A different kind of Sunday morning walk

I don't like to shop on Sunday unless it is to fill an empty gas tank or hungry refrigerator. I guess I do have some standards. But the holidays are upon us and I have wanted to go south (to an outlet mall, no less) to pick up a few things. And my girls are going.

I will ask them if it is OK to tag along. And I will try to judge if their "Sure, Mom. Come with us" has any hint of "Darn. We love her, but need some time on our own" to it.

I could opt out of this trip. I have much to do today. But part of my need to go is the result of a trip I will take later this afternoon.

This morning I have been going through the motions of folding and stacking recyclables, washing clothes, and making breakfast while composing my words for later today when I will try to express my condolences to the parents of a coworker.

 I will tell them some things they already know and some things I hope will give them comfort - eventually. She was smart and kind and strong. I enjoyed working with her and I let her know how much I appreciated her, how glad I was that she was my colleague. I am going to miss the hell out of her. She was special. 

My friend was the age of my children. And, perhaps because she was so young, my perspective is of one generation observing the next. I was so proud of her - proud that she had found what she wanted to do in life and was darned good at it.

Her death is a tragedy. I am sad and I am angry. But I am also grateful for the opportunity to have known her and  worked with her.

So, I will shop today to steal just a little more time with my girls, to let them know by my presence and behavior (hopefully - you can never tell what I will do) that I appreciate them and am proud of them, these smart and kind and strong women.

My shopping trip is also fueled by a message from my other child, the smart and kind and strong man we will see in a few days. Some months ago he told me never to miss the opportunity to be together.

He's right.