It’s not that I have to, it’s that I get to… Don’t get me wrong, I often have to remind myself of that very thing, but it’s always true.

It was a springtime funeral. I remember it because I was wearing my birthday dress in the back of the Chevy Impala. I know it was the first grade because Gerald Reed complimented me on that dress. (It’s funny, but I recall my childhood more in grades than in years. Perhaps that’s the power of learning.) It must have been a distant family member or friend because we stopped to pick up my grandparents. I scooted over on the maroon interior to make room for my grandpa. Springtime was the busiest for him. All the preparing. It set the stage for the entire year. Keeping the farm was based on the work put in each spring. My mother, knowing this, said as he slid in the back, “It’s nice to have you here, but you didn’t have to come…” “I don’t have to,” he said, “I get to.” He patted my knee. I don’t remember the funeral. But I remember this.

We will be asked to do the most impossible things. To bear the unbearable. To live the unlivable. Love guarantees this. But all that we get from it — for me — makes it worth every second. We get to love each other. Be there for each other.

Do the words come easier some days than others? Sure. Does the love come easier at times? Of course. But I get to do this. We get to do this. Feel this. Live this. And I will choose my life, scoot over to let it all in, every day.