Today is the day after I returned home from my trip to Las Vegas.
It was one of the best Las Vegas trips I've ever been on. The weather was gorgeous. Warm during the day. Cool at night. My husband and I were alone except for the one evening we got to spend with a college...
Today is my son’s birthday.
His 17th one.
And for the first time ever, I’m not with him. I can't hug him more than he wants me to. I can't tell him, again, the story of his birth. And I can't bake him a birthday cake from scratch. (Oh, right, I wouldn't do that anyway.)
Yesterday morning, I ran 2.5 miles. Then, in the afternoon, I went to Pilates. This morning, I woke up and went to a kick-ass spin class.
After class, as I was getting in the shower, I couldn’t help but think, “Who the f@$k am I?”
I’ve had that thought a lot in the last couple of weeks.
So I ran that race this morning.
That 5K I’ve been yapping about for the last couple of weeks. My first one ever.
And even though I didn’t meet my goal of a sub 10 minute mile, it turned out better than I had hoped for.
I am without my valentine on this February 14th. He’s off skiing in Colorado with a buddy. And having the time of his life.
I get to spend the evening with my teen daughter and her BFF, making brownies, eating takeout and watching a marathon of romantic comedies.
And there’s no place I’d rather be.
Martha was killed almost a year ago. Struck by a car as she was leaving a shop in her Brooklyn Heights neighborhood. And her death still doesn’t make any sense to me. I don’t think it ever will.