"Between big and little..."

My sweet little Bailey, 

I see you across the room.  Sitting in your chair coloring the pages in your coloring book.  I see you looking upon your task with such fury, purpose, and passion.  I see you pouring all you have into that one piece of art. How you get so excited over choosing just the right color to fill between the lines. How you bite your lip with such a look of concentration. How when you are finished with your project....you run over to me with pride shining so much from you that when you smile it reaches your eyes....with a grin you say "Look Mommy!" 

I see you on the playground.  Climbing.  Swinging.  Jumping.  Sliding.  I see you giggle as the water splashes up at you when you jump in the puddle.  I see you try to hide under the very large bridge.  I see you try to run into the green field and enter into your pretend play. I see you gazing at the larger slide....contemplating in your head whether you should take the risk. Choosing between the safer slide and the unknown fear of the larger one. Ultimately, you choose the smaller slide....over and over again...all the while looking at the large one....wondering. When right before we leave.....you climb to the top....hesitate....big breathe....and then giggle all the way down. Overcoming your fear of the unknown. 

Oh, dear sweet innocent Bailey.  I see you gaze into the distant horizon.  Looking, pondering, and mesmerized with this life.  I see you ponder all that happens around you.

I see you try to brush your own teeth.  I see you try to dress yourself.  I see you helping yourself to food from the fridge. How you step on the inside of the refrigerator and try to get sweet tea out you love so much. I see how you open the door to the laundry room all on your own and grab your favorite color juice. 

I see you.

You’re growing.  You’re growing up.  You’re growing out of your baby skin.

And then, I see you.  I see you stumble on the stairs on the front porch.  I see you skin your knee on the sidewalk.  I see you use way too much toothpaste for your own good. 

I see you.

You’re still little.  You’re still a child.  You still need help.

But, you don’t know it.  You’re somewhere caught between big and little.  You’re caught between growing up and being a baby.  You’re caught somewhere between running fast and snuggling tight.

Oh, my dear sweet innocent Bailey. How I want to sit and show you a movie of my life back in the old fashioned form, with the speckles of light and gray and white.  To show you, in life’s urgency, all the lessons there are to learn. How I want to protect you from this world.  But, instead, I sit and watch.  I see you.  Living life.  In it’s fullest.  Living life for the ups, for the downs.  And I am proud. And envious. You see my dear sweet Bailey, you teach me on a daily basis that life consists of the small joys. That running through the sprinkler is whats its about.  I fear that as you get older that I will forget to enjoy things. I cherish this moment. Somewhere between big and little.

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"How do you celebrate a life that didn't get to live?"

"Grief is strange....

It's Unpredictable.

It never fully goes away, but comes in waves that just get spaced further apart over time. 

Grief Changes...."

The Mamas who had walked a mile in my sorrow, they told me to expect the extra heart weight and heart ache on my due date…and when any of my girlfriends announced a pregnancy…and when a friend gave birth to a baby…and on the anniversary of my baby’s death.

And those sweet grieving Mamas, they were correct. All of those occasions hurt, some more than others.

But nobody prepared me for what it would feel like on the day I should have been hosting my baby’s first birthday party or the weeks leading up to it. That party would have been "should have" been in two weeks. 

If you have known me for any length of time you know I’m all about my babies’ first birthdays....or really all birthday's for that matter. Birthdays are my favorite.....it the one day out of the year that we get to celebrate your life. We get to celebrate you. But the very "1st" birthday is something special. Every other birthday is all about celebrating the child, but the FIRST birthday is about celebrating the child’s mama, too. Because we both “made it” through the first year. That first year feedings and burpings and snuggles and growing pains. All those milestones that flood life one after the other. The first birthday is a chance to celebrate all of those hard and wonderful, irrepeatable things....

Unexpectedly, this month has been full of grief for the child I lost, for the little one whose first birthday would have been in two weeks. Not being able to host a first birthday party reminds me, I suppose, of all the milestones and memories I do not share with my sweet girl…all the things we didn’t get to experience together.

It’s a strange sorrow, because even as I yearn to know and hold the baby I lost, I fully realize that my sweet baby girl is playing on the streets of Gold awaiting the day that we can play together. And so it makes my sorrow for my Little One in heaven all the more…confusing. Strange. I don’t know how else to describe it.

This last Sunday in church was our Homecoming. As a church we remember all of our past members and loved ones that have passed....and we light a candle for them. Oddly enough, I was asked to stand up front and light the candles. After all the names were read...the congregation was asked if there was anyone we had missed. In my heart I wanted to speak up and say yes....but something held back the words...and instead while standing in front of the congregation and lit a candle....a candle for the baby girl that I so longingly want to hold in my arms. 

I sat down in the pew and grief settled back in my heart. The grief that I have fought so hard to overcome. 

My sweet Bailey turned 3 a couple weeks ago.....my handsome Khristian turned 14 last week....and I was supposed to be getting ready to celebrate my 1 year old...

So how do you celebrate a life that never got to live? Do you eat cake? Do you take flowers to a grave that doesn't exist? Do you release a balloon? Do you light a candle?

I feel like I should do something...I want to celebrate her life. This is unknown territory for me....I always make a huge deal out of my children's birthday....but again, How do you celebrate a life that never got to live? 

I don't know right now....what I do know is this...

Don’t let anyone tell you when the hard times will come. Yes, it may be extra hard around the baby’s due date or anniversary of death. And then again it might not be hard for you. Either way, it is fine to feel any and every emotion that you do. But know that sometimes your grief will come and knock you over, completely by surprise. The “red-hot jab of memory” will seer your heart and consume your thoughts. And that’s okay too. Life is hard, and so is remembering the ones we’ve had to let go.

 Sweet Little One, you have my heart forever. And I miss you. 

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"You know you are my Hero, right?"

"Heroes didn't leap tall buildings or stop bullets with an outstretched hand; they didn't wear boots and capes. They bled, and they bruised, and their superpowers were as simple as listening, or loving. Heroes were ordinary people who knew that even if their own lives were impossibly knotted, they could untangle someone else's. And maybe that one act could lead someone to rescue you right back...” 


Let me talk about the man who first stole my heart for a moment....

I am not sure what the very first moment was that I fell in love with this man, maybe because I was too young to even know at the time.

When many people see this man, they see a guy in a T-shirt, jeans, and more than likely flip flops. They see a man who they assume works outside due to his sun burned cheeks and his tan line around his neck. They may notice his hands, calloused and cracked from hours of hard work. And they will most likely see his infectious smile and his want to cook for everyone he meets. But what I see when I look at him…

I see one of the only men in my life who has never lied to me, and who faithfully shows me he loves me. I see a man who taught me how to pray, watching him bow down to his knees to pray more times than I can count, never once becoming too big or too prideful to drop to his knees and ask the Lord for help. I see a man who built several businesses from the bottom up, with integrity, honesty and his own blood, sweat and tears and turned into into a successful lively-hood for not only himself, but a whole crew of guys. I see a man who has worked countless hours behind the scene to make sure everyone in his life was taken care of.  Yet you would never know it because he is too humble to speak of his accomplishments.

For as far back as I can remember, I have been a daddy’s girl. My dad, in my eyes, is the best dad a girl could ask for. When some people think of a daddy’s girl they think about a daughter and father dancing in the living room or dressing up having tea parties… Which I am sure he probably did… But that’s not what I remember...

I remember my dad coming home from working long hard hours and stopped at the store every single day to bring me home a glass bottle of Dr. Pepper...having only taken 2 small sips out of it so that he could give me the rest. I remember walking into his shop one day to discover his biggest and nicest tool box was gone....when I asked where it was he said he didn't need it anymore. Only years did I find out he sold it so that my brother and I could have Christmas. I remember sitting in the Coffee Kettle scared out of my mind...he grabbed my hand and said "I know you are pregnant." and when the tears started flowing he said "We will get through this....together....as a family." I remember the day I got married and standing outside the church with my arm in his waiting to walk down the isle and he asked me "Is this what you want? Are you truly happy?" and when I said "Yes Daddy"....he said ok and looked at me with a smile I had seen many times in my life and he said "I am proud of you." 

I remember him always making up nick names for each of us kids, which always made us feel special, and most of which still remain now even as adults. I remember the silly songs he would always sing on road trips.... To this day I can't get "Round Round Ole Joe Clark" out of my head. 

I remember being woke up at 2 AM and told to get in the van....and when I woke up we were sitting at this 50's style diner in Panama City Beach where we would always eat breakfast....and we spent the rest of the day on the beach....eating a sand filled bologna sandwich and potato chips....coming home sunburned and tired. Ice cream was always a treat on the way home. I remember as I got older, I would sit with him quietly in the kitchen, choking back a cup of coffee just so I could be like him.  I remember when I was about to step up to the start line of my 2nd marathon and I was so disappointed because he had never missed one of my big races....Him, Gina and I always say a prayer right before we start.....and as I stepped out of the bathroom he was standing there. He got up early and drove 3 hours to see me for 60 seconds before he waiting again for me to cross that finish line 4 hours later. 

I remember siting beside his hospital bed when he had open heart surgery....and Gina would go outside to get a bit of fresh air...I held his hand and when he was asleep from the pain medicine, I would repeat the same words he always told me..."We will get through this....together....as a family." 

And several, several years later....I remember walking his first Half Marathon with him....and the honor and pride I felt. I wanted to shout from the roof top "That's my Daddy!" 

And even though these are not the traditional “daddy-daughter” moments… they were our moments. They weren’t moments filled with keeping up with the Jones’, or trying to be someone he wasn’t, they were memories that I could only make with my dad. Real memories that made me love him even more.

Now that I have become a mom, I have found that my favorite part about my dad is seeing him with my kids. He is patient and kind, and never pushy. My kids know they can trust him and go to him, and he will be there without failure of a doubt. I see the way my kids look at him, and I am confident they see what I saw all of these years. A man who will always protect them, will always be truthful, and who will never judge them. He will always be their biggest fan. 

I can't pinpoint down when he started doing it....but somewhere in the last 4 to 5 years after a big race or just a moment when he hugs me he has started whispering to me "You know you are my Hero, right?" He says this me as if I have done something great...as if I am someone he looks up to. I always respond with "I love you too Daddy" .....

I honestly can tell you that I have no clue why he calls me his Hero.....when all I have ever thought was how much he was mine....

Thank you Daddy for always being there...for holding my hand....for believing in me...

You know you are my Hero, right? 

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"You can't teach that at school....."

 “Even if i'm setting myself up for failure, I think it's worth trying to be a mother who delights in who her children are, in their knock-knock jokes and earnest questions. A mother who spends less time obsessing about what will happen, or what has happened, and more time reveling in what is.... A mother who doesn't fret over failings and slights, who realizes her worries and anxieties are just thoughts, the continuous chattering and judgement of a too busy mind.... A mother who doesn't worry so much about being bad or good but just recognizes that she's both, and neither.....A mother who does her best, and for whom that is good enough, even if, in the end, her best turns out to be, simply, not bad..... ” 


So Many times, I think it has been way too long since I opened up about anything raw that I am going through present day. And my fear kicks in and I make excuses and I avoid sharing on here. I know that I have a lot to say, because I have a lot to think about. My mind never seems to stop. Let me try and see if I can explain what I am feeling....I pray the right words will come....I pray that this will ease the ever crowding thoughts in my head....and I hope you can follow....

Today is the last day of school....as I type this I am letting out a huge sigh of relief. Even if you didn't have children you would be able to look at your status feed on Facebook and guess it.... Awards Day...Honor's Programs....Graduations.....the usual bragging that little Johnny made all A Honor roll again this year with Perfect attendance. It usually lasts for about a good 2 weeks before it slacks off and the Summer posts start filling my feed. Believe me, I love seeing all the posts.....the smiling, beaming faces of parents that are so filled with pride.....the kids that are so happy that another year has come and gone...and they were successful in making good grades. Excited about the Summer of fun laid before them...Pool parties, beach trips, staying up late, hanging out with friends way after the hot blazing sun has went down, sleeping in and lazy days....Its a break from the stress and monotony of organized school days. 

It is around this time every year that I always begin to feel like a failure as a Mother....

 Allow me to explain...School is a struggle for us. School is a struggle for Khristian.....it always has been. I sit here quietly and read your status updates....and while I am proud of you and your children....I also feel a bit inadequate as a mother. Khristian is not a bad student....he is a smart kid....has amazing potential and can do anything he puts his mind to. He can retain bits of information like an encyclopedia and spit stuff out that he learned in class years ago back at you. He just doesn't like school....Organization is not his thing....and for the love of God, the child loves to talk (which frequently gets him in trouble,)

I dread the month of August every single year.....I know a new school year is about to start up and the struggle will once again begin. There have been night that I have sat at the kitchen table and cried....been frustrated....wondered what it is that I am doing wrong. There have been days when I pick up his bookbag and peek inside and find a mess of papers....I have spent a fortune in organizational materials in past years. Nothing works. School is a constant battle with him.....and by the time that May rolls around....I am physically and mentally exhausted. I have often wondered if there are other Mom's out there like me....that will never post a status stating that their child has made all A Honor Roll....that sits silently just praying for your child to pass the grade level. That lays in the bed at night after an argument with her child about a test that he obviously didn't study enough for.....and wonders what she should do differently and fears for her child's future. Fears that her past mistakes will become her son's present mistakes. I feel as though sometimes I am struggling just to keep it all together and I don't want my biggest failure in life to be that I didn't give my all to my children.

Last night these thoughts were weighing heavy on my mind before I went to sleep....after tossing and turning all night I got up and ran this morning with a sweet friend, On the way home the sun coming up behind the clouds was a beautiful sight....I pulled over and prayed. I prayed that God would
ease the heavy feeling on my heart....show me somehow that I was not a failure...that I was making a difference in my child's life. I prayed that he would help me seek new ways to deal and to have the strength to make it through another school year come August. I prayed that he would speak to Khristian's heart....to give him that drive that he needs. I prayed that he take my mine and my child's heart in his hands and mold it to what he wants it be....

I wiped the tears from eyes....pulled out on the road and drove home....and when I got to my front door....my prayer was answered.

I was met at the door by Khristian, who was weirdly already awake, with a bag of garbage being taken out. He said "Good Morning Mom....I've already cleaned the kitchen and living room for you this morning so you don't have to rush to do it.' As I said Thank you Son....I heard my sweet Bailey already awake in my bedroom watching cartoons..... I went to give her a hug and she said "My Bubby got me a juice and turned Peppa Pig on for me!"

I may not can post a facebook status about Khristian making all A's and so on.....but I could write a book about how good that childs heart is. I could tell you about how every single day in the afternoon he asks me "Mom, How was your day?" .... or the fact that he randomly will pick up the house when he sees how exhausted I am. I could tell you about how some mornings I will look in the rearview mirror and I see him holding Baileys hand.....about how since she was born and is upset, he can rub the side of her face and she calms down....and every morning when he gets out of the car for school he makes it a point to kiss me goodbye and tell Bailey to have a good day. I can tell you about the time that he heard Travis and I get into an argument and he pulled me aside the next day and made sure that I was ok and told me he loved me. I can tell you about the letter he gave me that told me I was his biggest inspiration....that I taught him to never give up on his dreams....and I could tell you about how after him and I get into an argument, several hours later he will come into my bedroom and cuddle up with me for a few minutes like he did when he was a toddler....and just sit quietly for a moment.

When I walked in the door this morning, I was reminded that I have a son that has a heart of gold.

You can't teach that at school..... :)

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"Be good. Do good...."

“What I've come to learn is that the world is never saved in grand messianic gestures, but in the simple accumulation of gentle, soft, almost invisible acts of compassion.” 

I catch myself looking, studying, absorbing the people around me. I take in their appearance and mannerisms. I follow their gaze and wonder what holds their thoughts. I wonder where they are going. I wonder if our paths will ever cross again in this big world we share. What brought them there? Work? Play? Chance? What’s their life like? Are they planning their next vacation or are they stressing over their next meal? Is he ecstatic for that promotion? Did she just get laid off from her job, the only income on which her family survives?  

There are countless faces I see everyday, never truly knowing who they are or what their day entails. Everyday, we are all given the opportunity to change someone’s life. How is up to you. That frustrated and tearful mother in the supermarket with the screaming child. Instead of casting judgement and disdain for the mild inconvenience her toddler may have caused you, offer words of encouragement. “I’ve been there. It gets better.” The panhandler, begging ‘anything helps’. Many scoff, saying “get a job!” Maybe he’s one of the many veterans who have returned home and found themselves unemployed and homeless. 

This morning, I had to make a quick stop in at the grocery store.....while I was standing there in the baby isle with my sweet Bailey I couldn't help but to over hear a conversation a young girl was having on her cell phone. She couldn't have been no  more than about 17 or 18....with a young baby on her hip. I am not sure who she was speaking with...but she was explaining to the person that she had to buy diapers and wipes for daycare and put gas in her car so she could get back and forth to work....and she had a $20.00 bill in her hand...that's all she had. I could hear the desperation in her voice....and the tears threatening to spill over in her eyes. It instantly took me back to when I, myself, was an 18 year old single mom with a small baby boy on my hip...having to make that same choice. Only to get up the register and still not have enough money to buy the diapers and formula. I was 3 dollars shy of having the total amount due.

I can remember standing there, voice cracking, tears welling up in my eyes as I tried to figure out what to do. Then I felt a warm hand being placed over mine and looking up to an older gentleman handing me a $20.00 bill and saying "Here you go young lady....get what you need." I couldn't hold back the tears any longer and I thanked him profusely....He told me not to mention it....that he just wanted to help. I vowed that if I ever saw him again...I would pay him back and let him know just how much is act of kindness and compassion meant to a struggling teenage mother. I still haven't gotten that chance.

While I was standing there listening to this young girls conversation, I couldn't help myself. As she ended her phone call, I asked her what size diapers she needed. She looked at me like I had 2 heads....but told me that she needed a size 2. I grabbed a huge box of size 2 diapers and a box of wipes off the bottom shelf, grabbed Baileys hand...and told the young girl to follow me to the cash register. After I paid for the items, I handed them to her. It was then that I saw the same face I must have had 12 years ago looking back at the older gentleman. She had tears in her eyes and she thanked me profusely. I told her that no thanks was needed....to just remember this moment later in life...and return the favor for someone else.

 My point here isn’t to hand over all your cash to the next panhandler you see. The point is, you run across dozens of people everyday. You don’t know their background. You don’t know the troubles they face. You don’t know how they ended up where they are today.  Sadly, it seems our first instinct is to judge when it should be to LOVE. More often than not, all that is needed to change someone’s day for the better is a few kind words. We possess the ability to leave a lasting impression on any one person, why not take that opportunity to be compassionate rather than bitter? 

I don't know this girls background....I don't know her story. I don't need to. I just did what I felt like I needed to in my heart. 

Our society has become stricken by violence....by greed. Where in the decades past have we forgotten what it is to be cordial to one another?   We are consumed with materialism and technology. Hate and slander obtruding into our minds on a daily basis through media. What have we become that our priorities do not lie as a Nation Under God, but in removing Him from the establishments in which we need him most! Civility and compassion has become an after thought when it should be second nature. 

Whenever you find it your heart to show mercy, know that you are doing as you were called to do. We are all here for a specific purpose . Let it not be the cause of someone else’s pain.

Be good. Do good. 

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"It was not about me. It was not about the run...."

"Here's a secret about running. The feeling you get after a new PR, the satisfaction from a tough workout well done, and the disappointment from a bad performance all feel the same no matter how fast you are. That's the beauty of our sport.

There is no difference between the runner who breaks 30 minutes for the 5K for the first time and the one that breaks 16 minutes. Both worked hard, sacrificed to achieve their goal, and experienced the same challenges.

That means all runners can relate to each other, no matter their speed."

There are runs where you want to quit, but you don’t.

Runs where you want to quit, and you do.

Runs where you push yourself so hard, you puke your guts out.

Runs where you puke your guts out because you’re pregnant and don’t know it.

Runs where you go faster than you ever have before, and it feels amazing.

Runs where you’re so sore from a previous workout that you can barely move.

Runs where you’re injured, but you don’t want to admit it.

Runs when you’re coming back from an injury and you’re scared to hurt it.

Runs when you have to pee with every single step

Runs when you start off angry and end happy.

Runs when you watch every single second tick by.

Runs when you finish before you realize you even started.

Runs where you make new friends.

Runs where you figure crap out.

Runs where great ideas come to you.

Runs where not so great ideas come to you.

Runs when you realize what you really want to do with your life.

Runs where you realize you’re not doing what you want to do.

Runs where you are just plain sad the entire time.

Runs where you are so hot, you fantasize about diving into an icy cold pool the entire time.

Runs where you know you’re getting brutally chafed, but you keep on keepin’ on.

Runs where you are with thousands of other people.

Runs by yourself

Runs when you cry the entire time.

Runs where you cry when you’re finished

.

Runs that earn you a medal.

Runs where the wind is blowing so hard, you feel as if you’re going backwards.

Runs that are so effortless, you’re not even sure they happened.

Runs where you’ve gone 20 miles, and don’t possibly think you could 6.2 more. And then you do.

Runs where you’re exploring a whole new place, in a way you never would if you weren’t a runner.

Runs where you have a cold, and your nose leaks the whole time.

Runs when the rain is pouring.

Runs when the sun is shining.

Runs when your Garmin dies halfway through, and you have to do it blindly.

Runs where you get so confused as to how far you’ve gone (math is hard, especially when you’re 

tired) that you say screw it and just give up counting.

Runs that are “stolen” when you should be doing something else.

Runs where you make your to-do list.

Runs where you have to stop and take a phone call.

Runs where you have to stop and go back to work.

Runs where you should stop and go back to work, but you don’t.

And if you are lucky....You will get a run that makes you fall in love with running all over again.

On Saturday, at seven in the morning, over 30,000 people gathered in the center of downtown Nashville,  ready to take part in possibly one of the most fatiguing, rigorous, and demanding days of their lives- both physically and mentally.

Before the day of my race arrived I had many expectations. The physical part never made me think twice, I was, and still am, confident that after your legs can tolerate two hours of running, the remaining distance you wish to achieve is your minds doing.

Friday night I was eager for the sun to rise on Saturday morning, and as the sun rose on Saturday, I was just as eager for it to set.

 I wanted to start this day, walk to the start line with 2 of the most influential people in my life….and do what we do…..Run. I wanted them to have the best experience possible in running their first marathon. I stood there and wondered about my best friends. 20 corrals behind us…..getting ready to run their first half marathon. Knowing the nerves and the anticipation that was setting in on all these runners. How do I know? Because I feel it every single time I step to the start line.

I often wonder what I will feel like afterwards, and perhaps during the race, and I often think pride. A selfish pride, one that was only about me- how hard I worked, how I did not give up, how I did something not many other people can say they accomplished.

However, this run for me was not about what I could say “I” did. I ran this race with my Mom and Uncle. Many people will not know what I mean when I say these 2 saved me from me. When I was at my lowest point in life…..They believed in me. Never once gave up on me. This truly wasn’t about the run….it was about the journey for me.

I could not ignore the energy in the air. Like electricity, it was plausible, and the undeniable thrill, and anticipation, and support ran like currents from runner to runner- I didn’t dread this run, because as a team, we were all ready.

The race began, and I was pleasantly surprised to internally acknowledge how happy I felt. Of course, this was only the beginning, and I was sure this feeling would be fleeting. Even still, I enjoyed myself.

I enjoyed myself by reading the often clever shirts of everyone ahead of me.

I enjoyed myself by looking at the historical, beautiful, world famous monuments we passed, as we steadily ran through the entirety of Nashville.

I enjoyed myself by the endless support- the strangers, and children on the side of the roads, giving the runners high fives as we passed. The volunteers lining the street, handing us water, each and every one of them encouraging us along the way.

I enjoyed myself by realizing the amazing thing I was doing, but not the way in which I envisioned myself feeling- that selfish pride.

It really was no longer about me or the run. It was about the 30,000 people- who were from different countries, and backgrounds. Who were men and women, who had children, or were single. Who were different skin colors, and sexual orientations, and who held different political beliefs. Who were young, and old.

All of these people, you knew nothing about them.  Yet, in this moment, we were all the same. All you knew is the amount of hard work they put into this day, you knew it, because you had done the very same. You knew that today, they would give it all they had- they would ignore that voice in their head telling them they were tired, or they needed a break, or that they could not do it- you knew they would ignore that voice, and overcome that voice- but only if we did it together.

It was not about me or the run. It was about the community- a community of people you knew nothing about, but who supported each other nonetheless. Who had a common goal, an extremely challenging one, but who would exert every ounce of discipline, and strength, and courage in order to achieve it.

It was not about me or the run.

It was watching, with a smile on my face, as a man who looked almost 80 years old, jogged around the rest of us. Hearing him cheer us on and chant “Come on Mother & Daughter…and uncle. Ya’ll can do it!!”  It was watching, with a smile on my face, as runners cheered him on, all along the way.

It was not about me or the run. It was about watching the young man run the entire race with an American flag waving in the wind behind him.

It was not about me or the run. It was about the woman I saw in a wheelchair….smiling. Wheeling past runners on 2 feet and cheering them on. Never once letting the fact that she was in a wheelchair stop her from accomplishing a goal she set for herself.

It was not about me or the run. It was about the women, and the men, it was about all of us coming together to watch as we made ourselves proud. But, I will say again, it was not a selfish pride.

This day- it was not something that could be passed down to you. It did not matter who your parents were, and it was not a gift that could be bought in the store. It was a result of one thing, and one thing only, an unwavering work ethic. A ruthless and relentless mind- that would push you when your body said stop.

 This day, it was not about me. It was not about the run.

It was about realizing we must not all be competitive with one another, but ourselves. It is not about beating the person next to you, or being better than them. It is about encouraging them to be their best, and pushing them, and pushing yourself, in an effort to better one another. Not bringing another down to lift yourself up, but by using each other as support beams, allowing the both of you to rise like smoke, together.

It was not about me. It was not about the run. It was about stepping up to the start line and praying to our almighty God to give protection to the 30,000 runners that were about to push their body to the limit. It was about stopping at mile 11 and praying once again for a layer of healing over my uncle’s knee who in excruciating pain. It was about having that same faith at mile 19 when we stopped and held hands in prayer for a third time. For him to ease the stomach cramps of my Mom. For him to just lay his hand upon them both. To give them the strength to push on. To guide them.

We asked in prayer…..and our faithful God answered.

It was about watching Gere stop and bend over in pain….I saw it written all over his face as he grabbed his knee…then recomposed himself and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other….and keep moving.

It was about hearing Gina say out loud on mile 24…..”Dear God, please just give me the strength.” And 15 minutes later I heard her whisper “I can do this”….when she didn’t think I could hear her.

It was about receiving updating text messages saying that my friend crossed the finish line of her first half marathon UNDER her time limit she set for herself.

It was about receiving that second text message from another friend stating she crossed the finish line under her time as well. Both of these girls always underestimating what they are capable of...and this was a defining moment in their life. It was a hurdle that they will always remember.

It was about watching my cousin walk up to me after crossing the finish line of that brutal 26.2 miles and giving me a hug....a hug that said more than he could have said to me. It simply said “Thank you for believing in me.”

On that day, while my resolve was trailed during the final hour, and my legs begged me to stop, and I wondered why the last two miles felt like eight, it was among one of the best of my life. It was something that was my own, but somehow, managed to be about way more than myself. It was an unselfish pride. One without jealously, or hate, or competition- ironic enough given the fact it was a race. It was the vital thing, so often overlooked, the strength of support and family….and community.

Today, I am sore. But my heart is proud.

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"You are my heart...."

"You are my heart....When you succeed, I succeed....when you fail, I fail....when you step, I step with you. You are my heart...You have to know that...." 

Dear Son,

It dawned on me the other day that you are getting dangerously close to the age I was when I gave birth to you.  I’m not going to lie, that knowledge terrifies me a bit.  Not simply because I don’t want you to become a teenage parent (which I don’t- at all), but because it means that you’ve reached a point in your life where the choices you make can and will impact you for years to come, if not forever.  How well you do in school, the types of people you associate with, and how you divvy up the pie chart that is your life between family, friends, girls, school, sports, etc., matters NOW. (For the record, it should go like this: school, family, sports, friends, girls.  I realize, however, that you probably want to do things in the exact opposite order.)

As much as I would love to keep you a baby forever, I can no longer deny the fact that you are becoming a young man, right before my eyes.  Which means that I have to make some changes, too.  I have to learn how to be the mother of a teenager, as opposed to a teenage mother. I'm going to be honest, I am struggling. Bad. I have to learn that I can’t fight your battles for you or hold your hand during every step of your journey into manhood.  I have to allow you to make mistakes and learn things the hard way.  And I have to learn how to become your friend. I have to learn how to juggle the two. 

Make no mistake, I will always be your mother before your friend.  I will still discipline you when it’s warranted and try to impart my “mom wisdom” on you when I can, no matter how stupid you think it is.  (Or how stupid you think I am.)  But I also have to start allowing you to make your own choices, to be who you are.  I need to stand back and watch as the things I’ve taught you about the world, about life, and about how to treat others, take hold on their own, without my reminders and lectures and constant nagging.  I need to learn how to enjoy the young man that you’ve become, and take pride in the part I’ve played in that.

In just five short years, you’ll be a legal adult.  You’ll be the same age I was when I gave birth to a beautiful brown-eyed baby boy.  The age I was when I met the love of my life.  (Yes, I’m talking about you.)  While teenage parenthood is not ideal (and again, not something I want you to experience- EVER), I wouldn’t change a thing, even if I could.  Just as I’ve watched you grow over the past thirteen years, you’ve done the same with me.  You’ve watched me make mistakes, have my heart broken, and fall down (literally and figuratively) more times than I can count.  You’ve seen and heard and been through things that I never wanted you to have to experience.  But the thing I hope you’ll take from it all, more than anything else, is that I always got back up.  I admitted when I was wrong, apologized when I should (usually), and didn’t let anything stop me.

I may not have been the one to teach you to play baseball, or wrestle, or even ride a bike, but hopefully I did teach you what it means to be a fighter.  To always follow your heart and your dreams, and to never give up, no matter how many setbacks you face.  I’m far from perfect.  You know that because you see my flaws firsthand.  And I’m sure that sometimes it must seem like I’m a hypocrite for disciplining you when I see you following in some of my more unfavorable footsteps.  If it seems like I expect more from you than I myself gave at your age, it’s because I do. 

I tell you all the time that we’re a lot alike, and it’s true.  Sometimes I feel that we’re too much alike.  (Which is probably why we argue as often as we do.)  But here’s where we differ: you’re better than me.  I know, because you are the best part of me.  And because you’ve seen the worst part of me.  I never tried to put myself on a pedestal for you, and maybe that’s in part because I was afraid of falling.  But I don’t regret it.  Growing up alongside you was a lot more fun anyway. You see baby boy, you are my heart. You are the one that gave me the strength I needed it. You are the one that I got out of the bed for each and every day. Your face is the one I saw when I was in the darkest part of my life and suicide crossed my mind. You are my heart. 

I’m writing you this letter in a moment of clarity, but I’m sure that tomorrow, or next week, or the week after that, I’ll try to pick out your school clothes, or stick my nose in “your business,” or let my hurt feelings show when you choose to spend your evening talking on the phone to your friends instead of  watching movies with me.  It will happen.  I promise.  But when it does, please try to have a little patience with me.  Because as hard as it was becoming a teen mom, I’m finding it a lot harder learning how to be the mom of a teenager.

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,

As long as I'm living

my baby you'll be.

Love, 

Mom 

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