Knowing

There is a line -- "Life does not put things in front of you which you are unable to handle" -- or something very similar to that. The quote was printed on the front of a card Amelia sent me some years ago, which I still remember to this day [though as you can tell, not exactly word-for-word]. She sent it after I had had surgery to repair my damaged right shoulder. I read the card then, and it gave me a lift. At the time I was down, worried that I wouldn't be able to play football that season, or even worse, ever again. The little piece of paper arrived from America [I was living in Singapore] and as I read the card, I knew things would work out. I knew I could handle the injury. I just knew.

This week, as I wondered about pretty much everything except my shoulder, much more than a piece of paper arrived. Most of my family came to town to celebrate Joe's law school graduation. [Ellie, doing some amazing work in Guatemala, couldn't attend. We missed her. Lilly did, too]. But even with one of us missing, we did what we always do. Ate meals together. Had beer and wine together. Lots of laughter. Lots of jokes. Lots of coffee. Lots of watching Lilly, who has a personality ten times the size of her tiny body.

On one afternoon, we sat in the Erwin Center and watched Joe walk across a stage and have a sunflower pinned on him as he became a graduate of Texas Law. After the ceremony, I couldn't help but think of the times I'd watched him cross a line in Lake Placid or Coeur d'alene, and how similar it felt to watching him walk across the stage. Because everyone is there to stand and applaud and cheer as you walk across a stage or cross a thin white line. But there is no cheering in a library at three in the morning, no support group in your house as you clip in for a two-hour windtrainer session. I stood and I cheered as he walked across the stage, as I have done at those finish lines, because I knew what it took to get there, or at least a great deal of what it took. I talked to him after weekends where he hadn't slept, I ate short dinners with him because he had to get back to writing a forty-page paper. As he has always done, he found a way to finish. To not make weak decisions. I knew he worked for three years to cross that stage. Now, I'm just excited as hell for the next ten, because there's going to be a lot more to stand and cheer about. I just know it.

On a different afternoon, we sat in a room at the Radisson hotel and watched an incredible DVD that Amelia made, which captured all the images and video from Ironman Florida. There was the race, of course, and so much more. The family. The birthday. An even littler Lilly. Joe's drafting penalty. I watched it, got goosebumps as "What A Day" by Greg Laswell came on -- that song will never be the same again. I felt my pulse quicken as I saw the photos of everyone running, hurting, but ultimately finishing. The music, the photos, the memories they stirred -- and I knew I was going to do another one. Only faster. I just knew.

On a different afternoon, which turned into an evening, I sat outside with friends and family at one of my favorite restaurants in Austin, Uncle Billy's, and ate moist barbecue and drank cold beer. Pitcher after pitcher of cold, draft beer. We sat and talked, as we have done so many times before. We laughed at the thought of dad in a white speedo [some gagged], we laughed even harder as Lilly scowled at Joe, yet gave our waitress a hug [even pat-patting her back]. We talked about races to be done, trophies to be made, how childbirth was overrated [Amelia and Mom took that one particularly well]. The only thing missing was my spanish-speaking sister.

Now, on a different afternoon, my family has returned back to their homes. Mom and Dad to Washington. Jim, Amelia and Lilly to Stamford. Things start to return back to the way they were. My truck is still being repaired. I still occasionally feel chills in the places beside my heart. But there is no fear this time. No worry about the uncontrollable future. Instead, the path to greatness is on the horizon once again. I don't know where it leads, where it ends, or how long it's going to take. But it is there. It is.

I just know it.