Lately, I’ve had a lot of time to think and what I think is that being kind is underrated. The simple things in day to day life are making or breaking me the last couple of weeks and a nice word or gesture is really all it takes to salvage a day.

What I’ve also realized is that the little things in life that make a person miserable aren’t worth it and if something is toxic that it needs to be cut out like a boil. If you constantly find yourself feeling a certain way about a certain thing, a certain idea, or a certain person that makes you feel bad or unhappy, then, as painful as that is, sometimes you have to let go. Especially if you feel like you can’t confront the feeling head-on or support the person as they are.

But mainly, kindness is really really important. And if someone isn’t kind to you in your darkest of moments, move on. And when a gas company is, support them.

A new year can be a blessing or a curse. For some of us, myself included, a new year is a chance to white the slate clean and start anew. A time for cleaning out the old issues and opening doors to something new seems to be a fresh start in what feels like a time of old hat dilemmas. In the last year, loved ones have been lost, children have been added, jobs have been lost/gained/relost/regained, personal misfortunes have been overwhelming and the kindness and generosity of others has been a beacon of light for those who are feeling lost.

This year, I wish for kindness. For all of you. In whatever form you may find it.

So, instead of telling you how I feel, I’m going to show you the pin he gave me a long, long time ago. It was important to him and through over 10 moves, it’s one of the few things I haven’t lost. Sometimes the heart has trouble letting go. I held the pin for hours last night trying to decide what to say to all of you. Instead, I said it to him.

Your Lucy still misses you so much. I'm still not able to let go.

The last gift I opened said “This certificate redeemable for one puppy of your choice!”

Oh, the excitement and joy! I knew exactly what I wanted: a blonde cocker spaniel. My mother, who tends to hate animals, stipulated “this is an outdoor animal” while I cajoled and begged and pleaded.

On New Year’s Eve, we finally found him. The most beautiful blonde cocker spaniel puppy there ever was. He hid from everything and because of his introversion, I called him my little “Shadow.” Later, I realized that it was a name mostly reserved for black animals, but I was 11. Cut me some slack.

In a rule that I still think was completely moronic, I was required to spend an hour a day with Shadow. I didn’t mind the hour, but there were days it was freezing outside and this was not an easy task. When it was at the freezing point or raining, I could bring him into a shed we had in the back yard or into the garage. I remember holding him in my lap and stroking his long, soft ears for so many of those hours and, though he was an incredibly hyper dog, he let me.

My time got shorter as I got older and became more involved with school and work. I took my first real job at 15 and I had to “make up” the time on the weekends, when I could. This led to some days where I would attempt to entertain Shadow for four hours at a stretch and he grew weary of me.

As he grew older, the gate in our backyard did, as well, and he grew more mischievous. He began to break free of his jail more and more frequently and somehow, no one had enough time to fix the gate. I spent hours searching for him and thankfully, because he had a collar, we always managed to find him.

Until early one morning over the summer of my 18th year.

The phone rang and woke me out of a sound sleep. It was my grandmother and asked me if my dog was missing. I had no idea and looked out the backyard where I could see the gate standing wide open. We’d had a storm the night before and I had no idea how long it had been open. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said that yes, I thought he might be.

Her voice quivered and said that her neighbor had called and said a dog had been hit in front of her house. It had been grazed by a car and was still breathing, but it wasn’t going to make it. It wasn’t bleeding, but the collar had my name on it. Was it mine?

I couldn’t speak.

My grandmother said that animal control had been called to come get the dog and not to bother coming to see him. He wasn’t going to make it.

I still regret not coming to see him. I was such a coward. He lay there alone.

30 minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. A tall man stood there and gently removed his ball cap. His eyes filled with tears and he said, “I got your dog in my truck. He got hit by a car. He didn’t make it.”

I nodded mutely and stared at the words forming at his mouth.

“He ain’t bleeding or nothin’. He looks fine. You can see him if you want to.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks and I shook my head head softly from side to side.

“I’ll take good care of him, miss. They don’t always take good care of these dogs, you know, but I knew he was special, this one. You took real good care of him and groomed him and everything, didn’t ya? I’ll take care of him, myself. I’ll make sure he’s ok, miss.”

I tried to smile and croaked out a thank you as the tears continued to roll from my eyes. He nodded slightly and backed down the concrete steps. He took one last look to the back of his truck, where I knew my dog lay.

I couldn’t close the door until the truck was out of sight.

All dogs go to heaven. I can’t believe in a heaven that doesn’t have them. They are the most pure hearts besides children and if there is an all-encompassing creator, surely He loves the pure hearts. If He doesn’t, then what kind of heaven would it be? I don’t want to be anywhere that doesn’t have my dogs.

Sometimes I dream of petting long, soft ears…

When Leon or I am sick, he hates to go to school and when he is here, he will bring ice packs, aspirin, wet washcloths and as many hugs, kisses and cuddles as we will take. There are many nights that he went to bed on a Friday night at 7:30 because I was sick with a migraine and laying there. He would lay next to me, patting my hand, and would eventually drift off.

There is a certain sense of guilt that comes with having chronic pain–that burden that you place on the people around you. The feelings that you may have of feeling like less of a person some days often express themselves at the weakest moments and not always in the best of ways. They often present in anger, misery or irritability. AJ is immune to that when someone is sick.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t have his egocentric “me me me” side, because he certainly does, but it has never been as strong as I expected. And I’m watching him shed it rapidly and sooner than the developmental scales predict and I wonder about the kind of man he’ll become, and how quickly it will happen. Will I ever be ready for it? People keep telling me to have more children. My guess is that they recognize that there is so much love within me for this little guy that it breaks me.

I worry less about it when I see that I haven’t done an awful job and that my health issues haven’t affected him so dramatically. As he was going to bed tonight, he kissed my cheek, hugged me tightly and said, “I hope you feel better tomorrow, mama.” Then, he gave me the dimpled grin that melts my heart and he and his hoppy little weiner dog went to sleep.

Somehow, I think we’re all going to be alright…

I remember the terror I felt the first time I realized that he no longer had the baby scent.

And then the first time he smelled. I mean really smelled. As in “go take a shower you smell.”

And the first time he actually met my mouth instead of my chin or my nose when he gave me a kiss.

And all the small things that I find myself now terrified of losing: his hand when he crosses the street, the goodnight kisses, when he falls asleep in our bed–his little hand searching for my shoulder and the sweet smiles in his sleep when I say his name and tell him I love him, the first time he’s embarrassed when I tell him I love him in front of his friends, or the first time he doesn’t rush to greet me when he comes home from school.

Every stage of his life has been my favorite. He’s my favorite. He’s always been my favorite. No one makes me laugh as hard as him. He has my sense of humor. Of course I’m going to think he’s hilarious. He’s thoughtful and serious and sensitive and laughs at fart jokes because they are hysterical. They are. I don’t care what you think. THEY ARE HYSTERICAL. Prudes.

I don’t know how to let him go. But I will because I love him with quiet desperation and care. And the day will come when he has to let me go, too. Loving someone means that you will eventually feel the loss that comes with letting go. And I’m scared to death.

“Yes. No. I don’t know, maybe.”

Color me confused because this is not the reaction I would have if I was in my last week of school. Most of his classmates cannot wait to get out of school. Earlier in the week, he’d asked me if he could get his teacher, Mrs. C, a card and I’d said yes. After Leon came home from work, we headed to Target, to get some necessities, some non-necessities and the card for Mrs. C.

Immediately, after arriving at home from the store, AJ began digging in the sack for his card for Mrs. C. I asked him to write her a short note and then sign it. When he showed it to me, I immediately saw why he was so sad to be leaving school.

Thank you for all you did for us this year. Your the best teacher. In the world. don’t leave But say goodby .

(all spelling errors, punctuation and smilies are AJ’s)

He asked me to not take a picture of his writing, but even the writing looked sad on the card. He looked at me and whispered that he “didn’t want to leave Mrs. C” and that he would “miss her so much.”

I’ve mentioned before that this particular teacher made a huge impact on my child. The knowledge that he has is that he will either have a teacher that understands him and his learning style or he won’t. I think there is quite a bit of fear that he will have a teacher that doesn’t and that he will be in the same position he occupied in K-1, where the teachers often misunderstood him.

As a mom, it’s time for me to step in and remind him that he was lucky to have this teacher while he did and that she was precious. However, we’ve learned that he is capable of putting forth a great effort and making some amazing changes in himself that serve him well no matter who he has as a teacher. He will still be in the same school and this teacher will be loving and supportive of him regardless of whether or not he is in her classroom. We will say goodbye gently and lovingly and remember what she has taught him about himself and life and tackling challenges that seem insurmountable. I cannot thank her enough for teaching him something that I could not teach him at the time.

It truly takes a community to raise a child. I’m thankful for the one in which I live. They are wonderful people.

These are not the instances that I’m addressing. I’m addressing the first loves, the best friends, the close friends, the soul mates, the people that you meet on the street that do a kindness for you. These are the people that allow you to have a piece of their heart and with that you, in turn, share a piece of yours with them like a puzzle only the two of you have any hope of completing.

When we give this part of ourselves away, we do so at a large cost. There really isn’t any going back from that point. I remember my first love quite fondly, as he was a good friend before he was anything else to me. He was sweet, funny and shy. We talk online now and then, but what strikes me so much is that it has been so long and our feelings have healed to the point where I genuinely want his happiness in a way that I wish for what he wishes for himself. I think of old friends that I haven’t seen in years and wish the best for them.

I think this is where the popularity of social networking sites such as Facebook and Myspace come in. Of course there are people that want to “stick it” to the people that hurt them so long ago, but, overwhelmingly, the feeling I get about these sites is that it is more about healing and caring than anything else. We want to know how these people are doing and if they are well. Our reason for that is not always because of them: It’s because of us. It’s because they hold onto a string attached to our emotions that we haven’t quite clipped.

I can think back to my first real crush and smile fondly. I can think of my first best friend and laugh at some of the things we’ve done in our lives. I can think of the first time someone hurt me beyond repair. There are many spots that aren’t healed and there are many that will never heal. It’s up to me to decide whether I’m going to allow those strings to continue to move me like a puppeteer or clip them and free the strings up for new events in our lives.

The man who held the door for me the other day…the old woman who smiled at me when I was stressed out about finals…the way my dogs know when I’m sad and will just lay silently next to me…the way my sister hugs me when she hasn’t seen me in a while…