"You look so happy"

I'm holding his bag and my breath. My baby is leaving again and, even though I know I will survive, the heartbreak feels like too much. I held it together until I released him to the gate agent so she could get him settled in his seat before the other passengers boarded. That's when the first tears started to fall. Since he is an "unaccompanied minor," the airline requires that I stay at the gate until the aircraft is airborne. So I sat there silently crying and reminding myself to breathe while all the other passengers boarded and while the gate agents waited for stragglers and then gate checked all the bags that simply wouldn't fit. For a moment, I thought I had pulled myself together. But then one of the agents--probably trying to alleviate her discomfort at my obvious distress--asked how long he's going to be in Egypt, and I lost it again. The truth is, I don't know. There is no day marked on my calendar for his return.

Eventually, it is just me in the gate area, alone with my heartache, still reminding myself to take the next breath. I am not ashamed of my tears, for it is the only way to express the deep love and pain I feel in this moment. I am so thankful for the time I had with him this summer, but my heart aches with every moment of his absence. And, as I told him before he left, I am okay, but that doesn't mean this isn't hard. Love is joy and pain, and there is no separating the two.

After what seems an eternity, the gate agent nods a slightly embarrassed nod in my direction and gives me a wan smile, the sign that I am dismissed. I make my way to the parking garage but cannot remember where I parked. So, I wander around like a crazy woman, crying harder and literally gasping for breath, with my hand on my heart, saying out loud, "It is okay. You are okay."

Just as I reached my car, I got a text from my oldest son letting me know he was thinking about me, and I began to feel less alone with the burden I had been carrying all morning. That brought a fresh wave of tears, though a different brand, that anchored me to the parking spot for many more long minutes. And when I was finally ready to head home, I circled the terminal twice because I missed the exit due to tears and brain fog.

And that brings me to the picture at the top of this post. It is me, sitting in my driveway, at 8:15 on a Monday morning, the day after my birthday, with red eyes, a puffy face, and a snotty nose. I have been awake since 3:30, and I have been crying a steady stream of silent tears for an hour. I am taking deep, lung filling breaths and am trying to calm myself and put my day back on track, because "crying in my driveway," is not even close to the only thing on my agenda for the day. It is a regular day that still requires me to show up, despite my heartache. Then, as I'm sitting there, I receive a message from a friend reacting to an Instagram post I made yesterday highlighting my lovely week and birthday celebrations, which reads, "You look so happy."

I immediately pulled out my phone and snapped the above selfie because I knew in that instant that I would share this story. My life is beautiful and wonderful in so many ways, and I am beyond grateful for all life has given me. I share weekly highlight posts on Instagram and Facebook as a digital scrapbook for myself and as an efficient way of sharing a glimpse of our family life with friends and family all over the world. Without a doubt, it's mostly pictures of good times. I don't typically take pictures of myself crying in my shower or my closet or my driveway, though there are plenty of those moments as well.

I am wonderfully happy. I am also indescribably heartbroken. These two facts are both true simultaneously. And one of the tricky parts of life for me is honoring both of those equally valid states of being. 

One thing I know for sure is I absolutely don't want anyone sitting in their driveway crying and looking at my social media pages thinking my life is all sunshine and roses and that they are the only ones who are feeling the weight of this very difficult life. I work hard to create and share the happy moments of my life, but those are far from the only moments. We are all struggling in our own ways, but so often we feel all alone with it because we don't see others struggling and "everyone looks so happy." My life is not harder than yours, but  the next time you are crying in your driveway, feeling that you are the only one, please pull up this picture of me and know without a doubt that you are not alone.