Did you know the world is awesome?

This was the question posed to me on our walk to school today.  Our final walk of the year down the sidewalks and dirt paths and past the tennis courts and dogs.  Lots of dogs.  In this simple walk in which Francesca could find a world of fascination and discovery.  Flowers, leaves, birds, squirrels.  Everything new.  Everything brilliant in some way.  And my poor heart some days.  Feeling the rush to get to school on time.  Walking ahead so that she would catch up.  Prompting.  Prodding.  And, yes, noticing.   That is, when my heart could relax.  Or, I suppose, it was my heart telling my brain to relax.

But, I have to say, this morning it was just the perfect walk.  And I am so grateful that I allowed it to be.  When we stepped out into the cool air - a palpable relief from days of high humidity - and Francesca noticed that there were new day lilies blooming in a planter atop our steps, well...it was a good start.  And I had this epiphany (are epiphanies always simple?): this doesn't have to be sad.  This final walk.  This ending.  In fact, it can be the opposite!  I tell you, the freedom I felt in my heart with this realization matched the freshness of the cool morning air.  So I went about all of my steps with a certain lightness as this thought built inside of me: this moment can be happy! 

And so it was.  And our walk was relaxed as we chatted and sang our best going-to-school song from Double H camp ("When you wake up each morning, just look out your window and see there before you a bright new day...").  Lilian ruffed with delight at all of the dogs and Francesca noticed this and that on the path that we have traveled every day for 180 days- still open to something new.  And then she said this: "Mommy?  Did you know that the world is awesome?"  My heart continued to sing as I responded, "and do you know what else?  You make the world even more awesome!"

Perhaps during this times of closure and transition for us adults there is an expectation for sadness.  We anticipate the loss or, perhaps we suddenly feel the weight of the pile of moments where our poor hearts weren't present because of our tireless (albeit helpful) brains.  Jonathan Foust once said that when he looks back on his life, the times that he feels sad about are the times that he "wasn't there."  This morning I felt this lesson in my bones and I am forever grateful.

And I also can't guarantee that by the weekends end that I won't be weeping on our front steps next to the day lilies.