February 28

I spend a fair amount of time at Starbucks (which, if you know me in real life, is a duh-kind of observation), so it's not surprising that over the past year or so, I've gotten to know Jess, the manager.

She became something of a weekday morning fixture for me, and usually had a smile and a cup of blonde roast coffee waiting for me by the time I got to the counter. In fact, it wasn't unusual for her to bring refills to my table without me even having to ask. But because life is always morphing and changing, today was her last day.

I told her that she'll be great in her next job --and I believe she will!-- because she's so sweet and because she takes the time to get to know people, even when she doesn't necessarily need to do it to get the job done. I'll definitely miss her, but I'm thankful for the way she made me --a run-of-the-mill customer-- feel important and cared for on a regular basis just by being herself.

February 27

So before a few minutes ago, the only photos on my camera roll from today were selfies (and there were quite a few because I had my hair done and I was trying to get a good angle. Oh, vanity). I didn't really want to use one of those, so I wandered the house thinking, and then I remembered this:

I found it when I ran out to the store to pick up a few things this afternoon. Since cars with flame jobs always remind me of Logan and Logan is in Heaven, it was, of course, a happy little wink for me.

February 26

My personal frustrations aside, it was a happy day for our extended family because Adam's brother Eric and his wife Emily welcomed their third child and first daughter, little Melody. I got the news from Adam late this afternoon, and as soon as I did, Abby reminded me to light the candles Emily gave us at her girls' outing a few weeks ago:

I can't remember the exact words she used as she handed them out that day, but the gist of it was that she wanted us to illuminate the candles --which were from their wedding-- as soon as we found out the baby had been born. The goal was to celebrate the news by spreading a little extra light through the world.

A nice message, I think, and certainly a sweet way to commemorate the beginning of a new life.

February 25

With the beginning of the baseball season just around the corner, Adam and I took Isaac and Brady to the park to practice this afternoon. There was batting and fielding and some lying around in the field. And then, while Adam was pitching to me (because hey, I like some BP, too), the boys were thrilled to find this:

Though they insisted it was nothing more than a little stick, it was definitely --duh-- a huge branch. But that didn't stop them from joining forces and dragging it around together. Although we definitely didn't let them bring it home, their dogged efforts made me think a bit about challenges. It's easy for me to look at a daunting task and think 'there's no way I can carry that.' And in fact, by myself, I'd probably struggle. But with help --from family, friends, and definitely God-- I can do just about anything.

And that's an encouraging thought, especially as challenges loom on the horizon.

February 24

After my treadmill time tonight, I went to sit in my usual spot on the corner of the couch. When I got there, I found this:

I know I've said it many, many times before --because let's face it, you start to repeat yourself after five years-- but I love how they love each other. What they have right here in this picture is one of the greatest gifts they'll ever have in this lifetime.

February 23

Isaac went on a field trip today, and for the first time in a long time --actually, it may've been the first time ever-- I didn't go. He wasn't happy when he discovered I'd opted out, but I had other obligations and it just didn't work for me. So after school, I made a point of walking with him during Running Club to make up for my "indiscretion".

Since he's not the oldest and he's not the youngest and he's one of two middle kids and he's not particularly demanding, I suspect Isaac feels like he doesn't get a lot of attention. But he's truly a pleasant, easygoing, and extraordinarily thoughtful and sensitive person, so it's such a blessing to have one-on-one time to connect with him.

February 22

Today, my one and only (for the next few days, anyway) niece celebrated her 10th birthday, and I quietly remembered the seventh anniversary of the day Logan could very well have died (but didn't), had coffee with a pal, went to Brady's baseball practice, got frustrated with PTA stuff, took out said frustration on my treadmill, and watched an intense battle for Olympic figure skating gold. And, because I took no photos, I'll add that I ate this for dessert:

I wish I could say that I drowned my sorrows in that cup of yogurt, but nah. Didn't happen. I still feel tired and decidedly discouraged and in a way, more unsettled than I've felt in quite a long time. None of that is terribly unusual, but familiarity with a feeling doesn't make it less painful.

Still, in the back of my mind --and the recesses of my heart-- I'm hopeful that God has more positive things for me just around the corner. And so I wait.

February 21

I had a lovely chat and walk around the neighborhood this morning with this sweet little lady (who is such a well-behaved and good-natured baby that I suspect she may be a robot) and her mama:

It was a little cool out, but the sun was shining. And beautiful mornings are always made better when they're spent with great people. I don't think I can ask for much more.

February 20

A few sweet friends have made a point of remembering Logan in a tangible way every single year. We received a box of "Cars" cookies in the mail a few days ago (thanks Naomi!), and then these arrived this evening.

I really can't express how much it means to me when people go out of their way to tell me that they remember him. I like to think that though his life on earth was short, he made a long-term impact, and these little gestures made me feel like he did just that.

February 19

We all kind of went about our own business today: the Little Boys went to a friend's house to play a board game, Abby holed up in her room texting friends, and Adam and I went for a walk around the park. Late in the afternoon, before Isaac and I headed off to his baseball practice across town, the guys somehow wound up taking in some Olympic action from the same chair:

Of course, it's not a complete picture of My Guys because Logan isn't there, but it does my heart good to see their smiling faces together, sharing a single moment in time.

February 18

Adam sent me flowers for Valentine's Day. When they first arrived, the roses were really pretty and pink and full, but the lillies were still tightly closed and... not quite so pretty. I looked at them each morning, afternoon, and evening, and still the lillies remained largely unchanged, and it was... disappointing. But then today... this:

Sometimes we have to wait for a situation --or a flower-- to fully unfold before we can see the true scope of its beauty. (And sometimes those pre-completion iterations are pretty darn ugly.) Patience is hard --really hard for me, in fact, and it always has been-- but so necessary if we want to see the big, beautiful painting that eventually fills the canvas.

February 17

When I walked into Safeway yesterday morning, the first thing I saw was this:

I couldn't get that little blue lamb out of my mind as I traversed the aisles. Eventually, I went back to get him because he reminded me so much of Logan's Lambie. So this little blue lamb has spent the last few days watching the Olympics with me.

He's not Lambie, of course; that VIL --Very Important Lovey-- resides in our room and nothing else could ever take his place. But he is kind of like a hug from Heaven, and I wasn't about to turn that down.

February 16

Starting around the first anniversary of Logan's passing, I've gotten together with friends for an annual memorial coffee meet-up. It's a good opportunity to just take some time to remember him and to catch up en-masse. Courtesy of my long-time pal Michelle, that get-together happened this morning.

These are some seriously fabulous ladies. I may not see some of them very often at all, but I always have a good time when we get together. And it means so much that they rally around me when I need that extra emotional boost that February 11 preditably requires. Blessed indeed.

February 15

Adam and I had our Valentine's Day "date" tonight: steaks at Black Angus followed by ice cream at Baskin-Robbins (because chocolate peanut butter is so yum that it's totally worth the 300 calories for a single scoop).

It's always nice when we can have a leisurely dinner together and just talk without anyone asking for a drink of water or complaining that someone else is being annoying. Although we've certainly had our struggles, it's a blessing that after 20-plus years, we've worked through them and still enjoy spending time together.

February 14

I have a complicated relationship with Valentine's Day. When I was a little kid, I liked it because what kid doesn't like fun class parties and cute little cards? When I was a slightly older kid, I didn't like it so much because teachers started saying it was okay to just bring those cute little cards for your friends... and I'd changed schools so I didn't get very many. (And yes, that actually still stings all these years later.) When I was a young adult, I liked it because I had Adam and it was fun to dress up the kiddos in adorable red and pink outfits. Then when I was 34, I didn't like it because Adam and I spent the day driving around looking at grave sites for our little boy, who had just passed away. So yeah. Complicated.

So I guess it was a good thing that I was really, really busy today and didn't have much time to think about it. I gave the kids their chocolates just before we left for school drop-offs (and here they are...)

... then went to have coffee and caught up with emails (and did some work), became absolutely incensed over Brady's baseball team situation (which I am not going into right now but you can go ahead and picture me spitting nails and wanting to kill people), went to the grocery store, stopped by the school to make sure all of the items for Isaac's class party had arrived, met some friends for lunch, ran back to the school for the previously mentioned party (which was 90 minutes long... which is a long party), went back to the grocery store, had dinner (heart-shaped pizza for the win), took Abby to dance, walked on the treadmill, picked Abby up from dance, and then settled in on the couch for some Olympics viewing with my hunny.

So yeah, it was a busy day. But it was a blessed day because I got to spend time with my family. And spending time with loved ones is always a good thing.

February 13

Somehow I managed to not take any photos today, so I had to reach back into my archives to find one that would work, and I came up with this. It's a few years old and we both look a little too fancy (because we were at a wedding), but it's what I've got:

Kelly, who is the director of the preschool our kids attended, texted me last week to ask if I had time to go for a walk and catch up, so that's what we did this afternoon. In addition to being great with kids, she's also a great listener, so our "catch up" time consisted of me babbling on and on about just about every random topic that came to mind. In true Kelly fashion, she listened thoughtfully and asked questions, but never told me what I should think.

It's good, I think, to just have a sounding board sometimes. So for the chance to just be open and real and to say aloud a lot of the things that I often think but don't put out there, I'm thankful.

February 12

I was a bit less numb today. Okay, a lot less. And I didn't much care for it. But it was what it was, so I spent a lot of time looking for something beautiful. This is what I finally found when I went for a walk by myself this afternoon:

There's a lot of darkness represented in this image; in fact, it's overwhelming, in a way. But just behind all of that darkness is really, really bright light. And that bright light is always there, even when it's concealed by clouds, because the clouds are temporary and the light is permanent.

A good reminder for me.

February 11

I feel numb.

I know some people prefer numbness to pain, but not me. I'm an emotional person, and I often think that I feel more acutely than most: I cry more, yes, but I think I also laugh more when I'm really happy, so it's unsettling to not feel. And on this day in particular, I like to feel and to remember and to relive, because only by rehashing that kind of pain --by walking through the pitch-blackness of that valley-- can I fully realize how far I've come since that heartbreaker of a day six years ago. But this anniversary was somehow different. I feel numb.

It was, in many ways, a February 11 much like those we've experienced in the past, with blood donations for the grown ups and spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. There were text messages and notes from friends, and quiet moments of looking up at the occasionally blue sky and remarking over how it was kinda-sorta a Logan kind of day. And there was the visit to the cemetary, where we all said a prayer and, together, released a single blue balloon to the heavens.

But it was a different kind of day, too, because my cousin Elena passed away. She'd been battling stage four cancer since late last summer. I knew things had gotten bad, but was still stunned by the news. I think I still don't really know what to do with it.

But, even in my current strange, emotionally vacuous state, I think one thing is true: although I'm not sure Elena and Logan ever met, I think they were kindred spirits. They were both optimistic and cheerful, even when their circumstances might have dictated a different brand of response. They were programmed to be positive and to look for the good, regardless of the challenges that appeared to lay ahead. They were lights --bright, beaming lights-- in a world that often seems woefully drab and dark. Although the thought of them sharing a dance or a smile or a joke on their now-shared arrival date in the next life gives me a quiet sense of satisfaction, the truth that they've both departed this life --one exactly six years after the other-- is a lot to take in.

I've struggled to write this entry so I'm now struggling to close it out, if only because I'm not entirely sure of what I want to say. So I'll go with this: although I'm not feeling much right now, I'm thankful that I am usually a ball of emotion, because it makes me wonderfully human. I cry hard and push hard for what I want, but I also love hard and work hard and play hard. And if you're fortunate enough to have me choose you as a friend, you'll experience a lot of crazy, but you'll always and forever have me in your corner. Beyond the seemingly unending hustle and bustle and nonsense of this life that strives to keep us all overcommitted and overly busy, love is not only what remains, but it's what matters. It's the only thing that matters.

Love you, Logan. And Godspeed, E. Thanks to both of you for reminding me of that important truth.

February 10

I'm not really ready for tomorrow. Of course, I'm never really ready for February 11, but it comes around every single year regardless of how I feel about it. So I'll save the complicated task of weaving and sorting through my emotions for then. With that said, today was --quite ironically-- about celebrating new life.

My sister-in-law Emily is expecting her third child --and her first baby girl-- in about a month, and her sisters arranged a celebration for her at a spa. So Abby and I headed up the freeway early this afternoon to have pedicures and late lunch with her, her mother, her two sisters, and Adam's mom.

I don't see any of them very often, but I have to say that they're all very kind, welcoming people, so an afternoon chatting and munching on too many treats with them was an afternoon well-spent, and definitely good for my heart.

February 9

While Adam took Isaac to baseball practice this evening, the rest of us watched the Olympic Opening Ceremonies on TV. Brady said he wanted to cuddle with me, so that's what we did.

I know my days of unsolicited cuddles are numbered, so I try to enjoy them as much as I can, while I can. Small blessings are big deals, I think. (And listening to him enthusiastically chirp about how "interesting" the cultural aspects of the ceremonies were... priceless.)

February 8

There wasn't much about today that was funny. Not much at all. But this tickled my funny bone a bit:

Abby was a wee bit slow getting out of the car after school, and when she did, Isaac was standing right there just looking at her. A moment later, Brady joined him. And together, they stared.

Maybe it doesn't seem all that amusing now, but it cracked me up at the time. And I'm thankful for those chuckles.

February 7

I took Isaac to baseball practice tonight, and an old friend unknowingly redeemed my otherwise tiresome, lackluter day.

I was watching Isaac and his teammates on the field when I glanced briefly to the right and saw K. So I got up, walked over, gave her a hug, and said hi. It was a very brief interaction because she was there in coach-mode, but those few minutes were just what my heart needed.

February 6

It's been an exhausting day because I am just not okay. I could pretend that I am and sometimes I do just that because it's easier to smile and say "I'm fine, thanks" than it is to admit that I'm as broken as I am. And because let's face it: people shy away from people who are negative or sad or otherwise emotionally draining, and I really don't like being alone. And right now, I'm the Dyson of emotional vacuums.

It's just hard to get through the days leading up to the anniversary. It's like I lose my filter entirely and repeatedly stick both feet in my mouth, and then I feel terrible and have to muster the emotional energy to apologize while quietly feeling like the worst person ever for not being able to keep it together. Because it's been almost six years. Shouldn't I have it together by now? I don't know. Part of me thinks I should and part of me feels like a failure because I can't just say "enough. I'm going to stop being so emotional now." Like somehow, I'm getting the God-part of living with loss profoundly wrong. So for better or worse, that's where I am.

But today had its bright spots, and my coffee with Christina was one of them. I met her almost 10 years ago when she was Abby's preschool teacher. She went on to have Logan, Isaac, and Brady in her class, which gives her the distinction of being the only person who will ever teach all four of them. That alone makes her special to me.

But she's also special because she knows what it's like to have to let go of a child. Our circumstances are completely different, but the end result --the absence of someone we expected to nurture through childhood and walk alongside during adulthood-- is the same. As we talked, I nodded along with so much of what she said, and though I wish I could change her situation, it was comforting to know that someone understands my feelings on a deep, soul-level; that someone I know can relate to so many of the emotions --that searing sense of loss and brokenness and dissonance and anger and emptiness-- with which I struggle.

I always need those connections, but this time of year in particular, they're invaluable. So as this hard day comes to a close, I'm deeply thankful to be able to count her as a friend.

February 5

Usually when I sit at Starbucks with my coffee and my laptop on weekday mornings, I work. Sometimes, it's a writing project. Sometimes it's random bits of data entry. Last week, it was a glut of PTA-related communication. But this morning featured none of the above, because in lieu of the norm, I decided to take a trip down memory lane by watching old home videos I'd uploaded to YouTube.

As I scanned all 400-plus clips, my eyes were drawn to those that featured Logan in all of his states of life. I watched him go from baby to toddler to preschooler to cancer patient. I even watched the very last video I have with him, as I sat with him and sang to him shortly before he passed on. That one was so hard to watch that I almost had to stop several times, but I pushed through because I needed to get to the end. I needed to see myself give him that kiss.

But my favorites of them all --the ones that make me laugh and cry simultaneously-- are the ones that feature him living: smiling, dancing, jumping on the couch, singing, and being that wackadoole kid I carried in my womb and then loved so, so much for the five and a half years I got to be his mom on earth.

This time of year breaks me. It makes me testy and impatient and irrational and even more emotional than I usually am. But I'm deeply thankful to have these snippets of the past available to me so I can take the time to just remember what was, and more importantly, what will be once again some day.

February 4

After a lovely weekend away, we retrived the kiddos from Adam's parents and returned home late this afternoon. But we didn't hit the road until we'd taken one more stroll around Carmel this morning.

We enjoyed a walk by the ocean, lots of window shopping, a stop at a toy store I really like (because "40" doesn't mean "too old to love puzzles and Pusheen"), and lots of pausing to admire cute cottages all along the way. (We both, as we realized, most appreciate the ones that look like they were plucked from a trolls-and-fairies fantasy land.)

Although there were plenty of fun moments to recall, one of my favorites was quite literally a simple stitch in time. As we passed a shop --and I have no idea which one it was-- we saw a little girl standing on the sidewalk, staring up at a window display. When I glanced over to see what had captured her attention, I saw a giant painting of Marilyn Monroe blowing a bubble. A second later, the little girl --whose eyes were still fixed on that image-- started to laugh. It was a sweet, lilting laugh that made me giggle, too.

There's something just so precious about moments like that; when something completely random and unexpected catches the eye and tickles a funny bone. It was a lovely reminder that though there are many aspects of this life that are hard and painful and difficult, there are also opportunities for merriment, and those split-second experiences can often be a day's most notable hour.

February 3

Today was a day of little moments. A lazy start with en-suite breakfast delivery that featured way too much food. A lengthy hike around Point Lobos in beautiful, clear, 70-degree weather.

A stop at my favorite shell and rock hunting cove, where I was once again wowed by the incredible variety of color and texture carried to the shore by the ocean. A succession of butterflies that flitted in and out of our path. Snippets of conversation. Watching the sky melt into oranges and yellows and caramels as the sun dipped into the ocean. Sharing dinner and dessert at Bistro Giovanni. The after-dark stroll back to our home-away-from-home. And a few episodes of "Fixer Upper" on HGTV.

A bunch of little moments, all unique and different and memorable for different reasons. It's good, I think, to step away from reality now and again and just be. So for this opportunity to just be for a few days with my other --and quite often better-- half, I'm thankful.

February 2

This morning, I took the kiddos to school, swung by Sbux for my caffeine fix, and headed back home so Adam and I could drive southward. He took a several-hours-long pit stop at his office while I wandered around the Great Mall in Milpitas, and then we got to the real business of the day: driving to Carmel for the weekend. Without the kids (who are staying with his parents).

Once we finally hit the road it was an uneventful drive that featured plenty of bumper to bumper traffic and a few impassioned choruses of popular '80s songs. We eventually checked into our lovely suite --the exact same one we stayed in back in November of 2015, as it happens-- and then headed out to dinner.

We initially planned to have dinner where we had it on arrival night in 2015, but when we got there, we found that the restaurant had closed. So we had to make a quick game-time decision on an alternate destination, and wound up at the very close-by Cultura. We sat in a corner by a pair of windows, and enjoyed chit-chatting and watching patrons repeatedly attempt to enter the restaurant where there wasn't actually a door. (It was funnier in person.)

And then the food came, and I was completely flummoxed by my "chicken enchiladas", which seemed to feature a plate of cheese and random veggies and nothing that really resembled chicken. I had a few bites, laughed when Adam suggested I ask for a map, and finally gave up after I accepted that I just didn't like it at all.

The server was awesome: she apologized profusely, whisked it away, insisted on bringing me a pair of chicken tacos instead, and then didn't charge us for any of my food. I told her --repeatedly-- that all was well and that different people have different palates and I was fine, but she really went out of her way to make sure I had a good experience.

Anyway, it was great to have some time to spend with just Adam since we so rarely get away together and I'm looking forward to the rest of the weekend. But what I want to say here relates back to grace. I saw a flash of panic in the server's eyes when I told her I didn't like the food. For a split second she even flinched, as if she thought I might say something harsh. I didn't, of course, because that's not the right thing to do and it wasn't her fault anyway, but it says quite a lot about society that I could see that momentary hold-your-breath-and-brace-yourself response pass over her face. It often takes very little effort or personal sacrifice to offer someone else an ounce of grace. So the next time someone else --be it your spouse or your kid or a friend or a complete stranger-- does something that grates against your sensibilities, give 'em some. It's free to give and you'll probably never know how much it's appreciated.

February 1

Gotta be honest: I'm tired. Between a load of extra work that unexpectedly fell into my lap and that upcoming anniversary, the past few weeks have left me feeling overwhelmed. I'm trying to find little things to help me hold it together as best I can, and as odd as it sounds, this was one of today's little things:

Yep, that's a bowl of cereal, and it served as my dinner tonight. (I had a meeting and didn't get to eat beforehand, and by the time I got home I just didn't feel like doing anything complicated.) I --like my own kids, who polished off an entire box today-- ate quite a lot of cereal as a kid, so it takes me back to a different time when life was a bit less complicated. So for the memory of that simplicity, I'm thankful.