about fate

recently i finished a book that was so good it bummed me out. 

the main character is turning forty and her dad is dying. she accidentally finds a way to time travel and is transported to her 16th birthday which she spends with him. she keeps going back to the past trying to fix the present. 

it was particularly poignant since she is my age and her time travel brings her back to my childhood. although i do not care to relive most of my teenage years, i would do anything to change my dad's fate. 

but fate is predetermined and beyond control. 

i've mostly made peace with that. but considering the opportunity to spend time with him again got me to think what i would do differently. what would it be like to be together knowing what was to come?

i'd ask more questions.

soak in the silences. 

hug him, holding on a little longer.

bottle up his chuckle.

play more golf together.

sing out loud to Alabama.

learn all he knew. 

talk with our eyes.

love with my whole heart.

somethings i don't need to travel through the years to do. my face is his face (although it may look like my mom's) and there's a smile we still share. i know all the words of "if you're gonna play in texas" and i'm learning new things with the same zest he had for what he studied. i laugh at jokes he would make. 

i love with my whole heart. 

i miss my dad every day. but every day i'm grateful that my fate brought me him.

meet me in montauk

after an early morning drive down sunrise highway and over hither hills

meet me in montauk

where the air smells of salt and the dune roses blossom in the heat of summer

pay potato patty to park and grab an egg sandwich wrapped in foil

devour it while the sun rises and the tide changes

soak up the rays and take a dip in the waves

watch the kids play and the dads build moats

after your skin is warm and the sand begins to cool

duck into the van to change and head to pizza village for a slice

shop for a cozy sweatshirt along the pink sidewalks and tired tourists

and as the sun sets

with your sunburn and soul full 

head home 

but know that 

you can always meet me in montauk

numbers mean nothing

i turned 37 recently which is crazy to me since i don't feel a day over 29. my recent 20 year high school reunion proves otherwise. sometimes i don't think my life has changed much since i was that age but in many ways it has.

while i don't have the family i dreamed of, yet, there is a family of friends who surround me with love. my recent trip to nashville showed me that and more. although many have friends may have moved away, they continue to show up and cheer me on. even though living alone can be lonely, i know i am not alone.

when i bought my house at 25, i figured i would live in it a few years and sell it before i really had to do any work. ha! never did i anticipate being there for 12 years. yet that single decision has made so many other ones possible like paying off student loans (hallelujah).  

professionally, i still work in the nonprofit sector. becoming an executive director over four years ago was as challenging as expected but also suprisingly rewarding. i've learned a lot about the kind of leader i want to be and get the opportunity to positively impact lives on a daily basis. now i even have letters after my name. i had put off the CFRE exam for multitudes of reasons. when my dad passed, i realized there is never a good time. just do the thing. so i did and i felt like it made him proud. it makes me proud (even though most people don't know what it means). 

recently i watched a friend's dog and when i dropped him off, she tried to hand me cash. i refused to take it because i was so grateful to have a dog in the house that i didn't want to be paid. more importantly, i didn't need to be paid. that is a big change from a few years ago. i was hustling with babysitting and dogsitting to earn extra funds. because of my house and my job, i'm now able to afford (mostly) what i want. and i have all i need.  

the last two birthdays before 37 were difficult to celebrate. at 35, i had recently lost my dad and at 36, i had recently lost my dog. losing those two precious parts of my life made me realize how time is a gift and it won't last forever. 

celebrate we will because life is short but sweet for certain.

so i celebrated my 37th in style and 38 is quickly approaching. while i'm not where i thought i might be, maybe i'm exactly where i should be. 

who knows what the universe has in store.

and numbers mean nothing.

running is a gift

i watched the nyc marathon a few weeks ago. as the elites and the amateurs ran through the five boroughs of new york, i was inspired. 

my first marathon was the best day of my life. if that's how good it felt to finish in 4:30, i can only imagine the joy of breaking the tape and stepping onto that podium. 

running any distance is a way to challenge yourself, test your strength and be victorious.

running is a gift.

sometimes it feels like that shitty gift your aunt sent at christmas that she clearly bought from the clearance section last year. but most times it feels like the one santa brought that was hiding behind the tree.

only you bought it. you put in the work and gave it to yourself.

metaphors aside, i'm grateful for all that running has given to me. 

confidence.

friendship. 

strength.

purpose.

joy.

for my 29th (times eight) birthday, i ran a half marathon in nashville with nine friends who became family. i wasn't sure what to expect since the course promised to be hilly. after some encouragement from a sweet friend, i took off hoping to hang on for 13 miles. there were certainly times i didn't think i could but a voice inside kept asking "what if you believe in yourself just a little longer" and so i did. that belief propelled me to a near pr on a course i thought would defeat me. it rivaled the marathon for my best day ever. 

i left nashville much happier (which could be its own post) with a renewed gratefulness for this gift.

as i continue to log miles and set goals, i remember all the people, places and purpose running has given me. and while not all the miles are fast, they are all worth every step. 

my dad

the empty thump the heavy bag of his old clothes made when they hit the bottom of the donation bin echoed the thump of my heart the moment i found out he was gone.  

that's the sentence that's been floating through my head since i first thought about writing about the day my dad died. it sounds dramatic but that's because it was. 

i know i'm not the first daughter to lose her father. i wasn't even his only daughter to become fatherless. still, it wasn't something i was prepared for, particularly as i drank my happy hour beer and schemed with a colleague on how i might get my parents to move to vero following their very recent visit.

and then the call.

the heart thump.

the empty.

and my life changed in a heartbeat. 

it didn't make sense. three days before he was in my house helping me blow up balloons for an event. i didn't want my parents to leave. i wish they hadn't. 

the day before, he answered the phone using the same joke we always did when he acted like mom's answering service. we laughed about him getting his money's worth during his golf game that day. he passed the phone to mom. i hope i told him i loved him. i hope he knew how much i meant it. 

and then the call.

it was the worst day of my life. followed by a series of them. 

first the flight to north carolina. he wasn't there to pick me up. having to call friends and family and utter those terrible words. i did it because i didn't want mom to have to do it but i fell apart every time. dropping off the paperwork to the funeral home to be sure he flew with an american flag earned through his service in the air force. driving away imagining him in that plane, alone. fighting to get his medical records. picking them up and seeing the pity in the nurse's eyes. 

writing his obituary. 

picking out the casket. 

seeing him in it. 

feeling uncomfortable in the crowd at the funeral home, searching for his eyes and that knowing look which always gave me comfort, realizing i wouldn't see them or that look again. flying home with the flag that covered his casket, holding on to it as if he was woven into its fibers. 

it went on. a series of days and tasks that felt like torture. some moments i remember with crystal clarity while whole weeks are a blur. somehow a whole year passed. now it's over two and a half years later and i'm finally writing this. 

grief is weird. it never goes away.  it becomes a part of you.

but with time i've realized dad is also a part of me. he always will be. i'm not particularly religious yet i believe he sends signs. sometimes a punchline pops in my head before i have time to think of it myself and i thank him for it. a limo was parked on a sideline of a race. a fly in my house. 

i wish every day that he was still here. that he could still hug me. between his arms were strength, comfort, safety. for a man of few words, his hugs spoke volumes. and for someone who had a quiet presence, his absence is loud. 

i know he would not want me to linger in sadness so i celebrate him whenever and however i can. coffee ice cream, diet dr. pepper, a favorite beer. jokes, flexibility, patience, finding the best shortcut to my destination. enjoying the drive. 

my dad was humble and kind just like the tim mcgraw song i hoped to dance with him at my wedding. something that isn't possible anymore. 

while there are so many moments he won't physically be a part of, i try to be grateful for the memories i do have of my hero, my dad. he may not be woven into that flag but he is entwined with every fiber of my being. 

donating his clothes felt like letting go but it was one way to share his legacy. scattering pieces of his life like breadcrumbs to find our way back to him. 

making the most of my days is the best way to make sure his legacy lives on. 

i hope the best days are yet to come because he will be a part of them. 

i hope i make him proud. 

love you huge, dad. 

My Hero

I cannot write enough words to sum up my Dad. I had both the honor and horror of writing his obituary and eulogy. Below is what I read at his wake. He is all this and more. I will spend the rest of my life missing him and honoring his legacy. 

Dad was always putting lotto tickets in our Christmas stockings but we truly hit the jackpot with him. I’ve always been keenly aware how incredibly lucky to have the family I do. Many things had to happen for it to come to be and I have never taken that for granted. Dad met Mom after losing his first wife, Jane, and he came with two young children, my brother and sister. They fell in love fast and married even faster. There was not a day after that where he did not show his love for Mom or us kids.  

I joke that dad's love language was Windex. Anytime he would come to visit, I'd find new bottles around the house even though I hadn’t finished any of the bottles from his last visit. That's how dad was, short on words but big on action. He showed his love by doing things like making sure my mom always had her yogurt (she calls him her supply sgt), replacing my air filter, ensuring my brother had enough Christmas lights on his tree or that my sister's car was properly washed and waxed.

He did thousands of thoughtful things for all of us and worked incredibly hard to provide our family with a beautiful life. Our home in Sayville was always surrounded by gorgeous flowers and full of love and laughter. It was this strong foundation that allowed me, my brother and sister to spread our wings and fly. His example as a role model has been a guiding light as we’ve made our way in the world.

Dad’s service in the United States Air Force is a source of pride for all of us. He drove a truck in Florida, transporting necessary supplies like toilet paper. He joked that “if you can’t wipe it, you gotta wear it.” That was typical of dad, incredibly humble and totally hilarious. His punchlines were legendary. And so was his mustache. Dad was quietly brilliant, like a human encyclopedia, especially on the Civil War. His extensive knowledge helped me pass a college course in the subject.

He was also extremely patient. He would spend hours building sand forts to protect us from the rising tide. He'd spend days putting together the Christmas Village every year. He made sure the front and back yard were equally decked with lights and we lovingly called him Mr. Christmas. Dad made the holidays magic.

Dad was always magic to his grandkids who lovingly called him PopPop. My nieces and nephews lit up when he walked into the room and despite all his ailments he would get on the floor to play or crawl through caves together. PopPop became a kid again with them.

Dad was a gentle giant. His loyal dog George wanted nothing more than to be his shadow. Dad had the biggest heart and his hugs said more than words ever could and packed more warmth than the Florida sunshine. I can attest to that. For his 70th birthday I gave him the gift of trekking through DC to watch me run a marathon. Lucky him, but he did it with a smile. That morning he gave me the sweetest hug that powered me through the hardest of miles. Dad's love made me brave.

Dad was brave. He cared deeply, lived humbly and leaves a legacy of love. We are so grateful for the countless memories although there will never be enough. Dad will forever be remembered as the kind, thoughtful, patient and hilarious man he was.

Loved beyond measure, missed beyond words. Dad, you will always be our hero and the best guy I ever knew.

Adventure awaits

This year did not end up the way I dreamed when the ball dropped 365 days ago. Bailey and I weathered more than hurricane Irma. But with her by my side it was still a year full of joy. As I woke up this morning anticipating the ball drop I felt incredibly lucky.

A while ago I used to pray for strength and focus. Then I ran a marathon. I realized I was given those things through running. That realization gave me faith. Faith in myself and faith in something greater than me.

Then I prayed for someone to love. Well that, I was given in spades.

While I thought I was asking for one person to love, I was given so many (and one angel dog). Last night, as I walked into a room full of friends who were happy to see me, I felt so loved. Prayer answered.

This year I started a running challenge with a teammate. Our goal was 2017 combined miles in 2017. A few months ago I became a team of one and thought that goal was out of reach. But I realized I'm a part of a community of runner's and I have a four legged running buddy whose logged countless miles with me. We're calling this mission accomplished.

As I ran on the last day of 2017 I found myself praying again. The word that kept floating up was adventure. I've started that off with a new job and a fresh hair cut. I hope to challenge myself, travel, face fears and try new things in the next 365 days. "To reach a port we must sail. Sail, not tie at anchor Sail, not drift." (FDR) It's time to start sailing.

One thing I always hope to have is gratitude. It makes life so much sweeter. I'm thankful for this wonderful life, the awesome people I share it with and the paradise I call home.

Cheers to a new year and the adventures that await!