July Brings the Women

This gift of extra days stretched wide and warm, full of stillness, movement, and the women who shape my world. The kind of company that asks for nothing but your presence. I started Friday by honoring my commitment to the YMCA, a place that's become more than work since I began there in November, but a community of familiar faces and shared purpose. My 10 AM finish gave me the perfect window for the three-hour journey to Snellville and my waiting family. They’re vegetarians and lovers of good food—we’ve always shared that language. They prepared a beautiful meal, and we broke bread with gratitude and laughter.

The Professor was with me. They met her, felt her spirit, and were moved.

She fits.

Saturday, she and I slipped into Atlanta. No itinerary, just each other. A soft morning, a Mediterranean breakfast at the hotel, then Slutty Vegan for lunch and a slow, wandering trip through the Dekalb County Farmers Market. We were in sync, no rush, just rhythm. Curiosity and care filled every corner of our conversation. Admiration was quiet but constant.

We drove back early evening feeling full…

Of time well spent.

Of love received and given.

Of something calm and right.

Yet beneath this contentment, July was stirring something deep within me. July 5th is my mother’s birthday. She’s gone now, but she showed up anyway. My sister, without trying, holds her mouth the same. Speaks like her. She sat across from me at dinner, and for a moment, I was a kid again being seen, being fed, being loved. That's a weight you don't name in the moment.

You just feel it.

And then there’s July 7th and 8th, my nieces’ birthdays. And right after, July 9th, is The Professor’s. Three women I love lit up around the memory of one we lost. That kind of alignment isn’t accidental.

It’s sacred.

So yes, it was a gift—these extra days. But more than that, it was a quiet reckoning. A gentle reminder. That love lingers. That presence doesn’t always need a body. And that sometimes, just showing up with trust, with care, is enough to feel whole again,

I Am