Hard

Our amazing sons.

 Widows do hard things.  I do hard things.  This weekend I did a hard hard thing; I crossed a half marathon finish line.  Whoosh!

 

They say I need to make new memories and move life forward.  They say the way to move life forward is to make new memories.  OK.

 

So I packed myself up, flew to Page, Arizona with my Kbear and Littlebears and dear friend.  We met my parents to make a new memory.  Oh… I made a close-to-Heaven memory.  Jeepers!  Absolutely beautiful in every way.  And oh so hard.

 

But there is a hardest hard thing.  While the girls and all the racers are texting woohoos and photos of scenery and triumph, I am not.  I reach for my phone, I pull up the text app, I freeze.  My cheerleader isn’t home anymore.

 

At least I have boys.  Two of them.  Two boys back home who know I’m doing a hard thing.  As I empty the rocks from my shoes, they call.  “How’d you do, mom?  How do you feel?” I empty the rocks from my throat and say, “I feel so thankful that you called.”

 

It’s true, I am grateful for the new memory and for the ones who shared it with me.  I am so grateful for these boys who know the hard, cheer me on, and help me move forward.  They make the hard a little less hard.  Thank you God, for our amazing sons.