Sarah will be sharing this story at her mom’s memorial service. She texted this to me after reading this post and I just sobbed ♥️:
When I was four years old, I was skiing with my family. My mom and I and her friend and kids were all making our way down what we thought were the easy slopes, when we found ourselves on a Double Black Diamond slope. My mom, cautious and intrepid, just turned to us and said, “Go slow, we’ll be fine.” And she started to sideways slide down the moguls, supporting me as I slid down inch by inch to meet her with each stretch. At the top of one mogul, as she held me up by my arm to keep me from tipping over, her skis suddenly slipped out from underneath her, and we both tumbled down the hill. Head over heels, skis over shoulders, poles flying everywhere. When I finally slid to a stop, half buried in snow, skis and poles detached, I popped my head up to look around. I distinctly remember looking all around for my mom, my rock, my anchor. I was so glad when I spotted her about 10 feet away, looking at me with the same look. And then she laughed. She laughed. She threw her head back and laughed. And my little four-year-old self was stunned. What was so funny?? She laughed as she crawled up to me, laughed as she held me and wiped my tears away. She smiled and told me that we were okay, and hugged me with the bear hug that only my mom could do. Eventually we got up and we trudged the rest of the way down the mountain on foot.
For years, I wondered why she’d laughed. How could she think that was funny — somersaulting down a death-defying mountain like that? And then I had Jake. And I found when he would fall or get disappointed at something or just be sad, something inside me would make me smile and laugh. A hardy heart-filled laugh. Because I knew that we were okay. If he was crying, it meant he’s alive and human and learning and growing and experiencing life. And that’s all I want for him. And that’s all my mom wanted for us. She wanted us to live life, and experience the somersault, and experience the glee of knowing we made it through stronger and more flexible.
Because that’s life….the thrill and glee of those somersaults
