Legacies keep living...

I’m not sure why I feel compelled to write this post right now, but maybe someone out there needs to hear it.

There are a few kiddos with whom I share a unique connection—different from the rest. I can’t quite explain it. The bond feels stronger, and with a couple of them, it’s almost as close as the relationship I have with my own sons, even though they’re not my sons.

There are three in particular who hold a special place in my heart. No matter the day, time, or circumstances, if they come into the store and I’m behind the counter, they never leave without saying, “I love you, Mom.” It doesn’t matter what they buy, what we talk about, or what kind of mood they’re in—those words are always there as they walk out the door.

Two of them are especially important to me, and I don’t think they even realize how much they mean to me.

One of them has a mother whose story mirrors mine in many ways—falling down, getting back up, enduring loss, and persevering. She’s a badass, and I love her fiercely. But as much as I admire her, I don’t hang out with her. We’re so similar that I’m not sure it would be wise.

The other one’s mom is a different kind of incredible. She’s one of the few people I’d compare to my own mother, and for those who know my mom, you know what a huge compliment that is. This woman is the epitome of a warrior—sincere, resilient, strong, beautiful, and an amazing mother. She battles serious health issues constantly, yet every time she gets knocked down, she stands back up, ready to fight again. She boggles my mind. When I think of the word “warrior,” I picture her. Her face belongs next to that word in the dictionary.

Last summer, her son came into the store after one of her health battles. I adore this boy—he has the sweetest soul. Our conversations always go longer than I expect, but they’re always meaningful. I told him how amazing his mom is and how much I admire her. I even said I was honored and humbled that he calls me “Mom,” considering he already has such a spectacular mother. It’s not like he needs a second mom—she does an incredible job on her own. The fact that he entrusts me with that title is an honor.

During our conversation, he said something that stopped me in my tracks. He said, “When it’s her time, I’m not going to be able to deal. I’m out.” I looked at him and said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What? Listen to me. That could be decades away. She’s an amazing fighter. But when that time comes, I’m not going to lie—it’s going to hurt. It’s going to suck. You won’t be able to breathe. You might not even be able to stand. But I promise you, me, Sam, and the rest of us will be there to hold you up.”

He shook his head, but I pressed on. “Who’s more like your mom—you or your sister?” He said, “I am.” I told him, “Then you have a responsibility to keep her legacy alive. You’ll be the only part of her that some people will ever get to meet. And as amazing as she is, it wouldn’t be fair to take that away from those people.”

He stopped and looked at me, and in my head, I thought, Wow, that was perfect. Where did that even come from? He didn’t say much after that, just inhaled deeply and said, “I love you.” I replied, “I love you, too.”

I thought about that conversation last night. I always believed that when my dad passed, I’d fall apart. And in some ways, I did. I ended up in the hospital with what they called an acute grief response. But I didn’t turn to drinking or drugs like I thought I might. I think part of it was because of the little miracle my dad gave us at the end. He came back to life, briefly, before he passed. Even the nurses couldn’t explain it. I’ll have to write a post about that someday.

When I said goodbye to him, I told him how much I loved him, how much he meant to me, and how I couldn’t have asked for a better father. He taught me so much—how to ride a bike, how to drive, how to be compassionate and kind. That’s the piece of him I carry with me, the part I get to show the world. My dad never met a stranger, and I like to think I’m the same way.

When someone spectacular leaves this world, the best way to honor them is to carry the part of them that lives in you and share it with others. There are people who will never get to meet that amazing person, but they deserve to experience the kindness, love, and strength that person gave to you.

I feel the same way about her. And about that boy—one of my bonus sons. I don’t even think of them as “kiddos.” The ones I feel this kind of connection with, they’re more like my extra sons.

When Tuesday passed, that was hard. For years, I blamed myself for her choices. She was a beer drinker when I met her, but I was the one who introduced her to drugs. Watching her spiral for three decades filled me with guilt. But there’s a piece of her I carry, too. She was carefree, spontaneous, and courageous. That’s the part of her I try to show the world when I can.

So, who do you think you’ll crumble for when their time comes? Find the piece of them that lives in you. Because after they’re gone, the world deserves to see that piece. And you’ll be the only one who can share it the way they would have.