Never say never.

It’s been three and a half years since Kade died. In that time I could have easily said, “I’ll never smile again. I’ll never laugh again. I’ll never feel good again. I’ll never do this. I’ll never do that.” And I probably have said those things, or thought them.

But…you never know…

When I go to play trivia at a local brewery tasting room with friends and family….it’s fun. When I see Asher playing at the park with his dear friends, the girls I’ve nannied for almost two years…I smile. When I have a great date night with my husband, and we reminisce and renew our bond…I’m invigorated.

I’m not saying that life is what it was Before—it’s not. But I do cringe when I see or hear my fellow bereaved making blanket statements about the rest of their lives.

I liked something my husband said on a recent exceptional date night. He said he was proud of me for doing the things I’ve done in the wake of Kade’s death. I told him, honestly, I don’t know why I do anything. I don’t know why I have any will to live…I just do.

He wondered if it might be because Kade wouldn’t want me to give up, or wither into nothingness. It sounds so cliché, over-said, and trite: but when I thought about it, it’s true that Kade wouldn’t want me (or anyone) to waste a lifetime. Or a day.

I remember a time when I didn’t go out and do a lot of fun stuff. Kade noticed and said, “I remember when you used to go out and dress up for parties. Why don’t you do that kind of thing anymore?” He was remembering an annual party I used to go to where friends and I picked a theme and dressed accordingly. And he was right, I didn’t do that sort of thing anymore.

I remember the essence of what that kid was telling me:

“Get out there and live, for Pete’s sake.”