Six of One, Half a Dozen of Another

That's how I feel about the past 12 years. Today is T's birthday, and the last 12 years have past almost too fast, but not quick enough at the same time. Yet, 12 years have passed. I could have been a bad parent, a so-so parent, or a good parent. 12 years passed no matter what kind of parent I decided to be when my first child was born.

T & I at his 2nd birthday party

12 years ago, I was a 21 year-old young woman, less than two years away from getting my Bachelor's degree. Four days prior, I finished one part-time job and took official leave from my full time job. The semester was over, and even though I knew I was taking the summer semesters off, I knew nothing of what my future had in store except there would always be someone who called me "Mommy". I only knew time would pass no matter what type of decisions I made for myself and my child.

I could have decided to not finish my degree, not worked hard to do my part to support our new family, not put everything I was into being a damn good mother. HAve I always been the best mother? No. Could I have done some things better? Probably. But I look at T and I see me...really, we are so similar in both looks and especially, personalities. I pray every day he sees the same similarities and has high hopes for his future.

T getting his red belt 05/19/12

I pray in 12 years he will look back and say my mom was the best mom I could have had. I pray he says, "She gave me the example I needed in all areas of my life." I pray he says, "She had strength, compassion, and even (oh, I really hope) grace under pressure." I pray when he looks forward in his life he uses my life as a pathway for his own dreams.

Finally, I pray when his first child is 12, he provides the same example I have tried to provide for him, sets pathways for his child's dreams. I pray he finds his own strength and courage in an easier way than I have, and he develops an undying compassion for his fellow man so he may pass those on to his family.

Yes, 12 years have passed. They were hard years, but good years because no matter what, T led me on my path to find the dreams I never knew I wanted.

T

Remembering Why

Over the last few months, I have neglected running (and writing) on a regular basis, making excuses and throwing self pity parties. This last week or two, I have eased back into running again. Fighting excuses daily; getting angry when I do not push myself beyond the mental wall. Yet, today, through a friendly "checking on you" text, I was abruptly reminded why I started running in the first place.

On December 4, 2008, my stepbrother, John Jared Savage was killed in Mosul, Iraq, just a mere four days before coming home for good. When we should have been celebrating, we were shedding tears of loss and grief. When we should have been hugging him and thanking God for his safe return, we were mourning over a closed casket and wondering why God let this happen.

His death happened to make us stronger people. His death made me a stronger person. His death has pushed me every step I have run since then. His death has made me prove to myself that I can do things I thought not possible. In a sense, his death gave me a way to find myself, find my life.