Welcome to another installment of The Bittersweet, where I share my search for a richer perspective on the Bittersweet moments that make up modern life.

Hello Friends,

Last week, I drove four girls from my daughter’s sixth-grade class to Arroyo Hondo Preserve for a field trip. Our district is small, and we don’t have buses, so that means, unless it’s overnight, all transportation falls on the shoulders of parents. The teacher was desperate, so I reluctantly agreed.

The morning of the field trip, I scrambled to pack lunches and drop off the baby at childcare. The list of things that wouldn’t get done that day was growing longer by the minute.

My daughter is more than ready to leave her elementary school behind and start Jr. High, and she’s in her “I’d rather ruin my day than admit to having fun” era. But once we got in the car and I let them pick out the music, everyone started letting their guard down. I asked them questions like, What’s the craziest thing that’s ever happened at school? And do you prefer pizza or cheeseburgers? Peaches or watermelon?

By the time we pulled into the parking lot, everyone was laughing, including my daughter. Dare I say, she was happy I was there.

The teacher divided us into four hiking groups and paired each group with a docent to guide them through the preserve. My group included: my car full of girls, another parent and his car full of boys, my daughter's teacher, and one of the classroom aids.

At one point, the other parent and I were walking along the path, making small talk. I said, “How are you doing?” Without hesitation, he responded, “Generally phenomenal.”

It’s sad to reflect on how surprised I was that he said something so definitively positive. I’m not sure I’ve responded with anything more uplifting than “Busy, but good” in more than a decade. When did reluctant contentedness become my default?

He went on to say, “We are so lucky to live in this beautiful place with access to this nature. We pay for it. I work my ass off, but here I am in the middle of the day walking in this beauty. The world may be on fire, but we live here.”

What’s the line… “Seek humility or it will find you.”

We both got distracted helping the kids cross the creek and climb boulders, and later in the day, we rejoined the trail.

We traded questions about our kids. I mentioned my older son, in junior high, and the toddler at home. I knew at some point he would do the math.

“So, wait… How many kids do you have?”

Should I tell him or not? Will he be someone who can handle it? Will I be comforting him in the end? I didn’t think so, plus anyone who answers “generally phenomenal” to How are you doing? Deserves the benefit of the doubt.

“I have four.”

He gave me a, Dear God, woman, are you crazy? look, but he didn’t put it like that… The answer is yes, I am crazy.

“I have an older son, Peyton, who you know, the youngest is two, but we lost our third to brain cancer… Sometimes I say this really fast so the other person can go back to feeling comfortable again as soon as possible, but he cuts me off.

“Fucking hell!” I can’t tell you what a relief it is to hear an appropriate reaction to a child dying.

Aiden died in 2019. Back then, I got this kind of response all the time. Now, not so much. Maybe people think I’ve healed… I haven’t.

I continued… “He had brain cancer.”

He hung his head and grunted, and we were quiet for a few steps. Then he said, “This world is fucking brutal and crule,” and I agreed. As we walked back to our cars, I thought… And also, “generally phenomenal.”

This is where I am today. Thank you for listening.

In an era where you have access to every word ever written, I’m so grateful you’ve chosen to read mine.

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