coming home.

Dear Omma, 

A saying that's stuck with me recently is, that life continues to send us the same lesson until we learn and grow from it. My initial response to this was: "Pffft. Groundhog Day was just a horribly good Bill Murray movie," (you'd point out I get this obtuseness from Dad). But these last few weeks have been like a spotlight on those words, casting a high beam on their intention.

This past Tuesday, there was a terrorist attack in New York, just a couple of blocks from where I work. It was the largest scale terrorist attack on US soil since 9/11, the media said. This took me back to that day in 2001, when I was in my senior year at Washington & Lee. It was also a Tuesday, and I remember not realizing the impact of what had happened, until the next day when I found out that a close friend was on the second plane. Lisa was on her way home to California, having graduated a few months previous. 16 years later, and I still think about the life she was about to start - the dreams and hopes she was about to pursue - and how it was all cut short.

A few weeks ago, a relationship with someone I'd come to care for very much, ended. This love was one I'd grown to rely on for support and strength, particularly as we went through the toughest moments of your illness. Its abrupt end made me think about how someday, I'll have to say goodbye to you, long before I'm ready to do so. It also made me realize that unpreparedness for the end is actually an indicator of how much love is contained inside the relationship, no matter how imperfect it may seem and even if it's not long-lasting. 

We went together to Lexington this past weekend, you and I. I wanted you to see who I am now in my career. I also wanted the chance to share this part of my life with you, instead of shielding it from you, like I did when I was still too young and insecure because we weren't like the other families.

Mom, I am so proud of you for how well you handled your chemo treatment, for being well enough to make the trip to Lexington with me, and of your unwavering fight as we prepare to start this next round of radiation treatment. Most of all, I am thankful that you have always been proud of me and held space for me to come home, even when I tried to leave behind the things I didn't yet know how to be proud of. I hope that before our eventual goodbye, I have many more chances to re-learn some of the lessons I wish I had done better the first time. 

I love you, Omma. 

Back at Natural Bridge, near W&L, where I hadn't been since we went as a family when I was young.