Things are getting crazy. Now how do I parent this critical situation? While I eagerly await more news, I will update you.

6:19AM Mountain Standard Time, March 3, 2020:

Kyle: “Hey mom I know it is early but just in case I really need you right now. I just forwarded you an email that you also should have gotten on your own.”

Then Kyle screen-shotted the following message regarding the Coronavirus outbreak and sent it to me me:

“Hello everyone

I’ve just learned about the email you received from NYU. As this has come as a surprise I think it would be really helpful for us to meet in the morning as a group. We can begin a conversation and members of the NYU Sydney team can respond to your questions…”

Next, here is a bit from the email Kyle forwarded me: 

“Dear NYU Study Away Students in Accra, Berlin, Buenos Aires, London, Madrid, Paris, Prague, Sydney, and Tel Aviv,

…We appreciate that there are a wide range of views — and comfort levels — with your continuing to study away this semester.  However, we are mindful of new advice from the CDC concerning study abroad, and accordingly, we have developed new guidelines that aim to provide you with as much flexibility as possible in order to make the decisions that feel best to you and your families. Of course, given this is a rapidly evolving situation, we must all remain open to further adjustments should events require us to make them.

Each of you studying outside of the United States has the option either to continue your studies in-person at your current location, or to return home and complete your semester coursework remotely utilizing distance-learning resources, including Zoom…We will be sharing this email with your parents and guardians, and strongly encourage you to speak with them regarding your individual planning…”

A few minutes later, Kyle sent me another message: 

Kyle: “Mom this is so hard.
I need advice and help.
This is not helping my mental health.”

Kyle is currently in Sydney, Australia studying abroad. Sydney, Australia is fourteen hours ahead of Utah’s Mountain Time Zone. When he messaged, I was out cold. I never heard my alerts. A while later, I rolled over, sleepily reached out and grabbed my phone. As I picked it up, I could see all of the alerts. I was stunned. I saw Kyle’s messages. I saw other messages. How could I miss all of them? 

Of course my heart sank as I read Kyle’s words. I was not there when he needed me. I was asleep. How I deal with having my baby so far away is letting go a bit and deep breathing a lot. I have learned that I need to be present and live life here in Utah. Thank goodness for the internet, for Facetime and Messenger. Yet, in these moments, when I literally cannot give him a hug, are the moments he feels so completely far away. 

In these moments there is really nothing I can do, except to offer comfort, or apparently sleep through it. [insert hand-over-the-face emoji here]

Earlier, in an attempt to offer comfort to someone who is awake, I spent a little while messaging with Kyle’s girlfriend. She is studying away in Paris, France. She is also trying to navigate all the Coronavirus concerns.

It is now 2:30PM MST. Kyle is awake. Yay! He and I just video chatted. Deep breath. He seemed ok. No. Actually he seemed better. I met some of his Sydney friends. They are about to leave for the Sydney campus meeting, you know the meeting which will discuss the coronavirus situation. As I think about them meeting to make a plan, in my mind I picture the zombies in the movie “World War Z. ” I cannot stop imagining those manic zombies as they feverishly climb the Jerusalem Wall and throw themselves over the wall and onto the other side, the side where the humans were sheltering. I remember seeing the panic people felt as they watched the zombies penetrate their safe space.

The realization was clear: there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. There are no safe places. 

Ok. Perhaps my analogy is a bit dramatic. Nevertheless, this is how this moment feels: the zombies could get my son and it is completely out of my control.

Let me back up and give you the build up. Earlier this week we received a very low key email from NYU outlining their concerns regarding the Coronavirus. As I mentioned, earlier today, we received another email from NYU. Both Sydney and Paris are included as NYU “Coronavirus-concern” campuses. Oh, and I believe the NYU Florence, Italy campus is now closed for the semester. Kyle is completely overwhelmed. So are his fellow students. So are we. In fact, Eli and I got our flu shots this morning.

True story. First we went to Walgreens. They were out of flu vaccines. Then we went to Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart only had the egg-free vaccines remaining. I am sensitive to eggs, which meant the egg-free vaccine was actually a double bonus. The Wal-Mart pharmacist asked Eli and I a bunch of questions like, “have you ever had Guillain-Barré Syndrome?” Of course I thought of my friend’s brother who had Guillain-Barré Syndrome. It is awful.

“No. We are good.” I told her.

She gave us our shots. Then she and I chatted long after my shot was administered. As we both side-eyed the lady wearing the designer plaid face mask, we talked about the importance of washing your hands — like all of the time. We talked about real ways to stay healthy, which led us to a conversation regarding the uncertainty of our world. As Eli and I walked away, he looked at me and said, 

“Mom, do you know her? It seems like you and she are friends.”
“No. No, Eli. I don’t know her.” I responded.

We laughed and then I thought about how these are the moments that make us feel like we all know each other. 

The plot thickens: As Eli and I walked to the farthest parking spot in the parking lot, a fact that Eli finds completely annoying. (“Mom, why do you always park so far away?”) Well, as we got our steps in, Eli asked me about our upcoming trip. See, we have tickets to meet Kyle in New Zealand in less than two weeks. Eli is scheduled to fly out a few days later. He is taking his first solo-travel international flight and is supposed to meet us in Sydney. As we got into our car, he asked me if we should still go. Then, as we drove to Costa Vida, a local fresh-mex restaurant, I assured him that it will be obvious what we should do when the time comes. I know. Kind of a lame, non-reassuring answer. Nevertheless, a true answer. Finally everything seemed to shift back to normal as the man, who Eli says looks like someone who would not be working at a fast food restaurant, explained that he would really give Eli more Nacho cheese sauce without charging us. Then he asked us to watch him as he showed us how. 

As he ladled cheese, the Nacho Cheese Sauce Man proclaimed, 

“See, I make sure I get cheese on every chip. And because I do, I always give you more cheese.”

We all agreed the Nacho Cheese Man was indeed generous, we paid and took Eli’s chips to go. While he ate his Nacho Chips, I began writing. (Sorry Dave for buying our son such an unhealthy lunch). While typing, my sweet friend Maria, who works at the University of Utah, sent me information on how the University of Utah is dealing with the Coronavirus. Included in this email are travel restricted countries. New Zealand and Australia were not listed. I am still hopeful. Nevertheless, I think Dave is correct when he suggests that the Coronavirus is having a ripple effect. It reminds me of the impact waves of 9/11. It seemed whether directly, financially, or emotionally impacted, everyone was affected. And now concerning today’s Coronavirus, I imagine the ripple includes Nacho Cheese Man. 

It is now 3:31PM. I couldn’t stand it. At 3:10PM MST I messaged Kyle (again).

Beth: Any news?
Kyle: Still in meeting. They are hoping we stay.
Beth: Oh good. Are they asking you to take it a day at a time?
Kyle: Kind of. NYU Sydney is pretty flustered.
Beth: I am sure they are flustered.

At 3:31 PM Sydney, Australia time (Australian Eastern Daylight Time):

Kyle’s meeting (finally) ended. It looks like for today he is going to remain in Sydney. Sydney feels and seems remote. Maybe he is safer there. We are still planning on our visit. Even though all of the hand sanitizer, even the crappy off brands, are literally sold out all over the world, I managed to find some hand sanitizing wipes and some antibacterial Wet-Ones brand wipes. I will send a packet of each with Eli. I will urge him not to touch anyone. I will urge him to wipe down the seats. Dave and I will do the same. In the meantime, I will keep washing my hands. I will keep Clorox wiping our handles. I will try to sleep. I will take a  deep breath. 

Ultimately, I realize all we can do is take it one day at a time. If everything changes tomorrow, we will deal with it then. Like I just told Kyle (we talked for a long time after his meeting), no matter what, everything will be ok. 

In the startup world it seems that instead of valuing ability, or great leadership, we value people who we consider cool. When they first started out, Bill Gates and Steve Jobs were anything but cool or hip. Being rich and successful makes people admire you after the fact, and somewhere down the road the cool kids learned how to take advantage of brilliant nerds. Eventually, Steve Jobs started to adopt a cool kid aesthetic, and his company followed suit. They recognized that cool sells. At the same time that Jobs started setting himself apart by wearing black turtlenecks and tiny wire-rimmed glasses, his company started walking away from whimsical-looking,  easy-to-use, long-lasting computers, to slim, stylish appliances with no removable batteries, no ports, and no buttons.

The tech world has followed suit. Today’s groomed beards, juice cleanses, kale chips, and energy work are just the latest version of Steve Jobs’ black turtlenecks and wire rimmed glasses. The tech industry was built by dudes with bad fashion sense but a well-developed sense of wonder and adventure. People who cared a lot more about epic hacks and big ideas than about trendy shoes or personal grooming. Guys like Steve’s Jobs’ Apple co-founder Steve Wosniak. But today’s entrepreneur wannabes style themselves much more like late-period Jobs than early-period Wozniak.

I think cool has its place in the success of a startup. But is being cool all you need to succeed? I am not sure. Nevertheless, I would suggest that striving for cool is undermining basic productivity, ultimately getting in the way of startups’ potential success. Before it is too late, I think it is time to recalibrate our conventional entrepreneurial norms, which means we should move past the standard appearance bias and focus on what it really takes to have a successful start up.

First, and before I dive in, let me give you some background. I often write about feelings, dark thoughts, crazy neighbors, and family failings. My observations come straight from experience. It has been years since I have been clear about my connection to the tech start-up world. In truth, it is a world that consumes an extraordinary amount of my everyday life. See, before Dave and I were even married, we were already riding the dot.com boom. Dave co-founded an ecommerce software company in the mid 90s and also owned an e-retailer selling mountain bike equipment. I worked for another early stage startup. We both had a hand in online-commerce-enabling traditional brick and mortar companies. I still remember pitching reticent souls. I can hear them now, “No one will ever buy anything online.” As  we all know, they were wrong. It even seems ridiculous now to ever think they could have been right. That is also why I understand how compelling and frightening ideas really can be. The earth was flat until we were able to see it was round. 

In those early internet days, all of us high tech entrepreneurs goldrushed our way into this new frontier. Once on board it was easy to fantasize on paper money promises. When we hit it big, we were definitely going to buy an east coast mansion. Then the dot com boom went bust,  9/11 blew up the economy, reality set in and our dreams went sideways. Nevertheless, we had some early success, reminding us how great the startup world could be. Consequently, we held on. Dave continued (to this day) pursuing several more tech dreams. I, along with my stress-relieving nicknames for his coworkers, remain an active observer. I was good at deconstructing why Evil Shrek, Lego Darth Maul, The Chief Kale Officer,  and Tiny Hands would not function in a regular, 9 – 5 world. Their dreams were too big. Their leadership was less than mediocre. They stole success for themselves and undermined anyone who got in their way. Occasionally I would wonder out loud, 

“Dave why don’t you work for a more traditional company?” 

His always response:

“It would kill me!”

We continued taking risks. I knew this was a career the day we were able to take out a home loan based on and I quote, “Dave is a serial entrepreneur.” Crazy. 

I focused on raising our boys.  Dave worked on the next big thing. Even when I pressed ad nauseum, I was left in the dark about how bad or great it really was. Our success never came from where we expected — ever. Of course, it was always hindered by people like Lego Darth Maul and Evil Shrek. Instead, those trying to keep the ship afloat were often scapegoated and overlooked. I have always wondered why. Isn’t success partially about the leader’s ability to see who really is getting shit done? Isn’t promotion based on the one who actually knows the product? Alas, no. Seriously, if I had a dime for every leader who promoted the cool kid instead of the smart kid, I could fund a new startup.

As a result of the “cool kid” phenomenon, functioning, healthy teams still do not seem to matter, or better, they take a back seat. Because it is a land built on napkin ideas and unearned wins, bosses continue to believe that a functioning, traditional organization is not necessary. Instead, the long held start-up belief that all an entrepreneur needs to succeed is an idea, some hip dudes, a fridge stocked with kombucha, a venture capitalist with a prestigious business degree and a board member who used to work at Google. 

The upside to this belief is that said start-up works as an exciting, dynamic team, a team where everyone pitches in and gets the work done. The downside to the narrative is that often the team is undermined by unqualified leadership and a delusional vision. And even though this reality has been exposed via television shows like HBO’s “Silicon Valley,” the narrative persists. Again, why? There has to be a reason. Is it laziness? Lack of creative vision? Or simply because that is how it has always been done? 

I sort of get it, or better, I liken it to people who week after week buy lottery tickets. Somewhere out there someone has actually won the Powerball and Megamillions lottery. In fact, in start-up land, I have seen people make millions based on an idea; sometimes even a deeply stupid idea. Back in the day, the partner of my former boss literally made 6 million dollars for registering a domain name. My boss was emotionally destroyed as a result of being left out of this nonsensical windfall. He became obsessed trying to register every single domain name he could think of. Now he is in jail. (Not for domain name squatting, but for something else). I have watched other bosses appropriate, lie, con, cheat, steal, bribe, and bluster their way to the top. Of course, once at the top, I have watched these same under qualified and greedy bosses nosedive the company into the ground. Of course in every startup there is at least one enabler. You know the one. They are the coworker who literally possesses only one job skill: self-promotion. Instead of caring about the company’s success, they thrive in pushing people into an echo chamber of their own greatness. As long as it benefits them, the self-promoter will always enable a boss’ stupid leadership and ideas. In fact, the self-promoter is really good at making a boss feel cool. These shameless self-promoters, with their ironic t-shirts, juice cleanses, paranoid insecurities, half-hearted databases, and overblown sense of their own importance, also defy logic. Using their under qualified bosses, they rise to the top. How?  Well, they are geniuses at getting their naive bosses to see the world through their greedy, self-promoting lens. While the true leaders, those who probably suck at self promotion, are busy trying to save the ship, the self-promoter is using their skill (singular) to appropriate other people’s work and to get other people to do their work. 

Maybe it is a value thing. Meaning, we think good leaders are cool when in reality a successful leader is an excellent, hard working team player, one whose work inspires others to work hard. I am tired of having a front row seat to the nosedive or unnecessary fade into failure. That is why I would suggest that for start-ups to succeed, it is time for this hip, magical thinking-styled narrative to change. For this to happen, I would suggest that company boards, venture capitalists and the startups get over their own self importance  and adjust how they view employees and their roles. Now with a new metric regarding what makes a good leader, the decision makers are able to make space for the competent leaders; you know, those who actually need to be leading these companies. Maybe the first step is to convince all the shameless self promoters that it actually benefits them to promote the smart, capable ones, the ones who will actually make you some cash. 

I will sum my observations up with what a friend just told me:

“A car might be shiny and pretty. Without it’s engine, it cannot run.”

This post Feels Like a Church Talk. I am not sure that is ok, and I am sorry if it does. Feel free to weigh in. YES! I spend way too much time pondering the following question: How can we find a middle? Can we hold space for healthy boundaries and sincere empathy? Can we have healthy bubbles (boundaries) while earnestly inquiring, and then actively listening? Before jumping to steadfast conclusions, can we see the world through someone else’s lens first? I think so.

Here is what I came up with (observed) — Feel free to pushback 😊:

In tandem with politics and beyond religion, I think 99% of us see our everyday world through a very fixed lens. In fact, the other day I clumsily tried my best to penetrate someone’s worldview. My guess is the other person would have preferred I had kept my bubble-bursting mouth shut. Nevertheless and to their credit, they engaged in further discussion and then admitted that they had most definitely put me in a box. Honestly, I was shocked they so easily defined me. I sincerely thought we were like-minded individuals. Selfishly, I kept thinking, “I thought they knew me.” Instead, I misjudged them.

It seems like we humans are much more comfortable in our own protective bubble (myself included). I would even suggest that we have a potpourri of valid reasons and not-so-valid rationalizations as to why EVERYONE ELSES’ BUBBLE is not safe; is naive, bad, dumb, mentally unstable, unworthy, less-than, too Boomer, or does not tell enough dad jokes. We are human. That is why I think that alternately, we let our own bias dictate the terms of how we see you and how we hear you. We decide how you think, if you are cool and if you are worthy enough.

As a result, when someone outside of our personal bubble speaks, I wonder if we really listen. Better, I think we may have our answer before they open their mouth. Even if we tell ourselves that we are like the most open minded, open hearted, nuanced, non-status-conscious, non-racist, Christlike, or supporting-the-underdog person ever born, many of us do not hear or do not believe what we hear. I think that is because we already know our answers before you ever open your mouth. Then, (because we are working on our own response to show you that you are wrong), we decide what your words, we were not really listening to, mean. And now that we know what your words and intent mean, we decide what bubble you fit into. You are now done and dismissed. Full disclosure: I extra do this with tall women, especially those approaching 6’. Before I really listen, I assume they will bully me with their tall womanness (*not a real word), and then I tune them out. (I am not kidding.)

This weird communication feedback loop is why I would suggest that if someone comes close to popping our bubble, instead of allowing our view to expand, we deflect and retreat. We steadfastly dig our heels in, and do whatever it is we do to make our own bubbles more impenetrable. We roll our eyes. We offer (half-hearted) apologies. Then we circle back on said apology (by of course by subtly blaming you). We indignantly purse our lips, force a smile to let you know we are over it. (We are not over it.)

Obviously, all these behaviors signal:

“I am right! You are wrong!”

Arguably, that is why when we hold fast to our own lens, we do not inquire. Better, we do not receive your words. Instead we are looking you over and then we are working out our own response while you speak. We judge. We totally judge. Let’s use me, for example. You look at me. What do you see? An average-sized, middle-aged, blond woman. Do I look safe? Do I look snobby? Do I look friendly? Do I seem worthy? Do I seem dumb? Probably. To some, I am certain I look like a follower. To others, I bet I look like someone who wants to let society raise my kids. To others, I look like (and I know because I’ll quote the characterization verbatim) “a skinny blond bitch.” Honestly, as someone who struggles with her body image, I will take the “skinny blond bitch” comment any day.

Beyond my looks, what happens when I speak? What do I sound like? To some, I am told I sound bossy and way too direct. To others, I seem friendly. To some, I seem shy and socially awkward. I think I still sound overly Midwestern and way too pedestrian (simple). Inescapably, I am sure I am a mishmash of all of your judgements (and my own). I also know it goes both ways. I totally judge. Ask Dave. I even have nicknames for the people I judge like, “The Mormon Moms,” “Drunk Mom,” “The Bat Shit Crazy Lady,” “Cat Stroller Lady,” (This one is just an observable fact. She does in fact walk her cat in a stroller),“Vinyl Gloves Lady,” “Dab Pen Mom,” and “Pervy Dad.” (It seems I am around women more than men, or maybe I judge women more than I do men. What’s up with that?)

Hold on. It is not all bad. Humanity as a whole definitely does not suck. I also believe there is hope. I am sure there is some sort of innate Darwinian necessity which forces us to quickly access threats to protect us from danger. Twelve thousand years ago, those very same discernment tools saved us from saber tooth tigers every single day. Nevertheless, I wonder if this survival instinct has evolved into some sort of self-segregating, “My-team-is-the-best-team,” protection mechanism. Yes. There are bad people. And yes, healthy boundaries are the pathway to love and happy living.

Ultimately, as our world seems to be falling apart around us, I think thinning our bubble layer and uniting are our best hopes. We are stronger together. Really, we are. In fact, just as surely as snap judgements helped our prehistoric ancestors survive, working together was inevitably the primary way they survived saber tooth tiger attacks and took down mastodons. As we work to unite, we can pause and remember that words and the intent behind them have different implications. From personal experience, I would also offer that appearances are not everything. Meaning, your short, blond neighbor may be drinking a forbidden beverage and may also be really nice. The man in the hoodie may just be cold. And that sharp-looking man, the one who never misses a church meeting, may actually be hitting his wife. To everyone: lighten up! (myself included). Rest assured, most of us live in the middle. Look around. Pause. Listen. Connect. We are more aligned than we are different.

And for me, I would suggest if I would give tall women a chance, I may actually see their benefits, like they could totally get me a plate down from a high cupboard.

In the end,

United we stand. Divided we definitely seem to be falling.

I grew up without seatbelts; or better, seatbelts were a suggestion. The backseat only had lap belts. Because we thought lap belts would do no good, we chose not to wear them. Somehow I convinced myself that people in backseats were never injured, right? I remember long roadtrips. I was the youngest, so I got to sleep either on the floor of our giant station wagon, or in the back window. As we drove along, we played guessing games based on what we saw out the window, or were quizzed on flashcards of the United States or US presidents by my mom, or played games we created using a spiral notebook. My brothers, sisters and I listened to music from the finite recordings from cassette players. Then we would break down the harmonies, convincing ourselves we sounded just as good as Simon and Garfunkel. We survived the monotony, and honestly, it was magic.

Our road trips with our own kids began with songs about dinosaurs marching that I burned to CDs. Often on these same trips, if Kyle and Eli were not buckled before I started the car, I remember them losing their shit:

“MOMMY, I AM NOT BUCKLED! I AM NOT BUCKLED!”

I would gently assure them that they would be ok. Then, I would stop the car, put it in park, turn around and help them buckle.

I remember our campervan road trips; dreamily driving along miles and miles of highway. We gave our adorable boys books filled with miniature stickers. Kyle and Eli spent hours using their super cute and very tiny fingers to work those little stickers off their pages. Then they would delightfully comment as they stuck said stickers all over themselves. Eventually, dollar-store Band-Aids replaced the tiny, tiny stickers. Once again on the road, I would hand them each a box. Then, usually with one hand gleefully clutching mine, we laughed about their pretend injuries. They would ask and I would answer:

“Yes. Yes they are absolutely your stickers, I mean, Band-Aids. Have at them.”
“Really, Mom?” They would excitedly ask.
“Really. Go crazy!” I happily responded.

As we drove along, I remember pacifiers, clipped to their shirts, calming their screams. Eventually, there was new music. The boys knew all the words to Pink Floyd’s, “Wish You Were Here.” I can still hear Eli’s tiny raspy voice loudly sing,

“…We’re just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year…”

Over time we moved on to portable DVD players playing every “Land Before Time” movie, iPods, iPads, catching Pokemon on the Nintendo DSi, Netflix streaming “Breaking Bad,” Amazon, YouTube, and eventually secret girlfriend Snapchat conversations.

Now, no one really looks out the window, or even at each other. Our best conversations seem to be when I force a walk or a hike. On a daily basis, our solid communication is over text or Facebook Messenger.

Since (what seems) the beginning of time, I have woken up with the boys every school day. When they were young, as they approached the door, I would grab their excited faces, gently orient their eyes to mine. Next, I would make sure we made eye contact. Then I would give them a kiss, telling them I love them and to make good choices. During the years I dropped them off, as we pulled up to their school, I would reach my hand to theirs and say, “look at me. Hand hug.” At first, they lovingly laughed. If I ever forgot, Eli would always reach his hand to mine and say,

“Hand Hug.”

Then he would squeeze my hand tightly. I would tell both boys I love them, tell them I wanted to see their eyes. They would kindly turn their faces toward mine. I looked into their eyes and said goodbye.

At the beginning of his senior year of high school, Kyle, who is still really sweet still about holding my hand or giving me a hug, asked me to stop giving him a kiss on the lips. Wait! Don’t freak out. It was a very pedestrian, Eastcoast-styled, quick peck. Nevertheless, I was like, “Yes.I get it. That might be kind of weird.” So I stopped. Instead and while navigating their unpredictable teen moods, as they walked out the door, I made sure to give them a hug before they walked out the door. Soon, I noticed I was not telling them I loved them everyday like I used to. Instead, I was doing my best to make eye contact without them angrily asking, “What?!” I still take a deep breath and force my arms around Eli, (of course after asking his consent ).

Earlier today I was telling my friend Emily about how it is hard to fit our life into Kyle’s now that he is so far away.

“I want him to be him. I love seeing him fly. It is also hard to go cold turkey from being an everyday mom. I miss seeing his eyes up close, knowing his daily joys and sorrows.” I paused and continued, “Dude, he goes to college halfway around the world. He is not home doing laundry, or home for a quick weekend trip. Seeing him is a huge, coordinated production. His only free time is during breaks. And during his breaks he wants to be with his friends. I get it. I remember. Selfishly, I just wish I could have eased out of this whole being a mom thing a little more gently. I miss my boy.”

To which Emily, wisely and hilarious began singing:

“And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
‘When you coming home, son?’
‘I don’t know when.
But we’ll get together then, dad.
We’re gonna have a good time then…’”

Of course I accused her of making me cry. We laughed again. Then she reminded me about emotional to do lists. What an excellent concept! Again, I am grateful I have empathetic and safe places to express this pain. I told Dave just last night, “Maybe I have compensated on the whole ‘Be You’ thing. My mom struggled to let me go. She really did and said it out loud. I do want Kyle or Eli to feel tethered to me. I do not want Kyle and Eli to be held back because I cannot let go. Discomfort is good. It is ok that I miss Kyle. I love him. I cannot even think about when Eli leaves. It is almost too much.”

For today, here we are. Life moves forward.

I love my boys every single day. We wear seatbelts. We try to make eye contact. We rely on Facebook messages and Sunday-breakfast video chats. There are no kisses, only air hugs from halfway around the world, or intentional hugs — when Eli is in the mood. When he comes home, I scream for Eli to come say hello and tell me about his day. Often impatiently (and lovingly), he indulges my request. I am grateful for these moments. I wish I could freeze them forever.