I’m driving to the gym, a routine day. There’s a children’s area where my boys will play with a few other little ones. They normally like to go and enjoy their time out and about. It’s a social thing, healthy for both body and soul.

Initially, making it to the gym was a feat. Everything seemed like a chore. Eating, dressing, bathing, cleaning.

Everything.

I waded through mud for a while. How long? I don’t even know. Weeks, months? More?

Living took energy that I could barely muster.

And yet, one foot in front of the other, I stumbled.

Eventually, the days started to run smoother. The gym did help. Seeing myself improve in areas like speed and strength helped solidify the idea that my new normal could include improvements. Smiles and laughter were possible, dreams and plans could continue or be made.

But we still also held a lot of grief. And that grief bled out into normal life every now and again.

Grief for myself, and I guess most adults, can come suddenly, but it tends to last. Plans are cancelled, time is spent processing.

Children grieve differently. Their grief is a flash fire that arrives and then is over before one has time to breathe deeply twice.

I was halfway to the gym when my oldest burst into tears. I was startled, not sure what to think. Was he hurt? Did his brother hit him?

“What’s wrong, mi amor?”

“I want my old gym!” he cried. Sobs wracked his body.

“Your old gym? The one by the old house?” I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. “Do-do you want me to sign up for new classes?”

Then everything.

“NO! I want the old gym! I miss my house! I miss my daddy! I miss my friends! I don’t want a new class! My daddy is gone!”

I pulled into the nearest parking lot and pulled him out of his booster seat. His little body trembled as I held him. I held him tightly to me, as if I could absorb all his pain and spare him these moments.

His head leaned against my shoulder for a minute after he stopped crying and then popped up.

“Mommy?”

My eyes were huge and filled with tears. I could barely speak. “Yes?”

“Can we go to the park after the gym?”

With that, it was over.

I cleared my throat and blinked a few times. “I think maybe let’s go back home and watch a movie, yes?”

He smiled. “Okay.”

I was left breathless for the rest of the day. He clung to me closer for the rest of the day but there was no other outburst.

Both children would curl up next to me that night, little hands clinging onto my shirt or my hands, as if to make sure I wouldn’t wander away as well, leaving them with no one.