I got the notification while standing at the rear of my car, lugging skates and helmets out for a fun family skate.  I paused to pull my phone out of my pocket  and read the message.  My heart dropped and as it did a sound escaped my mouth.  It was simply a longer breathe than normal but in it my daughter picked up on the change in my mood.  In that exhale, the feeling of defeat escaped with it - a breathy fuuuuuuuck of sorts.

“What mama?” she asked me.

I’ve always been honest with the kids.  This honesty has created some beautifully emotionally intelligent children.  If she’s smart enough to know that something just shifted inside of her mama, she’s smart enough for me to share the news with.

“Remember mama’s friend that had cancer and we walked for her wearing all pink?”

“Yes, mama”

“Well, her cancer is back, babe, and mama just found out so I’m a little upset”. I tell her as a tear drops.

She paused, never breaking eye-contact with me.  She took her own exaggerated breath as she thought on the news.  Finally, she spoke following another long breath. 

“Okay, well, I guess we just walk again”

I guess we just walk again.

If only we could view all of life’s obstacles as my 9-year-old does.  Courage without fear.  We know what needs to be done.  We can intellectualize the steps for whatever life holds in front of us.  But the fear, it’s the fear that keeps us paralyzed. 

My sweet daughter saw the steps that needed to happen in simplest of terms - one foot in front of the next with all of your loved ones around you until you cross that finish line. 

We will cross that finish line holding hands with you.  We will show up, wearing whatever the hell is required.  We will bring our smiles and our strength for when you have none.  We will put one foot in front of the other with you – step after step until we arrive with you. 

Holding hands, we will cross that finish line.

We will have courage, without fear, for the days when you have none. 

So, to whoever may be reading this, to whomever may find themselves staring down one of life’s great obstacles: take a page from my daughter’s playbook. 

Take a deep breath and tell yourself, “I guess we just walk again.”