This morning I got out early for my easy three-mile recovery run:
This run was all foggy-like. I loved it. The air smelled super-fresh and I felt like I was in a dream. The fog condensed in sweet little droplets on my eyelashes.
Today Aaron and I spent lots of time with both sides of his family. We got to celebrate the birthday of the oldest member of his family (Grandpa O, age 87) and receive a finger painting from the youngest (Ben, age 1).
From 1 to 87 and everywhere in between, I couldn’t ask for better people to add to the illustrious list of those whom I call family. I am a lucky gal.
On this Sunday night, when I would normally steel myself for a week of dedicated training, I instead take a deep breath and prepare for what will undoubtedly be a tough week.
My mom will have surgery on Tuesday in the first big step of her treatment. I’ll be hanging out with her at her house on Thursday and Friday as she recovers, which means I won’t see Aaron on Valentine’s Day. Some things are just so much more important than a date on a calendar.
There is love in the form of red roses and cellophane-wrapped boxes of chocolates, and then there is L.O.V.E. — that all-consuming, heart-bursting feeling you have when you’d give anything to make sure that another person is happy and healthy and safe.
I think my mom felt that for me many months before I was born, and I’ll feel that for her up until, and through, my last breath.
I hope y’all feel a little bit of that this Valentine’s Day.