I’m sitting at my desk, sipping on the coffee I was supposed to be enjoying with my husband today.  But, once again, life had different plans for us.

All things considered, this morning went far better than I thought it could’ve, even under good circumstances.

We walked through the gates and past the playground equipment hand in hand.  I glanced down at the boy walking beside me and instead of sadness at the idea of how quickly he was growing up, all I felt was proud.  Proud of where we were, who we are and what we were doing, despite our circumstances.  Proud of him for walking beside me, happily.  Proud of him for being exactly the 3 year old that my husband and I had imagined he would be.  And even proud of me.  For making myself get out of bed every day for the last 7.5 months.  For walking our son into that building without tears streaming down my face.  Proud for doing what I know Chris would want us to be doing.

And we put his stuff inside his new, personal, cubby.  And we walked over to where the potty’s were so he wouldn’t be scared when the time came to use them.  We made friends with a little girl named Lulu, who was new at Briarfield, too.  We saw our buddy Max and gave him a hug.  We smiled at Max’s little brother Sawyer.  And when it was time, we gave each other a big hug and a kiss and I turned and walked out the door as he walked over to find a toy holding his new teacher’s hand.

I walked back to the car, alone, looked up at the sky and smiled.  I thanked my husband for my strength.  And for Shane’s peace.  I drove over to the Dunkin’ Donuts and got myself that coffee.  And shed a tear.  A tear for what should’ve been and can not be.  A tear for what is.