pedal, pedal, pedal


A lot of people assume that the holidays are exceptionally hard for grievers. And I'm sure that's true for many.

But it's the non-event days that are really the hardest for me. Days that are otherwise wash/rinse/repeat were so much more interesting with Ronen. His presence was a comfort. A phone call in the middle of a moment, just to check in, to discuss at length the events that were not really events at all.

Just life, propelling forward: what was for dinner; what did Lev say this morning; how was drop-off; how’s Ari’s cold; do we need anything at the store. Followed by I love you and see you later, because of course we would. The simplicities of the every day. Taken for granted at the time, and now no longer.

I remember, when Ronen and I first started dating, he would call me in the middle of the day to tell me he was eating a banana. I’m at work, I would reply, laughing in disbelief. Who was this guy? One of a kind. Truly.

And so. Thanksgiving was hard. But we had family to gather with; familiar hands to squeeze; tears to share. Meanwhile, life propels forward still. Without him.

Yesterday I took Ari out again to bike ride, Lev in tow. I am teaching him, and he’s getting it much more quickly than I thought he would. I take him to a hill, as my father took me, and run down with him holding the back of his seat chanting pedal, pedal, pedal. And he does, determinedly. It’s amazing to watch.

I look around, yearning for Ronen beside me to share in this milestone, another one, but he is not there. Never in a million years did I think I would be doing this alone, but here we are. Ari on the bike; me running beside him attempting to film but not without filming myself first accidentally (something Ari and I had a good laugh about after the fact); Lev foraging patiently through a pile of leaves.

Pedaling forward unsteadily, falling down, getting up. Ascending the hill to do it all again.


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