There’s a certain kind of song that punches you right in the feels. I’m talking Coldplay’s “Hymn For The Weekend” — (“Put your wings on me”) — and of course, the iconic Bette Midler “Wind Beneath My Wings.” Go ahead, roll your eyes. It’s okay. They’re the kind of songs we pretend are “cheesy” but secretly play when we need to ugly cry in the car.

I’ve been thinking about wings lately. Not the buffalo kind — though I wouldn’t turn those down — especially the super viniger ones – but the kind we grow, lend, or lean on. As I approach the two-year anniversary of my husband’s passing and mark over a decade since my mom left this earth, I find myself wondering: who has been the wind beneath my wings? And whose wings have I helped steady in flight?

Grief is a gravity. A sneaky, relentless kind. And yet somehow, despite it all, I’ve still found lift. That upward push from friends, colleagues, dogs, music, random kind strangers, and even my own grit. Sometimes, you don’t know you’re flying until you realize you’re no longer face down in the dirt.

But here’s the kicker — I’ve also been someone else’s wings. Even in my own freefall, I’ve steadied others. Helped them flap. Helped them rise. It’s one of those bittersweet truths: we keep each other going. Like a human relay race of emotional scaffolding. Cheesy? You bet. But don’t knock the cheese — it holds the lasagna together.

So what does it mean to support someone? It’s not always grand gestures. Sometimes it’s sitting beside someone in silence. Sometimes it’s texting “You good?” or bringing them coffee without asking how they take it. Sometimes it’s just showing up. That’s the real secret: you show up.

And sometimes, you carry their weight for a while. And one day, when you’re tired and your own shoes are too heavy to lift, someone else will swoop in with their wings.

We’re all someone’s wind at some point. We’re all someone’s landing pad, too.

So today, in honor of the soaring and the flapping and the times we crash-land, I say thank you. To those who’ve put their wings on me. And to those who let me fly for them when they couldn’t.

Just remember — even grounded birds have feathers. And even broken wings can heal.