NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO BE PERFECT

“Mom, not everything has to be perfect.” Gab tells me this often. My preteen, with his quiet wisdom, reminding me of something I still struggle to believe. I smile when he says it—because he’s right. And because it feels like life has flipped: the child teaching the mother.

After Sean passed away, I spent so much of my days trying to control every detail—the kids’ schoolwork, their activities, the routines. But really, what’s it all worth? My children already have what matters most: love, laughter, stories of their dad, and the warmth of home. They’re growing up surrounded by that, not by checklists.

Sean had his degrees, his career, his achievements—but where are they now? What truly lasts is how he lived: with joy, with love, with generosity. He didn’t waste time chasing perfection; he poured himself into what mattered.

And I think about my own degrees, the years of study, the effort, the “credentials.” What do I do with them now, in a life like this? Sometimes it feels like the world moves in another way—one that our old measures of success don’t quite prepare us for. Do we really need the same rules, the same rigid paths? Or is there room for something different—something softer, more human?

Still, my love for Sean pushes me forward. Being his wife is a title that fills me with pride, but also with weight. I want to make him proud. And sometimes, in that effort, I give too much and forget to pause—until my body reminds me I need to stop, breathe, rest.

And then Gab’s voice cuts through again:
“Mom, not everything has to be perfect.”

He grounds me. Reminds me that love—not perfection—is what truly matters.

Maybe that’s the greatest lesson of all—the one my son is teaching me every day.