The lake is peaceful. That is not how things are in February. They are icy and turbulent and raging, but today it is quiet.
Seven says: “He is with angels, and it is always summer time so Jake can play baseball all day.”
And then she wants it to be normal, so we are normal for her.
My Mom says “Go run. Run and when you have to cry, walk. So you can come home and be what she needs.”
And in the first mile, I breakdown when I see the water. I breakdown when I think of the man at mile 20 who asked about Jake. And I breakdown as I turn towards home. And the tears freeze on my cheeks as I weave in and out of slow careless commuters leaving the L station.
In 3.13 miles I turn the corner and see his grandparents porch decorated in laminated paper butterflies made by Jake’s classmates and I remember how happy he was to have a playdate the last time we saw him.
And I smile.
Turn off my watch.
And go inside to play Barbies with my girl, who needs me to be strong.
