Sunday

We woke up this morning to the news that a friend had died after a brief, intense journey with cancer. The last time I saw Greg, he stood in his driveway, smiling with his whole body, arms outstretched for a hug. “Max freaks out when we hug people,” I said. It had already been a long day with the kids and I didn’t want to set Max off again. I regret that choice, leaving Greg's arms open and empty.
 
Today, the sun was shining but it wasn’t as blistering as the past few days, and a light breeze sweetened the afternoon.

Scott and I went to brunch by ourselves. We sat next to each other outside in the shade. We talked. About our friend who left his body today. About the trip to Spain we took several years ago. About our kids and college and money and being sober. I felt the light pressure of his knee against mine.

All day today, my heart opened and broke, opened and broke. Opened for my beautiful little family, for all the work Scott and I do to put down the parts of ourselves that cause us the most pain. Broken for our friend Maggie, facing her first day without her husband. Opened for my daughter’s big blue eyes and near-constant smile that brings out her unusually low dimple (limple!). Broken for the thought of something happening to her, to Max, to Scott, to me. Open for the warmth on my skin, for seeing my kids play with my parents, for a few moments to sit and write it all down. For Greg, free from pain, somewhere in all this sunlight. For you, reading these words, letting me share them with you.