When the Season Ends but the Love Remains

"It's been an honor and a privilege to watch your high school running career. Your dedication and commitment to it and leadership is unmatched.❤️❤️❤️❤️"

So read my text as John and I drove away from the final track meet of Keaton’s high school experience.

So bittersweet.

I’ve never witnessed someone so young work so hard—without complaint, without shortcuts. He never missed a practice, no matter the time or weather. He ran through the rain, through fatigue, through the disappointment of off-days when his legs just wouldn’t cooperate with his expectations. Still, he laced up his cleats, day after day, week after week. He never gave up. Not once.

There were incredible highs and some truly crushing lows, but he always came back. What I’ve cherished most, even more than the medals or times, is watching him evolve into a leader. He learned to lift others, sometimes even at the cost of his own ambitions. He came to understand that true success isn’t measured in wins alone—it’s in the strength of the team, the quiet integrity of showing up for others. That’s the kind of lesson I hope roots deep and stays with him for life.

As I watched him blast around the track on his final lap, the weight of it all hit me—how much is ending, how much is changing. I don't yet know what the adult version of my relationship with my boys will look like. And if I’m honest, that uncertainty scares me.

But what gives me comfort—what I can rest my heart on—is this: I showed up. For every game, every school event, every spelling bee. But not just the big moments. I was there for the sick days and heartbreaks, the scraped knees, the tears, and the laughter. I was there for school drop-offs and pick-ups, splash-filled pool days, spontaneous ice cream runs, and quiet afternoons tucked away at the library. I was there for all of it. Fully present.

And now, with this chapter closing, I’m learning to turn that presence inward. To create a life that fills the spaces left behind by full-on mothering.

I’m not yet convinced anything will feel as meaningful as raising my boys. But I’m willing to try. Starting here, with you, tapping away on my beat-up laptop, trying to process the ache of moving forward when my heart wants to linger.

I’m dreaming of travel—finally free of school calendars—of finding tangible ways to cultivate my love of animal conservation and spirituality (maybe even both at once?), of writing until the words run dry (which they never really do), of dog snuggles, and watching all the sports with John (whether on tv or in person).

So here I am, standing at the crossroads. A little uncertain. A little tender. But ready to begin again, trusting that love doesn’t end—it simply shifts form.

And I’ll keep showing up.

This time, for me.

Inward & Onward,