouds her beauty she moves restlessly, calling, soothing, challenging. I want to share her energy and strength, the love she carries deep within in her soul. 

The Atlantic has no favorites in the world she forges. She provides for all as they need, encouraging and pushing for them to rise up and fight for what they want. Life is not easy and is full of challenges within the Mother Ocean. Shell after shell drifts in, exoskeletons of tiny squid and crabs all become part of the sand, evidence of life that didn’t survive. The skimming of a dolphin, the graceful soaring of a fish and the tiny burrowing of a crustacean are beautiful examples of those that have survived. A squadron of pelicans in a perfect V formation flew over, headed who knows where. The silhouettes beautiful and precise against the backdrop of the sky. A solo bird trails further behind, trying to catch up or maybe flying to his own rhythm. 

My time here has been precious but difficult, unpacking things buried deeper than the depths of the Atlantic.  With each thought, memory and experience I realize there are some I need to keep and some I need to let go. I release those that have shaped me, but no longer serve a purpose, acknowledging the part they played in my life. I am thankful for the time to reflect and be me, understanding I don’t need to hang on to everything. The Atlantic doesn’t keep every shell within her depths. When they have served their purpose she discards them on the beach and continues to move on. I realize those things I have unpacked are the same way. They will always be part of me, but they do not need to control me. 

For the first time in forever I release fear based patterns and think about not trying to fit everyone else's expectations. Nobody expects a pelican to climb a tree, a bear to soar in the heavens or the Atlantic to stop her music. I am thankful for these moments of discovery, to dance with the waves and share in this circle. The moments on this beautiful sand, wanting to capture every shell, feel every tiny grain of sand that at one moment could have been at the bottom of the ocean and is now stuck between my toes. My time with the Mother Ocean has helped me know I am not a mistake nor am I a burden. I have purpose and a place. As I sink my hand into her warm waves, running wet sand through my fingers I finally give myself permission to be unapologetically me.

I have to say a big thank you to my beautiful friend Angie Krey who captured stunning images during my time, to Mel Charbonneau for challenging me to find the best version of myself and to the amazing Jen Patterson for opening her heart and home to me! 

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Butterfly

Unlocking the front door and stepping out into the darkness, the heavy air enveloped me. Cuing my music to low, I stepped out of Just Breathe for my last morning run at this address. Houses were dark, corners softened in the lazy, muggy morning.  Heading west my tie dye shoes contrasted with the black, wet asphalt. I let my legs ease into the short run, soaking in every house, every black and grey cloud, every single moment. A heavy, misty rain began to fall flashing like tiny diamonds in the streetlights. Wind scurried in from the Atlantic, tossing drops across the path, splashing me as I ran. It was glorious.

Finding my rhythm, I began to think about the last few days, the culmination of work that started a long time ago. My soul was healing and the static that usually filled my mind was quiet. I knew in my heart this was the final stop on this road of my journey. For years I have wandered, struggling with direction, feeling powerless at times and in a constant state of chaos. The last eight months magnified the feelings. My mind has been working overtime to free my soul and find direction.

As my body warmed up, I smiled out of sheer pleasure. My pace was slow, imprinting every aspect of my surroundings, feeling the humidity on my skin, and listening to the song of the Atlantic. In the rows of sleeping beach homes, a few broke through the darkness with warm lights. Cars were running with open trunks as they loaded bags preparing to leave. I empathized as I knew I would be doing the same thing in 8 hours. This was my last run on the island.

Four days ago, after arriving, I said hello, dropped my bag, and ventured to the beach. I savored the feel of the sand between my toes, the sound of the waves crashing and the distant cry of the sea birds. The clouds were building on the horizon as the water became choppy with white caps. Rain was coming and I embraced the heavy, wet, warm air. Enjoying the freedom of exploring, I watched the sand, kicking shells over until I found a tiny shell, shaped like a butterfly. It spoke to me more than any other shells that littered the beach. Carrying it carefully in my hand, I protected it as the sky decided to open up and cleanse the beach.  I smiled like a crazy person as the rain soaked me. I was truly getting a fresh, clean start.

My toes danced with the road, as I realized how deeply the butterfly shell spoke to my journey.  For years I have felt like the sluggish caterpillar, wandering in search, but not quite sure what I was searching for. I would shed versions of myself as I grew and changed, but I always seemed to be searching. Fear shaped decisions and life-long insecurities dictated the woman I saw every morning in the mirror. Time continued to pass as I existed, fighting fears, battling darkness, but showing up and doing what needed done.

Two years ago, I moved from the wandering caterpillar to the protected, hidden, and isolated chrysalis. I retreated from the noise, the anger, the sadness, the darkness, I retreated from all of it to protect my heart. The shell formed, protection against the storms of life that battered incessantly. Eight months ago, the storms reached a pitch that couldn’t be ignored.

The morning embraced me while my footsteps echoed in the quiet. I thought about the last few days on Emerald Isle. I arrived, seemingly protected in my chrysalis, with only small cracks left from storms and my feeble attempts to break free. I understood like real butterflies we need to experience our own breakthrough. If someone else removes our shell before we are ready, we are left with crippled wings, unable to fly. If we don’t tackle the strength of the shell and the issues we hide from on our own, then we could be locked in the chrysalis for eternity. My body tingled as I realized the time spent this week reflecting, thinking, sharing, discovering, and reacting were my final stages. The aha moments cast off the remaining pieces, freeing my soul.

Dodging large puddles, I smiled while the ocean wind tugged at my ponytail. The run was perfect, challenging my body and mind. Courage led me down this path, to this island and to the beautiful souls who had risked, just like me, to search for more, to find more and to realize our greatest power lies deep within our hearts. We searched the depths to shed our fears and find the strong, beautiful, independent women we were meant to be. Each of us stepped into this environment not knowing what to expect but hoping for transformation. Our souls are forever forged by a situation that terrified, overwhelmed, and left us trembling with raw emotion. Their stories shaped me, touched me, and made me acutely aware of how broken we could become. I was broken.

Turning around and heading back I savored every step knowing today was the last day, the last run and the last few moments before things changed. My thoughts were interrupted as a shadow crossed in front of me. Glancing over a buck stood, quiet, still and observing in the pre-dawn darkness. Antlers rose regally above his ears as he watched me. My heart soared as I whispered good morning. My steps were lighter realizing this was the perfect culmination to my run.

Finishing up I quietly entered the house. Leaving my shoes in my room I mounted the stairs and headed to the beach to cool down. The beautiful Atlantic was waiting for me. She was churned up this morning sneaking further up the beach, leaving shells scattered through the sand. Would she miss my heart song as I walked the beach after my run? Would she miss covering my toes in surf and sand and splashing me with errant waves?  Listening to her aria, I kicked the sand and danced in the waves. Glancing down I saw another butterfly shell, this one lighter in color than my first. How fitting. I broke free, standing like a new butterfly, wings crumpled, wet and waiting. As I welcomed the cleansing rain and walked along the beach, strength coursed through my wings.

One final look at the beautiful Atlantic as she rolled in and out, pulling the sand and the shells, changing, churning, and giving life. My journey led me here, to this moment, to this time to find the final pieces. My wings are ready, my soul is at rest, my heart is calm, and I found the truest version of me. Blowing a kiss to the Atlantic I stepped toward my future.  

First Day of School

 

The town was quiet this morning as I headed out for my run. Things are very different for me than in previous years. Both of my boys are starting college today. For the last 16 years I have made sure one or both were awake, everything set for school, first day of school pictures and then off to school. Our routine was set; waking up they would sleepily hug me and then stumble into the bathroom. Early on I made breakfast and as they got older, they made their own. We always said prayers and they would sleepily finish breakfast. In elementary school, I would double check their backpack, making sure they had everything for the day and as they grew that was their responsibility, backed up with a simple, “Have everything?” from me. Both Sweet T and Rockstar are responsible and except for the rare occasion they would leave prepared for the day. Just a couple times in their junior high and high school career did I have to drop off a forgotten book or notebook.

We were blessed and made it a priority to be able to take the boys to school and pick them up. I cherished those 30 golden minutes of chatter after school, listening as they would share everything that happened; what they played at recess, who they ate lunch with, what their favorite part of the day was. When T turned 16 that changed, I stood on the front porch and waved as he drove to school. My heart ached at the change, but I smiled at his new-found independence, knowing that was the next step of many steps of independence to come. As T would drive off, I was thankful we were still able to drop Rockstar off at school. After school, when it was nice, I would kick off work early and walk to meet him. Walking home together he would grab my hand and talk about his day. I cherished that until Austin turned 15. At 15 and 18 they both were high school students. The first day of school when Rockstar was a freshman and Sweet T was a senior, I watched those sweet boys drive off together. They waved, I waved and when I shut the door I cried just a little. Things were changing again. I knew from that moment on, I would never be picking them up or dropping them off again. Those talks in the car or on walks were replaced with homework and chatter at the island, after athletic practices as I made supper. 16 years goes by in the blink of an eye.

 

This morning I thought of them on my run, saying a prayer for a good first day and a great semester. They sweetly kept with tradition, my oldest sending me a picture on his way to class and my youngest swinging by between classes so I could take a picture. With each step I thought about so many of our wonderful memories, knowing we will create new different, memories. I am so blessed and thankful to be their Momma for this journey. Each stage prepared me little by little for the moment when they would soar on their own. The transition from kindergarten to field trips to overnight sleepovers, multiple day athletic trips and world travel without us.

They are in their own places, beginning the next new, exciting chapter and I couldn’t be prouder. I have learned from my boys every step along the way, just as they have learned from me. They are independent, strong, and compassionate individuals, bringing their grace and understanding to our world and community. They are thoughtful, careful with their words and very aware of how they impact those around them. They stand respectfully strong when their heart is convicted, always researching, understanding, weighing costs and benefits trying to make mostly good decisions. We never saddled them with the moniker of perfection, always asking them to do their best in all situations, knowing sometimes their best could change from day to day.  They understand faith at a deep level and make decisions with faith as a foundation. They aren’t overly vocal, preferring to show their faith by actions rather than words.

I texted them both this morning, wishing them good luck and letting them know how proud I am of them, proud of the men they are, and the men they are becoming. My heart sighed with the responses, thankful they are comfortable and grounded enough to chat with Mom. I am glad they know we are a safe place to navigate the changes and that we are always there for them. As the school year starts and I relinquish crayons and tissues for laptops and backpacks I say a quiet prayer of thankfulness for the many memories we have created over the last 16 years, moments etched in time at wonderful ages; painting in art class, zombie tag and wallball at recess, math, chess, choir, band, football, basketball, golf, track, science fairs, field trips, senior years, graduations and now college. I am thankful for the parents who have journeyed with us, supplying hugs as we said good-bye to each stage, who brought tissues when stages got difficult, and who loved our boys as vehemently as we do.

My house is quiet today with no anticipation of hearing how the day went and my heart hurts knowing I will no longer be part of their daily lives, but I smile knowing they will impact the world. Strangely, I don’t yearn for them to be young again. We were present and enjoyed those ages and stages when they happened. Today, with a few tears in our eyes, we celebrate the strong wings of individuality and independence they have grown. They will soar above the clouds ready for the next chapter.