It’s a small ritual, but it means everything to us.
My son, Jason, is eight years old. Ever since his mother died two years ago, those Sunday walks have been the one thing in our lives that never changes.
No matter how busy the week becomes.
No matter how exhausted I feel after work.
No matter how many unanswered emails pile up on my laptop.
On Sundays, we walk.
Just the two of us.
At first, I told myself the walks were for Jason. After losing his mom, the world had become a confusing place for him. He jumped at sudden noises. He asked questions I didn’t always know how to answer.
Sometimes he would look at me with a quiet, searching expression that made my chest ache, as if he were afraid I might disappear too.
But if I’m being honest, I needed those walks just as much as he did.
