I love my little community. I think ninety percent of the people here showed up for my husband’s memorial service last spring, and not one of them has forgotten that next month marks the one-year anniversary of his death. I guess I’m thinking about this today because last night was the first flag football practice of the season, and I got to see my crew — the moms whose kids play football and flag football with my younger son, Cuyler. We sat on the sidelines, watching and raving about each others’ boys…
Where’d Bryan’s baby fat go?
Look at the size of James’s feet!
My God, Michael is even more handsome. Has Joy put bars on his bedroom windows yet?
And of course they asked me the same questions they’ve asked since Stu died…
How are you?
How are the boys?
You think you’ll stay?
Almost twelve months into our “new normal,” with the fatigue and its lovely partners panic, anxiety, and sleeplessness, finally starting to lift, I can honestly say…
My boys are getting better.
And you bet we are.
We’ve suffered a catastrophic loss. There’s no way we’re leaving all this love.