The original anchor of my life is my husband. But this post is about those we never want to see us hurt. Never.

My original anchor was always my kid. He pushed me through my seizure days, my days in back and hip pain, he pushed me to my limits. In a good way. In a great way. Now he is all grown up. I feel like there are days I do not push enough for me. Just me. So right now, while I heal, curling up in front of bad TV and writing chapter 2 of my book sounds great. But I got a little anchor. Gotta go.

Now, planning for a trip in pain is funny. I got a bag and threw whatever I saw into it. No thought, just clothes. I think they match. Not my usual packing ritual, which takes days, and coordinates for each day and event. But hell, he is three. My must is my galaxy watch and new fitbit to log my steps as I heal. He changes the watches wallpaper. It’s a thing. I love our things. He is my anchor. Two watches it is. I heard it’s a thing.

Now, I have been walking. But today I started my PT exercises from long ago. ****ing hurt. I screamed but then remembered my anchors. Both. It’s only been a week but I am fighting. Some don’t. I do. Today, it is a swimming lesson to watch. Soon, it will be other events. None I am missing. He is my anchor and this grandma will be there with bells on and a back that works.