I haven’t cried in 3 days. These are the words I proudly boasted to my mother yesterday while we’re having a little afternoon chat. Of course, as soon as you boast about anything, it is a rule, a definitive rule, that you have just completely, 100% jinxed yourself. She went so far as to say I’d be crying myself to sleep last night. I didn’t, Mama, so there! Mostly thanks to the hilarity of Schitt’s Creek, but I’ll take it.

I woke up today feeling pretty shitty about life, though. And I realize I’ve beaten this dead horse time and again, but it’s my dead horse (or husband) and I’ll beat it as much as I want (that’s what he said. Hey oh!). But I snapped out of it. The sun is shining, it’s not nearly as cold as it was yesterday and there are things, on the horizon, that are really, really good and really, really exciting. So I set my ass straight, got out of bed and put a smile on my face. I drank my coffee, yoga’d, jogged and then I heard from my mom. She was paying bills and then coming to cut my grass. No, I argued, not necessary. The grass is fine. Side note – my brother is at my house doing his daily check in on us – I like to call it his welfare checks because apparently I need that. Apparently people seem to think I may fly off the handle at any moment and turn into a crazier version of Miss Havisham. He’s also just the world’s best uncle and loves my kids like they are his own and can barely go a day without seeing them. So, there’s that sweet aspect, too.

Now, I believe I’ve gone over this before, but you know dead horse beating and all that. I do not mow grass. I do not want to mow grass. I don’t know how to start a lawnmower and I don’t care to learn how to start a lawnmower. Ash was the grass man. And he was great at it. He was meticulous and dedicated and actually really loved it. He could mow lines and patterns and really make our yard top notch. Colt was his sidekick – always helping, always following him, always in his lap on the riding mower. Some of Colt’s favorite memories with his dad are cutting grass, weed whacking and leaf blowing.

We have 2 lawnmowers (and yes, many leather-bound books) – a riding mower and a push mower (both of which I have no clue how to use, just the way I like it). Neither have been used in ages because it’s been winter and the grass has been dormant. Our good buddy, Steve, a literal saint, cut our grass a couple of weeks ago because he’s, as I stated, a saint. But now it’s grown again and could use a good mowing. I just figured once I couldn’t see the dogs in it anymore, I’d give it a go.

Anyway. Back to the story at hand – mom insists on coming over and cutting grass, brother is here welfare checking and hanging with boys. Mom rolls up in her brand new Clifford the Big Red Truck, pulls out the push mower. It has no gas and no oil. My garage also has no gas or oil stored in any location – several gas cans, though – nothing in any of them. Brother takes cans and fills them. Push mower starts (after putting said gas and oil into whatever area said gas and oil go). My brother tries to start the riding mower. It’s just as dead as Ash (not funny, but a little bit funny). We (I use the term “we” very loosely as I was basically just a spectator to this comical sport) end up jump starting the riding mower thanks to Clifford the Big Red Truck.

That was probably way more information than you cared to know, but it’s my story and I’ll ramble if I want to. Once the riding mower starts, Colt comes running from whatever mayhem he’s causing in the garage ready to hop on. And then he stops short. And refuses to ride. And he disappears. Jack, in all his sweetness, asks what I think is wrong with Colt, why won’t he cut grass with Uncle G, it’s his favorite thing to do. And that’s where my tears first start. I tell Jack that Colt won’t cut grass because this is the first time he’s had the opportunity since we lost Daddy. And that makes Colt sad. He also probably feels (as much as a 5 year old can) guilt over doing something that was so special between he and his father, something that they both enjoyed so much. How would it be fair to Ash/daddy for Colt to not only do it, but also enjoy doing it? To this Jack runs and finds Colt, and I guess they talk, and Jack comes back to tell me I am exactly right. I know, son, get used to it.

I then go in search of my Mr. Tolt and find him with his push mower (it’s a toy, not a real one) and I sit him down on the steps. He looks sad. I give him a hug. Uncle G is trying to convince him to get on the mower with him. He’s still refusing. I explain to him that I know how hard this is to do without our daddy man and that it is completely different than what we are used to. But that daddy would want Colt to get on that riding lawnmower with his uncle. I explain that we are still allowed to enjoy the things that we loved doing with daddy, even if we can’t see him, because he is always here and enjoying everything we love with us still. He lives in our hearts and it’s our job to make sure we still do all those things we love. To honor him. To remember him. To love him. And wouldn’t you know it, my strong-willed, beautiful blue-eyed boy pulled up his boot straps and hopped right on that mower. He was hesitant for a beat. And then he was smiling. And laughing. And talking/shouting Uncle G’s ear off. And this mama – well she lost her shit. The dam broke back open. And my mama hugged me while my baby conquered some really big feelings. Because he is strong. Because WE. ARE. STRONG. And even when the dam breaks, we have the tools we need to patch it right back up.