I meant to write so many things.
About life. About love. About laughter.
I meant to tell you that June is bittersweet
With all its birthdays and anniversaries and holidays.
But my minutes were too full of what comes when you hold little hands and hearts of those who know what love and loss really mean.
I meant to tell you that summer is a mama-hoot.
With all its sibling brawls and bedtime excuses and I’m-a-gonna-lose-my-mama-stuff-all-over-the-place.
But my hours were too full of the sweet and mundane grace that wet swimsuits and muddy shoes and mama-just-one-more-minute can bring.
I meant to tell you that even in grace there are days that are hard.
With a body that is broken and people that are messy and tomorrows that feel fragile.
But my days were too full of all the things I usually watch other mamas do and say, Maybe someday.
I meant to tell you that life is less about what you have and more about the people in it.
With every minute…
With every hour…
With every day…
But life stepped in and said all I needed to say.