Cool as the other side of the pillow.

"That brother is cool as the other side of the pillow." 

 ~ Stuart Scott

I will never forget the first few times I saw him on the ESPN SporstsCenter broadcast. This young brother with a boxed out fade haircut talking in standard english . . .but with an edge. Speaking a language that felt easy and familiar. But always, always with this hint of mischief that made him intriguing.

I remember him recapping an NBA finals game where Jordan or Barkley or someone of that caliber hit a three pointer on the buzzer to win the game. "BOO-YOWW!" he yelled out with a laugh as his co-anchor sat by looking mostly entertained and confused.

BOO-YOW!!!

Now. This would be become a famous "Stuart Scott-ism"-- but to kids like us from places like Inglewood, California who'd played HORSE on playgrounds or who'd simply lived. . . that wasn't foreign to us at all. Ha ha ha. . .the only weird part was how ESPN would ultimately spell it on the wall of the studio: "BOO-YAH."  (Everyone knows that a every "in-yo-face" sports moment is pronounced BOO-YOW.)

Ha.

He said things on the air like, "Holla at a playa if you see him on the street!" and "You ain't got to go home, but you got to get the heck up outta here!" He described meeting a sports icon and made us all laugh out loud with his famous line, "That brother is cool as the other side of the pillow." You tell me what is cooler than that? The other side of the pillow, man? His unapologetic style was like a breath of fresh air, man. It truly was.

This morning Stuart Scott passed away at the age of 49 after a 7 year battle with cancer. He left behind two daughters, his dear siblings, and both of his parents. And, of course, world of people who adore and admire him.

Yeah.

I'm so inspired by his fearlessness. He blazed his own trail and owned his space. Nothing says "boo-yow" like knowing who you are and walking in your own authority. Being who you are permits others to do the same. At least, that's what I think.

Man. I guess I don't really have much else to say. I just feel so sad.

Rest in peace, Brother Stuart. Thanks for your fearless example. You were cool as the other side of the pillow. And you know what? That's cool, man. That's as cool as it gets.

Yeah.

***
Happy Sunday.

Such a class act as evidenced here.

Celebrate we will.

"Celebrate we will
Because life is short but sweet for certain
We're climbing two by two
To be sure these days continue
These things we cannot change."

~ Dave Matthews Band's "Two Step"

I live life with more gusto now. More intention, more vigor. Matter of fact, I'm climbing two by two.

That is, I want to take it all in. Not two by two like I want to rush it along or anything. But just in big sweeping steps to get more of it.

Hmmm. Does this even make sense? Probably not. Oh well. Feeling rambly.

(That's a warning.)

Today I ran 13.1 miles with an old and dear friend. But before that we spent the weekend laughing out loud and talking about everything and nothing. We ate healthy-healthy and terrible-ish, too. We walked down the streets of Chicago going somewhere and nowhere. And the whole time, I savored it all. Every sight, every sound.

This would be my third half marathon. My third--whoa. I met up with my college sorority linesister/pledge sister Glencia who lives in Chicago. Being around her felt easy and natural which was good. Very good. But, still, I didn't take it for granted. I squinted my eyes and took it all in.

Isn't it good to have easy friendships? Non-heavy and non-pressured? That's what I think. 
 

We hit the expo which is where and when you get your race number and packet. Glencia inspected the route to let us know what we were in for. All I knew was that we were in for 13.1 miles of running. It was hard to ignore that fact, even if part of it was along a lake front. Ha.

One of Harry's best friends, Derrick, was kind enough to chauffeur us to and from the expo, too. He's the only person I know that's even more easygoing than Glencia. So hanging out with both of them at the same time was awesome. Plus I loved telling Harry that Derrick was looking out for us.

That reminds me--I love that my husband has very good and very old friends. That says something about him if you ask me. They all seem to have this code where they look out for each other and take care of each others' "people."  Derrick took care of us.

Plus he's not hard on the eyes and is ,as Harry says, "a smooth brother."  Even if he's like a real brother to me, I can say that, right?

So yes. The expo was cool and Derrick was great. He dropped us off and we had some lunch at a swanky spot in the thick of it all. So Chicago, man. The city had a pulse and it was thumping. I loved it.

Then we took the L. Just because I wouldn't feel like I was in Chicago unless we did. So we did.

We got up early this morning. Started it off with simultaneous yawning and laughter just like we did when we were Delta pledges hiding from our big sisters. Ha. And that part was wonderful.

I had even laid all my stuff out the night before like a good runner. Yup. This is either "good runner" practice or "corny runner" practice. But whichever, that's what I did.

Once we got there, I let myself notice things. And notice people. I can't say that's so unusual for me, but I feel like I do it more now. I take it all in two by two, you know? No, you don't? Oh well. Anyways. I made friends in the crowd and asked people where they were from. I heard their stories and smiled with them. And since I love people, that part was good, too.

Three best friends from Minnesota, New Jersey, and Illinois met up for the race.

This woman, Peg (in purple) ran with her husband and their two daughters. Peg beat them all.

A little pre-race shenanigans never hurts

The race was tough. Surprisingly so considering how flat the Chicago course was. I'd heard that having no hills hurts more since you don't have to switch up muscle groups. And man was I sore. Well. It could have been that or just the fact that my training wasn't fully up to snuff. My guess is that it was a little of both.

And. My GPS devices were all going cattywompus. ("Cattywompus" is such a JoLai word. Ha.) I had no idea what my pace was or what mile I was on. Like two seconds into the race, my Map My Run app said, "DISTANCE: 1 MILE. PACE 5 MINUTES PER MILE."  For two seconds I was excited. I thought I'd turned into that dude Meb who won the Boston Marathon.

Or not. Ha.

I still had fun, though. And despite being GPS-sabotaged, I finished in quite a respectable time, if I do say so myself. Not far at all from my personal record--or "P.R." as us runner-people call it. Nope.

*brushes off shoulders*

So yeah. That was fun. In fact, all of it was fun, actually. Wait, can you say that? "In fact" and then "actually?" Oh well. You get the picture.

Glencia's coworker braved the crowds and met us down at the finish. He had cupcakes, too. But even sweeter was his big smile and the fact that he'd gotten up so early to be there.

Very cool.


Oh! And they even gave out beer afterwards. Beer! You know, to replenish the ol' carbohydrates.

Ah hem.

So I was super happy and ultra giddy. Not even because of the Michelob Ultra beer, either. Then I got hit with that wave of melancholy that always hits me after a long race. I originally started running in memory of my sister Deanna and as a way to tell heart disease to kick rocks. I run and I think, "Take that, you thief!" and sometimes I even say out loud, "BOOM! In yo' face, heart disease!" I actually do. Yup. And so. I always dedicate the third and last miles to her. Usually, I run and weep for the final mile and it's fine. People are usually so dog tired that they don't even see me. Or they just think I'm super sweaty or just emotional. But for whatever reason, this time I didn't cry on mile 12 like usual.

Nope.

It happened after I was sitting in a Thai restaurant with Glencia a few hours later. I had just sent a text to Will and JoLai telling the that I'd finished the race. And then I ended it with this:

"Turns out not where but who you're with that really matters." ~ DMB #runfordeanna

Now. That quote comes from the lyrics to an old Dave Matthews Band song and writing that to them immediately put the song in my head. It also made me hear the next stanza after that line in the song:

"And hurts not much when your around."

Which made me cry. And is making me cry again. And will make me cry anytime I think of it.

Uggh.

Glen was awesome. She let me cry and she understood. She knew Deanna personally and was keenly aware of the hole that was left behind when she departed. And as much as a buzz kill as it was to have me with leaky eyes after her first (awesome) half marathon, she was patient. It was a sunshower, fortunately. And before we knew it, we were back to laughing.

Will and JoLai love the Dave Matthews Band. Deanna and I have always just sort of gone along for the ride with them. Later on, I started listening to Dave Matthews Band a little more and though I didn't fall in love like my eldest and youngest sibs, I did start to hear the lyrics differently. They spoke to my spirit a lot more and I let them. That felt good since I know how much Jo and Will love that band.

Anyways.

I did listen to lots of Dave Matthews on my playlist today. And, specifically, I played "The Best of What's Around" and "Two Step" just to connect me to my siblings. The running part feels spiritual and like I'm connecting with Deanna and the Dave Matthews music part feels like a hug from JoLai and Will at the same time. And all of it together felt good which made me feel strong.

You know what else?

I was with a good friend. A sorority sister, no less. Which made it even better.

Here's what I'm thinking right now: My life is good. It is rich and wonderful and full of love. I have legs that can run strong for 13.1 miles and a heart that can sustain my body when I do. And family and friends that I wouldn't trade for the world.

And so. Celebrate I will. Because life is short but sweet for certain. I'm climbing two by two to be sure these days continue.

And if that doesn't work? I'll make the best of what's around.

***

"See, you and me
Have a better time than most can dream
Have it better than the best
And so can pull on through
Whatever tears at us
Whatever holds us down
And if nothing can be done
We'll make the best of what's around

Turns out not where but who you're with
That really matters
And hurts not much when you're around."

~ Dave Matthews Band's "The Best of What's Around."

***

Happy Sunday.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . ."Two step". . . 



and my favorite DMB song that always makes me cry. . . "The Best of What's Around."



(I blogged about this song before. Here and here, in case you're interested.)

One year.

November 15, 2012

I took this photograph on the evening of November 15, 2012. I know I did because I remember it but also because the date and time were captured right along with the image. I was heading out of the hospital to my car and, on this particular day, had arrived too late to snag a lower level parking space. That was okay, though, because I got to partake in this view of the Atlanta skyline.

I remember thinking that it was just so. . . peaceful-looking. Like. . .something about the way the clouds seemed to be scattered across that cool blue sky and how the sun had receded just enough to signal to the night life to come alive . . . just drew me into it. I don't know. Whatever it was, it was enough to make me pull out my cell phone and snap a picture. And you know? That isn't so unusual for me to pull out my camera and grab an image. But usually? That's where I stop. For whatever reason, on this day, I didn't though.

Why? I'm not sure.  I turned my camera onto the hospital from that top floor view.

 

And lastly, something compelled me to take this one of myself. 

It's so weird that I did, too. Like. . . I study my expression and wonder. . .what was I thinking when I took that picture? Because at the time that this photo was taken, it was still an ordinary day. Like not yet awful like it was going to be later on, you know? Yeah. Something about this selfie is haunting to me. The look on my face seems knowing even though I know for certain that I had no idea that this would be the day that my life would change forever.

And ever. 

Yeah. So that evening and even that day was beautiful. I mean, sure, it was partly cloudy, but still, it was crisp and autumnal in the very best way. I'd taken the morning off to take Isaiah to see his pediatrician for a checkup and the rest of the afternoon I'd spent taking care of office work at Grady. I was scheduled to pick up a ward team on November 16, so I knew I needed to jump on all of my other duties beforehand. So that's what I did.

People always say that those awful, awful days are memorable for their stunning beauty and remarkable ordinariness. Who could forget how blue the sky was when those planes went crashing into the side of the World Trade Center? Or that initial calm before the levies broke after Hurricane Katrina? This day was no different.

I'd called her a few times from my office. Straight to voicemail each time which, after the third or fourth time, seemed a little weird. Next I shot a text.

"Dude. Call me when you get this."

That was my simple text to my sister Deanna. And at that point, nothing really was different. I just assumed that maybe her phone had died? Or that she was just in an area without a good signal? I wasn't sure. But I also wasn't worried.

I started driving home and pulled out my phone once again. By this point it was after 5:30 PM so I knew that Deanna would already have the kids by then. And since the after school care center is just a few blocks away, she'd be in my house by then. I punched her name on speed dial. . . .again--straight to voice mail. That's when I said it out loud:

"That's odd."

And that's the first moment that I felt worried. See, because Deanna always gave me a hard time for the days I let my kids be the last to get picked up from daycare or after school care. She made a point of getting to the boys long before the bell tolled and wagged her finger at those parents who came tearing in one minute before the late charge set in. So this really was odd that Deanna wasn't answering her phone since, by now, she should have been in my home where she could have easily plugged it back in if it were out of charge.

By now, it was about 5:40 PM.  That's when I remembered that Deanna was supposed to meet Harry at the barber shop with the boys at 6:30 PM.  I tried to convince myself that this is where she was but it wasn't working. I felt worried.

I decided to try her at our home.The phone rang and rang. I hung up and tried once more since everyone knows that we never answer the home phone. I figured that after a few attempts she'd eventually pick up. And so. I called. And I called some more. Then, on like the fourth attempt, the phone finally was answered. The voice was exasperated which made sense since I'd just rang four times in a row.

"Hello? What is going on? Damn!"

"Hello? What are you doing there?"

"Uhh, hello? I live here, remember?"  It was Harry. Harry wasn't supposed to be home at 5:43 PM. He was supposed to be rushing from his office to the barber shop about fifteen minutes from now.

"Has Deanna been there?" I asked. And when I asked, for some reason, I already knew the answer.

"I've been trying to call her but her phone must be dead. I was going to let her know that I'd get the boys for the haircuts. Where is she?"

"I can't reach her, Harry." My voice was serious and I tried to make it not sound that way. I cleared my throat and tried to think for a minute. Where could she be? Had something happened? And if it did was she already with the children when it did? I didn't want to panic. "Babe? Run up the street to after care to see if she scooped the boys already, okay?"  I used that word "scooped" because it sounded less panicky. Even though I felt the opposite of that.

"Cool," he quickly replied. Then as I heard him running down the stairs into the garage he paused and added, "Where do you think she'd be if she didn't make it?"

"Honestly? I don't know. But the only way she'd leave our kids at school without calling us would be over her dead body." And I froze when I said that. Because that? That was the first time I'd actually considered that as the reason why I couldn't get her on the phone.

Moments later I felt my phone buzzing on my lap. I looked down and saw that it was Harry and right then, I knew. I knew that something really awful had happened. I didn't even say hello when I answered. I just put the phone to my ear and listened.

"They're here," he said quietly. "They're the last ones here."

"Okay." My voice was anemic and my mounting emotions thread bare. "Just take them to the barber shop, okay?"

"What are you about to do?"

"Babe? I think something awful has happened. That's the only explanation for Deanna letting them get picked up last. I'm heading over to her house."

 He didn't protest.

My head was swirling like crazy. I wasn't sure who to call or what to do. I tried her one more time and still--straight to voicemail. And I was driving while all of this was happening so that made matters even worse. What I remember doing next is just pulling over on the side of the road. Literally. And I just sat there staring at my hands for a few seconds. I took a deep breath, parted my lips, and began to speak.

"Okay, God. So check it out. It seems like you're giving me some kind of discernment that something really bad is about to go down. And I need you to understand that if that's the case then I'm going to need you to show me specifically, exactly what to do. I'm for real, God. Like if my sister is like. . . .gone. . .I'm going to need you to give me blow by blow instructions and I'm going to need you to keep my wits about me. Because in our family that person is normally my dad. But if you've decided to take his child home it can't be him."

I sighed and just sat there.

"Look, God. All my family has ever known is favor. I'm really serious. I need exact directions. And I promise to do my best to be obedient."

I felt my pulse quickening. I closed my eyes for a few moments and then just waited. Then I just started driving again. I didn't even say "amen" or anything. That was my prayer. Nothing fancy or overly deferential. Just me in my regular voice talking. And honestly, I could dedicate an entire blog to what I learned from that moment. I could.

So you know how the rest of the evening went. It unfolded like some horrible origami as the evening went on. She'd never left her home. Her car was still there when Mom arrived and we agreed that nothing good would come from busting into the house. So 911 was called and Mom was standing in Deanna's driveway with Daddy on speaker when that awful confirmation came.

She was gone. Gone.

And I still can't believe it. Or understand it. Or get my brain around it. I can't. I still miss her every single day like it just happened and still want to speak to her with every single beautiful, funny or mundane moment I've lived ever since.

I used to wake up and feel fearful at the blue-blue sky days or perfectly normal moments. I'd wonder if it was what would make me remember some awful thing coming around the bend. Is it like that peaceful skyline that Thursday on the rooftop of the parking garage just waiting to open up into something tragic? I found myself thinking that way more times than I care to admit in the last year. But then I decided that I wouldn't live that way. And that I couldn't live that way.

Besides, Deanna would be the first to say how living in fear isn't leaving at all. So I hear her voice and live my life with the same kind of intention that she did. With unapologetic zeal and determination to use whatever gifts I have. . . . and to pay things forward as much as possible. She always did.

Today is November 15, 2013. One year to the day after I said goodbye to my sister. I'm proud of the 365 days I've spent honoring her through a more intentional life. I am because I know she'd be proud, too. But still, I miss her in ways that sometimes feel unbearable. I do. Despite that, I remain more glad than sad. Glad to have this life that included Deanna and glad to have this world that includes all of you. And if I haven't said it lately, let me tell you again. Thank you. For sustaining me through your patience and kindness and listening. Thank you for your prayers and thoughts and energy. For those who don't know me or who never commented but read faithfully and for those who do know me or who did comment or who just read only sometimes here--thank all of you, too.  I need you to know that it made a difference. For me, it did. For all of us, it did.

Yeah.

***
Happy Friday.

Got family? Call them and tell them you love them. Got gifts? Use them. Got life? Live it like you mean it.

Come back this afternoon for something lighter. . . .it's in my head still but coming out soon. . ..

The song that played on my mental iPod the morning after I woke up and many times ever since. Thank you,  Mr. Lenny Kravitz, for ministering to my soul.

Realizations.

"You know what I just realized, Mom? She was one of my very best friends in the world."

~ Isaiah, Age 8, on Tuesday morning

___________________________________

He asked me if the tears those words brought to my eyes were "happy ones or sad ones." 

"Both," I told him. "But mostly happy ones from hearing that you feel that way about her. Because I feel that way, too."

***

Happy Friday.

Now playing on my mental iPod and making me cry more. . . but happy ones. . . 

Mostly beautiful.

Mama I just want you to know 
Lovin' you is like food to my soul 

~ Boys II Men

_________________________________________________________

You do know that I know right? I mean, you do realize that I could feel you thinking of her and wondering how this day was, don't you? Like in between the hugs and joy of your own, I could feel your fleeting thoughts about how a day like this plays out for a mother who has lost her child.

I know.

And since I know that you were thinking and praying and wondering and hoping, I want to first say thank you for that. Then I want you to know that the day was mostly beautiful. I can't call it "perfect" because, although the weather here was just that, there will never be a Mother's Day that we describe with that word as long as Deanna isn't here with us physically. But we can call it things like "wonderful" and "loving" and "genuine." And all of those are mostly beautiful adjectives if you ask me.

We all loved on Shug. We sure did. JoLai had flown in from L.A. and we all surrounded her with so much love that she couldn't help but to feel it. And yes, we did that in the literal sense, but I know for certain that many of you surrounded her, too.

And those grandkids. Oh, those grandkids! They knew what to do. They did. And they did it. They sure did. Better than any of us could.

At one point, Mom asked us to take a photograph on the porch. "Me and my kids," she said. And up until then, it had all been mostly beautiful. Everyone was mostly laughing and joking and drinking mimosas. That is, the adults were. I admit that when Shug made that request, it didn't fully register for me until we went into the house trying to grab Will to step out on the porch to join us.

First, he kind of waved his hand as if he was't in the mood for more photographs. And, like Shug does when it comes to her family photo ops, she wasn't taking no for an answer. "Get him out here," she said. And at that point, it was mostly playful. And things were still mostly beautiful.

Will came to the door and the moment I saw his eyes I knew. I knew it was too much, too soon for him. And, in case I needed confirmation, he whispered it to JoLai and me.

"I'm just not ready to do this without Deanna. I'm not."

And I looked at Mom and said, "Hey, let's do it later, okay?" But she just looked at me and didn't say anything. Then, before anyone could say or do anything else, Will reemerged out of the front door. He had changed shirts and simply said, "If this is what Mommy wants, I can do it."

Right after that, JoLai stepped closer and I wrapped my arms around him and told him, "You don't have to do this right now. We understand." JoLai nodded in agreement. And that? That did it. He dropped his head onto my shoulder and just wept and wept. And JoLai encircled her arms around him, too, and we all had a good, hard sibling cry together. Towards the end of it, Shug joined into our hug and all of us just stood there on that porch holding onto each other as tightly as we could.

And you know? It was mostly beautiful. It was.

So yeah. We surrounded Shug and each other with love today. We did. We broke bread and talked and laughed and even fell asleep on sectionals as a family.

We jumped in the air and played Wii with cousins and rolled on grass and watched our favorite funny clips from Saturday Night Live that we all had seen before but never together.

And you know?

Since I know you were wondering. . . .

. . . .and thinking of us and hoping we were okay. . . . I just wanted you to know. . .

. . .it was mostly beautiful. It was. 

***
Happy Mother's Day.

Now playing for my mama and all of the mamas out there. . . .



and our LOL favorite SNL bit. . . "Stefon". . .absolutely hilarious.

Your smile.

But nothing means as much

nothing seems to touch

your smile

If anything, I'd miss

How could I resist

your smile? 

~ Angela Winbush

_________________

Was thinking of you and your smile this morning. A few more sunshowers came. But that's okay. Missing you terribly right this minute but I know that won't change. So you know? I'm putting your smile in my pocket and carrying it with me all day long. Matter of fact, a piece of your smile will always be inside of mine. Maybe it always was.

Hmmm.

That thought just comforted me. Kind of like your smile, suppose.

Your smile was a gift and this morning it's still giving. Yep. So I'm glad about that part.

Just noticed something. . . .seems like whenever your smile joins another one, it somehow gets brighter. That, too, is a gift. My bet is that somebody somewhere is looking at your smile right now and smiling -- a bigger, brighter smile. Perhaps with a fleeting sunshower, too. But that's okay.

Your smile. What a lovely calling card. Thanks for that.

Loving you today. Loving you always. More glad than sad.

And smiling.

***
Happy Friday. Hey! And don't forget to smile.

Now playing. Thanks for the soundtrack this morning, Ms. Winbush.

Thanksgiving morning.

Last year, we started a tradition on Thanksgiving morning. A balloon release in memory of our loved ones. Nothing too fancy, really.

We sit. We talk. We give thanks. We remember. With intention.

Who were they? What was special about them? What was funny about them? And any other questions they might have. 

We remember Harry's father. Also known as "Granddaddy-in-heaven." He was a great father. Harry said that no matter what anybody ever said, he always knew his father loved him. He didn't like people messing with his car or kids playing near it. That was a funny thing about him. He loved children and would have loved his grandsons. Yes, it makes Daddy sad that he didn't get to play with them. But Harry also says that before his father passed away, he had already taught him all he needed to know about being a man.

Granddaddy-in-heaven made his transition early in the morning on December 20, 1992 -- Harry's twenty-second birthday.

We remember C.J. Short for Cedric Jr. Everywhere he went, people marveled at how smart he was. His daddy has a big Harley Davidson hog and C.J. had a mini-hog just like Uncle Ced. C.J. loved to shake his booty to the theme song to Madagascar 2-- "I like to Move it-Move it." The kids are comforted in knowing that Auntie will get to help take care of him just like she took care of them.

C.J. left us four years ago today on November 23, 2008.  We will always, always remember to never forget his precious life.

We remember Auntie Deanna. Also known as simply "Auntie." It was hard to do a lot of talking. But we just hugged and talked and let ourselves feel thankful for her. She was funny when playing board games with the boys. Very. In fact, she never let any kid win a game just because they're a kid. Nope. Not Auntie. She was proud of all of us--and had this special way of making us all feel proud of ourselves.

Today marks one week since Auntie was called to heaven. Isaiah said he was glad that we started this tradition last year. I agreed and said that love should be intentional and remembering sometimes has to be deliberate. Especially as time passes. Then I explained that all that means is that you have to do stuff on purpose and not just wait for it to happen sometimes.

They got it. Especially Isaiah.

This image simultaneously broke and touched my heart. Oh, that Isaiah. That boy loved his Auntie. Both boys did. But, see, Deanna understood my Isaiah in a way that few do. She knew how to encourage him like no other and had this magical way of bringing out the best in him. She did.

I pray that he holds onto these lessons and carries them into manhood. Just like Harry did with his father.

Auntie's balloon had to be red. "'Cause that's her favorite color," Zachary insisted. And the boys also decided that they each wanted their own "Auntie balloon." I had no problem with that. The others got pink balloons since Dollar Tree was out of white stars. (Isaiah said not to let it happen again since he is sure that C.J. won't be so happy about a pink heart balloon!)

We also had balloons to release for Harry's and my grandparents that passed before they were born. And this year we got a balloon for our friend, Mrs. Reed's son, Mac. Because we love her and since we do, we love and remember him, too.

Up they went. Toward the heavens. Up, up, and away. (One close call with a tree, but fortunately it finally got out of there.)

Yes. Doing it this year was kind of hard. And no. We cannot release the acute pain we all feel this year. But we will love and remember with such intention that we won't release their memory. No, we will not. And my guess is that eventually it will be less and less painful. And maybe not painless. Just less painful.

I hope.

Oh. I was proud today when Isaiah was playing one of his favorite video games called "Scribblenauts" -- and showed me this character he'd created.

"It's Auntie," he said with a smile. "I was just thinking about her so I made her a superhero angel."

And I smiled at him and replied, "It's perfect, son." Because it was.


Even in the midst of all of this, he is learning that it's okay to remember. And what's better is that he's doing it his way -- and on purpose.

Yeah.

The seasons will change. The clocks will tick-tock and the earth will revolve. All while hearts are breaking and trying to mend in those quiet moments nestled inside of other lives going on. This is why we promise to always stop, pause, and surrender to love.

Last year I had no idea how meaningful this balloon release would mean to us just three hundred sixty five days later. No, I didn't. Isn't it funny how sometimes you think you're doing something for someone else, never realizing that it was really for you? Or just as much for you as it was them?

I don't know.

So, yeah. We started out our Thanksgiving this year exactly like we did last year. By releasing balloons into the heavens in remembrance of those who've gone home before us. And this year--more than ever--something about watching those hearts flying high in the sky lifted all of ours.

I felt really thankful for that.

***
Happy Day-after-Thanksgiving.

Now playing on my mental iPod--this one's for you, C.J.!