Categories
friendship laughter life love

girlfriends are the greatest

During good times and bad my girlfriends have always seen me through and helped me along the way – so this post is for them. It’s impossible for me to share every memory because there are millions and I know I’m bound to leave some girls out on accident. Some pictures of my friends aren’t easily accessible either, so just know I’m thankful for every childhood, teenage, college and grown up (whatever that means) friend who made me laugh until I cried, dressed up with me, sang with me in the car, planned parties and trips with me, shared sorrows and big dreams with me under the stars, worked with me, had sleepovers with me, got in trouble with me, saw me sloppy, danced through the night, and so much more.

Thank you.

With all my heart, thank you.

You are some of the main people making this journey through life fun, exciting, bearable, interesting and inspiring. Tonight I want to share why I love you.

You view the world as something beautiful and you want to see it with me.

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You know all we need is a cotton candy maker to ensure a day we’ll never forget.

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You were there during the months and moments that changed our lives.

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You sat with me when I was the only person older than 4 who wanted to hold a bunny.

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You partied hard with me on my 21st birthday.

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You dressed to match on accident.

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Or on purpose.

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You laugh with me until our guts hurt.

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You show up on the big days and bad days – and often in a group.

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You think wandering around New York City with the sole purpose of eating can be the greatest thing.

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You did’t even have to be human to make me happy.

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You have dress-like-a-wizard parties with me.

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And wear-your-biggest-sleeves parties with me.

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And see-who-looks-the-funniest-in-a-Christmas-sweater parties with me.

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You taught me that life is an adventure and I still believe it 9 years later.

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You saved our umbrella at a baseball game.

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You visited me in the desert.

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You traveled to one of the most exotic places with me.

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You’ve been in my life since the 4th grade (or younger!)

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You made sure my dress laid right on my wedding day.

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You’ve been happy for me.

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You danced to “Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy” with me – in fancy clothes.

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You dressed up in ’80s attire because that’s what I wanted for my 30th birthday.

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You inspired me to try new things, whether it be ice skating lessons or something else just as fun.

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You know I’m ridiculous and often reciprocate that.

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You agreed to make a pyramid for me because I was moving away, even though you probably thought I was crazy.

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You take feet pictures with me in all the places we go.

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You’ve been to the most epic of concerts with me.

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You put on mustaches because, who knows why?

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You agree to a hug even when you don’t want to (or you just hold your arms out until it’s over).

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You get really into karaoke.

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You’ve listened to every thought in my brain for years.

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You stayed with me on the green runs when everyone else skied better.

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You make biking and “Bachelor” plans with me every week.

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You text me pictures that make me smile.

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You do girly things when my husband won’t want to – like going to the ballet.

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And when tragedy struck, you licked the tears off my face while I laid in bed wondering what happened.

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You gathered around me during that tragedy, too, in many different ways both near and far. A couple of you came over that night to hold my hand, cry, and agree to watch our cat because we had to leave town. We barely knew you and you did it anyway.

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Some of you who I hadn’t seen in years offered to do anything – including picking me from the airport if I needed it. You came to the viewing or funeral (or both), and sent cards, flowers and text messages from states away.

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You send me cards and necklaces in the mail that lift my heart.

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You’ve remained by my side while life is blurry.

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And you know the next time I see you, it’s possible we’ll look like this again no matter what is going on in our lives.

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Categories
beauty hearts life love

the heart hunt

It was Thanksgiving 2012 and Travis, my mother-in-law and I were in the kitchen slicing mushrooms, mixing up green bean casserole and peeling potatoes when we came across this:

Heart potato

A heart potato.

My mother-in-law started telling us how my sister-in-law, Nikki, loves natural objects shaped as hearts, so we took a picture and sent it her way. After that, Nikki got me looking for hearts and whenever I come across them while walking down the street, driving in my car, or in photos people share, I always think of her. I even think of her when the heart is un-natural, such as in the shape of a cookie. I’ve come to love hearts, not just for my sister-in-law, but for myself. It’s a game I like to play.

A while ago, Nikki sent Travis and me a wooden plate where we could collect rock hearts we find on trips and trails. Her family loves to find and keep them, each with memories attached. I love this idea, and I try to find them every time we’re hiking. What I’ve found, however, is often times the hearts I see are much too big for my pockets, so I take pictures. I’m starting to see them a lot more often now, not only in rocks, but in cactuses, shadows and other unexpected places.

Since it’s valentine’s weekend, I want to share a few with you and their stories.

Way back in September 2013, Travis and I were on our way home from our wedding weekend in Utah. We’d spent a few days hiking around the orange arches in Moab, then drove back to Albuquerque. At some point, clouds began to gather and we ended up in a rainstorm. But before that happened, some of those clouds cast this shadow:

Heart shadow

Travis noticed it first, and said it looked like a heart with an arrow going through it. It’s the biggest heart I’ve captured these last few years, and it’s so fitting we saw it right after our wedding.

During our honeymoon in Portugal a couple months later, we loved walking down the cobblestone roads in Cascais. It was a beautiful city with beaches, ocean views and quaint little restaurants. On one of those walks, we came across some broken cobblestone, perfectly shaped as a heart.

Heart cobblestone

On that same trip, I tried desserts at every bakery I could, and wouldn’t you know that one my favorite purchases was a simple black-and-white heart cookie.

Heart cookie

Heart cookie

Now we’ll skip ahead to last summer when Travis was in Utah for a week for work. He was able to watch an air show with his mom and snapped a photo of the smoke one of the planes left behind while twisting and turning through the sky. I loved this so much.

Heart clouds

In July of last year, my parents came to visit and we took them on a day-trip drive through the Jemez Mountains and Los Alamos. We did a short hike to a waterfall, and a long walk around White Rock Canyon Rim where I told everyone to be on the lookout for heart rocks. Well, look who found one:

White Rock Canyon Rim rock

A little more than a month later during our first wedding anniversary weekend, Travis and I hiked La Luz, which is our favorite trail in Albuquerque. We were on the trail for 16 miles that day and it was hard, but fun, and we came across this:

La Luz Heart

A week or so after that, Travis and I made our way to Montana to see Glacier National Park. It was one of the most amazing and beautiful places I’ve seen, and during that trip, we came across a couple more lovely hearts. I couldn’t believe the one we saw in the water. It was absolutely perfect.

Glacier National Monument Heart

Glacier National Monument Heart

Then in November, we spent an early Thanksgiving with Travis’ parents in Arizona and during that weekend, we went to the Desert Botanic gardens where they have cactus after cactus after cactus. Lucky for us, my mother-in-law spotted this prickly gem:

Heart cactus

Most recently, I had a friend from Utah who was in Albuquerque for work and I took him to the Sandia Crest so he could see the view. We went on a short hike on the top of the mountain and found a couple more hearts in the middle of the trees and snow.

Crest Heart

Crest Heart

The last two hearts were especially meaningful to me because I try to see my dad everywhere. I had to wonder if he’d remembered that day last July when he and my mom went heart rock hunting for me. Maybe he left a sign for me last weekend in the snow that also kind of looks like Mickey Mouse. I have to believe my dad is looking out for me and that he’s somewhere his spirit can see us. If I don’t believe that, I have nothing.

Love is everywhere. I know that. Sometimes it’s small enough to fit in our pockets and sometimes it’s too big for us to handle. Usually it’s in places that aren’t tangible, like when it’s more of a feeling than anything else. Sometimes it’s a shadow or a rainbow or a song – all things we can never physically feel, but we can see or hear. Sometimes it’s in things we can touch, like our friends, our family and even food, rocks, cactuses and clouds. Even when it’s far away – like in a shooting star my mom saw the other day – it can still feel close because we can see it and feel it make its way inside us. Perhaps that’s the most magical thing about love. It has countless forms and it’s in infinite places. It’s common ground, and it brings us together.

Categories
life love

christmas and lucky boots

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This past Christmas, my dad did a lot of the shopping, and he did it early. This was pretty amazing because my parents were always a bit last minute with at least a few things for the holiday, but this year, everything was taken care of, and much of it was done my my dad himself.

He’d picked out two toys for every grandchild and had them wrapped and under a Candyland-themed tree he and my mom picked out this year. That was one of the best Christmas presents he shared with the family, and it was chosen specifically for the kids. It’s really such a beautiful tree all covered in white with bright-colored lights and candy-shaped ornaments. Sometimes we could hear all five of the grandkids gathered around the tree feeling and looking at the gifts, and wondering what they were. On Christmas Eve, Macie and Madison fell asleep in its light on the floor, visions of sugarplums literally dancing above their heads.

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My dad had also purchased surprises for my mom and placed them under the tree the morning he left this world. There was a note on one of the gifts we’d find a few days later that was so kind and fun it made us all cry. He’d also surfed through Amazon and chose most of his own presents because he was probably so excited about many things like usual. All of the gifts for me and Travis had been purchased, wrapped and sent to us, so when we left for Utah unexpectedly on Dec. 17, we put them in our suitcases so we could open them there. We took everything with us except for a present for Stella which we opened early. We found out my dad picked that one out, too.

I tell ya, my dad loved Christmas, and he really loved surprises.

On Christmas morning, my sisters-in-law and I all got a pair of boots – picked out specifically for each of us by him. My mom said when they went shopping for those, my dad had her sit down and he’d go around and choose the boots and have her try them on. The pair he picked for me was perfect – I loved them right away, but they were just a half size too big. Before Travis and I left Utah, we went with my mom to exchange them, but since Macy’s didn’t have any in stock that day, the cashier said they could be shipped to our home. That seemed like the easiest thing anyway, so we made the exchange and I think Travis and I flew back to New Mexico that night.

The boots arrived a couple days after we got back from Disneyland, and for some reason, I didn’t open them for days. I had a hard time doing a lot of things that week. I think a part of me felt sad about opening my last Christmas present from my dad, even though I already knew what it was. I think another part of me was just lazy, and it was hard to do normal things, even when it came to opening packages in the mail.

Over the last few weeks, there have been frequent reminders that my dad left a lot of fun lasts for us. For me, there are those boots and I wear them regularly now. They were on my feet the morning “Take it Easy” came on the radio, which I remember being a really good day. I also wore them last Wednesday when I was hoping for some good luck.

While biking, I’ve put on the outfit I got for Christmas that he and my mom picked out together for me, and pretty soon, we’re going to put a ride tracker on Travis’ bike – also chosen by my dad.

Just yesterday, we also had a dining room table delivered. We purchased it using money my parents gave us for our wedding. We’d saved that money for more than a year, always with the intention of getting a real dining room set once we bought a house. I’m sure my dad would love hearing that we’ll no longer have to use a card table and folding chairs for every meal, even though it didn’t ever seem like he minded when he came to visit in October.

From here, I don’t know if there will be any more tangible gifts from him, but maybe I’ll be surprised. It’s possible we might come across things here and there for a while, and I’m pretty sure he sent the missionaries to my house last week.

Now I watch for my dad in the sky. I look for him in the moments I get to see sunsets and the moon. I feel watched over when something lucky happens. The last few days have been hopeful, and I’m happy for that.

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Categories
life love

take it easy

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My coworker told me the other day she’d give me a reason not to hate pennies. She’d just tried to trade me a bunch for a dime, and I told her to keep them because they’d just clog up my wallet. Then she told me about her sweet sister-in law who died a year and a half ago and how lately her daughters have been finding pennies all over the place, and they’ve been wondering if they’re from their aunt. Now every time they find one, they think of her and wonder if maybe it’s on purpose. My coworker had five lined up on her desk and found another one over this last weekend.

I love things like that. It’s nice thinking some of the little things, big things and unexpected things happen on purpose, and that maybe there’s an angel you know who’s making them happen.

A few weeks ago, my friend pointed me to the blog Baby Boy Bakery, written by a woman who lost her 3-year-old in some kind of accident last May. Even though our losses are different, when she writes about them, they seem similar to me. Her son loved Disney and Mickey, and some of the ways she explains grief are just exactly how I feel. She also has a beautiful Instagram account that I started following, and I love how she finds ways to see and feel her son in ordinary things – in pancakes, in red shoes, in Mickey stickers found randomly on the ground, in the sun that sometimes leaves rays in her photographs.

She wrote a post about going to an Angels game after her son died and how it was fun, but painful – then she wrote something that’s stuck with me. “We enjoyed taking Ryan last year and we enjoyed taking him now. We carry our son in our hearts everywhere we go…with and with out Ryan.”

I guess it hadn’t quite clicked with me at that point that I could carry my dad with me everywhere I go. I had looked for him in external ways – in nature and moments where I thought he’d think something was funny. I wondered if I’d somehow actually feel him, but that hasn’t happened in a way I imagined. But when I read her post, I realized taking him with me could be my choice – he could be right in my heart and then I wouldn’t have too look for him anywhere else.

Then last Thursday happened, and this little miracle occurred on my way to work one morning. I had a lot on my mind during that early hour, and I drove to work in the dark as always, but without music on which rarely ever happens. I said some prayers while I drove, then sat in the silence for a few minutes before turning on the radio which happened to be playing “Take it Easy,” a song that reminds me of my dad because he liked the Eagles, and one that we used in his video at the viewing.

It was unexpected, and it put a big smile on my face. It felt like it was on purpose, and I don’t always feel that way. It was perfect for my troubled soul in that moment. Ironically enough it came on while I was driving home from work the next day, too. I’m pretty sure my dad really wants me to take it easy. I’m pretty sure he’s with me more than I think sometimes.

Take It easy, take it easy
Don’t let the sound of your own wheels
drive you crazy
Lighten up while you still can
don’t even try to understand
Just find a place to make your stand
and take it easy

Categories
life

about what hurts

write hard and clear

There is a part of me that is sad most all of the time. It doesn’t always physically hurt, and it doesn’t always make me cry, but that part of my heart is always, always sad.

I think about my dad 450 times a day, and depending on the moment, I can’t decide if heaven is a happy or sad place. I believe it’s beautiful and perfect in almost every way except for the separation between those who are there, and those who are here. I was brought up believing that the person we are on earth is the same person we are when we die, so even if our spirit is perfected, we no longer feel physical pain, and we are with God and surrounded by golden flowers and pink, sparkling trees, the warmest of suns with the most vibrant sunsets in colors we can’t even imagine, I think there would be a part of us that is sad there, too, because we’d miss the people we love.

Two nights ago, Travis and I sat on one end of an hour and a half phone call with my family and one of the men who was with my dad when he died. We listened via speaker as he told all the details from the beginning when they met at a mall to drive to Logan, to the end, when he found himself waking up the next morning having one of the hardest days of his life.

The middle part of the conversation – the part that detailed the tragedy – was obviously the hardest to hear. There were images I could never imagine before. It was good for me to hear them, but it was also tragic. I ended up not sleeping that night, and was tossing and turning as this nightmare we’re in seemed fresh again. It’s really hard to understand how or why, but if I keep asking myself that, I’m bound to go crazy.

The truth is, though, I don’t ask myself the hows or whys very often. At some level I understand that life can just be really horrible sometimes and everyone has their struggles – this just happens to be mine and my family’s. It’s one of those things you think happens to other people until it happens to you, and then you realize you’re just as vulnerable. For me, that scares me the most. I wonder what’s next. It seems like if this can happen, anything can happen.

That’s not to say I haven’t felt blessed in many ways since the tragedy. There are actually countless ways. I will never, ever know how many people have prayed for my family. I will never know everyone who came to the funeral. Following those first few days, we all survived Christmas somehow, and it was actually fun and lovely at times. I have a really good family – that is the biggest blessing – and I have countless friends who love me. I try to feel my dad in nature, and I can tell you I’ve seen some pretty amazing sunsets since then, and tonight, there was this giant star that I swear was begging me to make a wish. I didn’t make a wish at that moment, but I did think of my dad.

I’m also very lucky to know my dad was with really good people when he died. When I think of all the possibilities, it’s reassuring to know there was a man who held my dad’s head in his lap during those final moments, gave him a blessing, prayed for him, told him to breathe, and to stay laying down. My dad was able to hold on to his shoulder, while one of his other friends held his hand. Then emergency crews arrived quickly, and they did they best they could.  He died before they reached the hospital, and there’s nothing anyone could have done differently.

Since then, a lot of people have told me it must have been his time, and that God needed my dad for something. I know they say that to comfort me, and probably themselves, too, and I know their intentions are true. But every time I hear those sentences, they don’t sink in with me. I’m not sure there is a specific “time” for everyone to die. I think this might be the case with some people, but I have a hard time thinking if that were the case for my dad, God would have allowed for him to be taken the way he was. It just seems like too horrible of a punishment for his friend, and my dad never would have asked for that. I don’t think God would do that to someone, or plan for such a tragedy. More so, I believe accidents happen, horrible things happen and life happens, and God finds us in the aftermath when we’re picking up the pieces.

My dad had this certain way of saying “Oh no,” about a variety of things. It didn’t have to be something too serious; it could have been during a football game following an interception. Sometimes he would say it during serious times, too, though. When I picture the moment he left this life, I hear him saying that. I see him just as shocked as we all were. I see him wanting to come back, and I see him crying. Perhaps this is me just projecting, but even though I believe he’s in heaven, I see him being taken care of by God in those first few moments instead of being at peace. Am I crazy to think he’s healing with us? That maybe sometimes he still has hard moments? That maybe he wishes he could be here instead of there, even though he’d know what he’s missing now that he’s seen heaven?

Something my cousin told me has comforted me more than she probably knew it would. Her father died a year before mine, and she said in the days following my dad’s death that while she always knew there was a heaven, she never knew how close it is. I think this is true. I know there’s a heaven. I just know it, but all of the other things I feel are confusing and painful, and sometimes I’m just numb – but I keep on moving because that is what you have to do.

I know I’m not alone both physically and spiritually, and for that I am grateful. From here, I just want this to shape me in a way I can be proud of, but I’m still working through the murky part.

Categories
laughter life love

beginnings, endings

Race
Ogden Half Marathon in May 2012

“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”
— T.S. Eliot

Normally at the end of the year, I reflect on the previous 12 months and try to recognize all the wonderful things that happened. I like to think about the vacations taken and the new, beautiful places I got to see. I like going through my photos and seeing normal, every day adventures. I like replaying holidays and hikes and birthdays. Then I like thinking about what I accomplished at work and and my favorite stories, and after all that, I usually like to make new goals and plan on doing things I’ve never done before.

Well, we all know the end of the last year was really different for me and I didn’t really reflect on the the things I normally do. The last couple weeks of December were all about simply making it through those tough days. Sure, there was a lot of reflection, but sometimes I was reflecting over my whole life, not just the last 12 months, and thinking of new goals wasn’t exactly in the forefront of my mind.

I thought about a lot lasts with my dad. There was our last conversation. The last time I saw him in person, and the last time we went for a hike and watched a movie, and went to a concert together.

The day before he died, we’d talked via speaker phone with my mom and the discussion went something like this: Disneyland plans and … poop.

Yes, poop.

Travis and I had just hosted an ugly sweater party the weekend before and when we exchanged white elephant gifts, I ended up with a book called “Poophemisms: Over 1,737 Fun Ways to Talk About Taking a Poop.” The book is basically a list of all the ways you can say poop and I knew my dad would get a kick out of it. So, I told him a few phrases like “Gone With the Wind,” “bake brownies,” “Do the Deed.”

He took me up on this right away and started asking if more phrases were in the book. I can’t remember for the life of me what his suggestions were, but none of them were in the book, and he named at least five. So then my mom said it sounded like he could write his own poop book and we all laughed.

While it might be nice to say the last conversation we had was philosophical or that I learned something really profound from him that night, I honestly can’t think of a better last conversation. It was funny and so us.

One of my favorite quotes about beginnings and endings comes from the movie “Hope Floats,” when little Birdie Pruitt says, “She says that beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it’s the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will, too …”

My last conversation with my dad was still in “the middle” – in the part that counts the most. It was before everything turned sad and scary. While I can’t say every interaction with my dad was positive (I don’t think anyone can say that about their family), I’m so grateful that the majority of our “middle” was good, fun and inspiring.

There were so many beginnings and endings my dad was part of. He and my mom got me in piano lessons at age 8 and they bought my clarinet when it was decided I would take band classes in junior high. They were there for my first and last performances, and came to voice recitals in college when I decided to take on lessons.

He was there to give me advice and hope every year I started a new grade, and he read my stories when they first started printing in the local newspaper in high school. In college, he was the person I wanted to call after one of my first interviews for a college newspaper story because it had to do with mounting animals.

I was pretty miserable at sports, but he would come to my games when I tried something new  like softball, or basketball or soccer. And when I started running races in college, I believe he was at every finish line with a camera, and a couple of times, he drove with me and my mom so we could run in Bryce Canyon or St. George. One of the last half marathons I completed was in Ogden almost three years ago, and he showed up to cheer us on wearing an Angry Birds shirt and a bell around his neck. I don’t know how else he could have better said “I’ll be there with bells on.”

He was there at my college graduation with a rose, camera and plans to pay for everyone’s lunch at Firehouse after. And when I ended my years of part-time work and started my first full-time job, he was happy for me and proud of my decision to stay in Logan.

Every time I needed help moving apartments because a school year ended or my life situation changed, he’d show up with his truck to help pack me up for the next adventure. The most notable of these moves was when he helped me close some chapters in Utah and move to New Mexico, even though I know he was nervous for me, and probably wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision.

He was there at the beginning of my marriage – I mean, he actually pronounced me and Travis married  – and he gave me hope that we could have something as special as he and my mom.

More recently, he was here the weekend Travis and I made an offer on our first home. I often think about the day he came with us to look at this house and how he sat on the patio furniture in the backyard and made himself comfortable. It was like if my dad liked this house, then it was going to be OK.

Now we’re almost three weeks in this new year – this new beginning – and he’s not here like he used to be. I don’t have all my goals set up, so I’m not sure what I’d tell him I’m planning to do if he were here. Well, I do know of a couple things. I want to start a business, ski in Telluride, see Seattle, and go to a Garth Brooks concert. Other than the business, these are things that just kind of came up recently, but I know he’d be happy for me to tell him the stories and see my new work.

Today I went for a bike ride for the first time in 2015 and it was haaaaarrrrddddd, and I told myself I should make the goal to do that ride without any stops. I couldn’t help but ask for his help a couple times as I felt that bike ride everywhere – in my Jell-O legs, to my gasping-for-air lungs, to my heart that was beating wildly. I think he would have been proud of me because he was always excited to hear I’d tried something – from biking to hiking to climbing. I think he’d be glad to hear I want to get so much better.

There are still so many more beginnings, middles and endings to come because life is that way, and it changes often. There will be many more firsts and lasts.

To end this post, I want to share the last video I took of him. It was filmed Thanksgiving Day, and I found it unexpectedly a couple weeks after he passed away. I’d forgotten all about it. To give you some context, we were talking about the Live Long and Prosper sign from “Star Trek” for some reason, and my mom said she couldn’t get her fingers to move that way. So, my dad started helping her and I caught the end of it. We all laughed, and then my dad signed off with his signature peace sign and “bye bye.”

Oh, how I miss him. Live Long and Prosper in our dreams and somewhere close, Dad. Cheer us on and help us through the beginnings, middles and endings the rest of our lives.

Categories
life

one month

I wish I could tell you every day is getting better and that I’m on my way back to feeling normal again – that the pain has lessened and that my family is healing. The truth is, it really just depends on the day and the moment.

The first couple weeks after my dad passed away were busy and blurry and it didn’t feel like real life. Then the next couple weeks real life creeped in and I didn’t like it because work and all those things I normally did don’t feel quite normal.

I am forgetful and cluttered. I get distracted easily and have a hard time staying on task. The first week I went back to work, I came home each day and stayed up every night because I felt overwhelmed and needed to work on things but couldn’t seem too. So, even though I was awake, I’d get lost in my thoughts, fall asleep on the couch, then start over on another disorganized day a few hours later.

The second week I went back to work, I wanted to sleep all the time. I could make it through eight hours at the office, then I’d come home to fall apart and make it go away by going to sleep for hours.

The last few days have been more positive, but I don’t know how long that will last. I’m hopeful, but I also know after one month, there’s no way I could have already felt everything I’m going to feel. I don’t even know if the emotions have scratched the surface of the pain. Maybe they have, maybe they haven’t. I just don’t know.

My friends have been kind. We don’t talk about it much, and they keep planning things with me so I have things to look forward to.

I talk to my mom every day now, and my sister-in-law text back and forth when we’re feeling worthless. Travis listens to every word in my brain and has been so supportive of just allowing me to feel and take it all one day at a time.

There are a few things that sooth my soul. One of them is the following song which I listen to every day now. It’s so beautiful, and the lyrics “It is Well” are comforting, even if I don’t feel like everything is well.

I also like finding good quotes and song lyrics that remind me of my dad or beauty in the world like this one:

Red River Valley
By Marty Robbins

From this valley they say you are leaving
We shall miss your bright eyes and sweet smile
For you take with you all of the sunshine
That has brightened our pathway a while

Then come sit by my side if you love me
Do not hasten to bid me adieu
Just remember the Red River Valley
And the cowboy that’s loved you so true

For a long time, my darlin’, I’ve waited
For the sweet words you never would say
Now at last all my fond hopes have vanished
For they say that you’re going away

Then come sit by my side if you love me
Do not hasten to bid me adieu
Just remember the Red River Valley
And the cowboy that’s loved you so true

 

 

And that’s all I’ve got right now. Goodnight, world.

Categories
life love

disneyland with dad

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“Adults are only kids grown up, anyway.”
– Walt Disney

On vacations to see the Mouse, my brothers and I were raised to get up with the sun, arrive at the Disneyland gates before the park opened and play until the dragon and fire debuted in Fantasmic,  the Electrical Parade floats had made their way down Main Street and cast members were ready to put all pirates, ghosts, tiki birds and Small World dolls to bed for the night.

We knew the expectations. We had to see and do it all  – and if time allowed, we had to see and do some things two, three maybe four times. There would be little time to even eat because we would all be too excited for rides and shows, but we’d make sure to get salty popcorn, sugary churros, pink cotton candy and frozen pineapple ice cream along the way, often as we were heading from one attraction to another.

My brothers and I were Disney kids from the beginning because our parents loved it so much. Every few years we’d make our way to southern California, buy multiple-day passes and take part in everything the Happiest Place on Earth had to offer – from chili fries at the Golden Horseshoe, to a giant yeti scaring around Matterhorn corners, to being whipped around on “the wildest ride in the wilderness.”

In most of my Disneyland memories, my dad has a strong presence. It’s actually one of the last things we talked about over the phone the day before he died. A child at heart in some ways, my dad loved everything about that place. If there was anyone who didn’t want to waste a moment while we were there, it was him. It didn’t matter if we were in line for a child’s ride like Peter Pan, or something more adventurous like Indiana Jones, he was always enthusiastic about each experience – even if he’d done it many times before.

If the line wasn’t too long, he didn’t mind if I wanted a picture with Mickey Mouse, Winnie the Pooh or some other character, and he always took the opportunity to dress up like a character himself at the Mad Hatter in Fantasyland. He liked doing pretty much everything at Disneyland, from getting into submarines to see Nemo, to wearing 3-D glasses for “It’s Tough to be a Bug,” to screaming on the Tower of Terror as it dropped us over and over. And if a ride threatened to make him sick – like California Screamin’ or Space Mountain – he even liked waiting and watching us ride it for him.

He had his favorite shows and Billy Hill and the Hillbillies was on the top of the list. I remember being at the park on a hot day and taking a break at the Golden Horseshoe for some food, ice cream and that show of hillbillies playing instruments, singing and cracking jokes. Every time Billy Hill pulled out those fake costume teeth and made faces at the audience, my dad laughed as hard as the first time he’d seen the show.

He loved looking for new hats and hoodies in the Main Street shops, along with various Disney decorations for the house. And it wasn’t a Disneyland vacation without at least one breakfast at Carnation Cafe, where we’d order Mickey-shaped waffles and talk to waiters who’d been employed there for decades, and Oscar the chef who started working at Disneyland a year after the park opened.

About a year ago, my parents began planning a Disneyland trip that would get our whole family together for a vacation for the first time since 2007. We had all been so excited, and then tragedy struck. During that first week after my dad passed away, we weren’t sure we wanted to go, but with some guidance from others who know and love us, we decided going to Disneyland would be what my dad wanted.

Before we left for California, I told myself it didn’t matter if I got to do everything at Disneyland, but that I should do the things that reminded me of my dad. It turned out he was everywhere. He was close on our first ride – Indiana Jones – because I could hear him laughing and whooping in my heart.  It was the one ride where I had to fight back tears because I know how much he loved the way the jeep takes you around corners by fire, over that rickety bridge, near bugs and rats and beneath a giant, falling ball.

My dad was also in the holiday firework display when they played Silent Night, and he was in the Aladdin show when the genie said, “Wazzzzz uuuuup?” I really hope he got to see that we had front row seats to the holiday World of Color show in California Adventure, and that a kind Disney manager who found out he passed away got us in front of a 1.5-hour line to meet Olaf, and subsequently gave us fast passes to any ride of our choice. Other times, it’s like I could hear him saying how impressed he was with the holiday versions of It’s a Small World and the Haunted Mansion.

After my 3-year-old nephew Owen survived Space Mountain, I was wishing my dad could have seen his face. None of us were sure whether or not Owen liked it, or if he was just in pure shock after riding a roller coaster in the dark with laser stars all around him. Maybe somehow my dad did see his face, and if so, I bet he was laughing and proud at the same time.

My dad was in my mom’s eyes and in all her memories, and she told me she thought about him every second. I could see it one time specifically as she looked out over the water surrounding Tom Sawyer’s Island with Pirates of the Caribbean and the Haunted Mansion across from us. Her eyes were filling up with tears and I could see her picturing their happy moments from several trips before.

My dad could never hold back spoiling us and the grandkids when it came to holidays and Disneyland, so when you combine the two, you can only imagine he’d do a few extra things for everyone. A few weeks before Christmas, my mom said he found Disney watches for all the grandkids and picked them out specifically for each one – Mickey for Zachary, Cars for Owen, Frozen for Macie and Madison, and princesses for Chloe. I hope that somehow he saw how excited about them they were, and how Macie and Madison kept looking down at Elsa and Anna on their wrists and telling us what time it was.

It’s interesting how a person can be everywhere and no where at the same time. My dad was definitely everywhere on this trip. He was there from the moment we entered the park. He was in all the Christmas decorations – in the giant tree they had set up on Main Street. Every ride reminded me of him, along with so many signs and buildings and shows. It’s interesting how such a place – an amusement park – could hold so much of him.

But even though the memories surrounded us every moment, we were all a little lost without him. Did he see how we could have benefitted from his direction? Was he there every time it took the 12 of us a half hour to decide what to do next? Did he see how much we missed his guidance, even though that sometimes meant he walked away and expected us to follow?

I wish so bad he could have been there with us in person for one last Disney trip, but I guess my family knows now that if we want to feel his spirit somewhere other than home or close, familiar places, Disneyland is one more place we can go.

I love you, Dad. Keep watching over us. Help us laugh and feel you close as we heal.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you’re fast asleep
In dreams you will lose your heartache
Whatever you wish for you keep

Have faith in your dreams and someday
Your rainbow will come smiling through
No matter how your heart is grieving
If you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true”

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Categories
life stars

when it’s dark enough, we see stars

Sometimes your heart breaks into 1,000 pieces.

It happened to me 30 minutes after work while I was on my way to meet a friend for coffee. She was running late – had lost her keys in a pile of doggie blankets, and I’d just missed my turn. There were Christmas presents wrapped in colorful snowflake paper in my trunk that were ready to for the post office after our Starbucks date. I was surrounded by the most normal of things. Tramway Road. The stoplight at Academy Road. Christmas presents. Coffee plans. And then my heart shattered.

I was in the process of finding a place to make a U-turn when my mom called and I knew immediately she was crying.

“Manette?”

“Oh no, what’s wrong.”

“I have bad news.”

“What is it?”

“It’s really bad. Your dad passed away.”

I broke. Into 1,000 pieces I broke. I’m not sure I’ve ever cried like that. The tears came fast and hot and the sobs were loud. But I needed to go. I needed to call my friend, cancel my plans and call Travis to have him come home. So my mom and I briefly hung up, I made that U-turn, pulled the car over and sent a text message to my friend, then made a call to Travis. He was with two other people when he heard me crying. He had to put me on hold. When he came back, he said he’d leave and I called my mom so we could begin piecing together how and why this could have happened.

Unexpected deaths happen somewhere every moment of every day, and this was my moment – my family’s moment – and soon the news would strike the hearts of my dad’s friends, co-workers, church members, and thousands of others. There would be people who would read his story in the news before we did, and there would be others who would find out later that night and in the days following who would be just as heartbroken as we were. Some people, like my grandparents, my aunts and uncle, would break into 1,000 pieces, too.

When something like this happens to you, sometimes you remember the details and sometimes you don’t. I can remember that I was supposed to be doing those normal things that day. There was that coffee appointment and the Christmas presents. Instead, I went home, kneeled on the ground between the couch and the computer and cried like I’ve never cried. I prayed that God would help us, that He would watch over my dad and that somehow we would get through this. And then I was laying in bed under our soft, green comforter talking to my brother on the phone as Travis came home. I was crying again – or maybe I’d never stopped – and we were trying to figure out how my dad ended up in the hospital with a gunshot wound to his back.

We wouldn’t know all the details until the next day, and in those first few hours, information was scarce. We knew he’d been shot during a hunting day-trip in Cache County, Utah. We knew he’d been with a few friends he works with. We knew he died before he got to the hospital and that he arrived there alone without any ID. Hospital personnel either did not know a lot about the incident or weren’t allowed to say, so it wasn’t until my family contacted police that some of the missing pieces began to be filled in.

It was all an accident – one big, tragic accident that would change the lives of everyone involved forever. The group of four were pheasant hunting on a ranch when a bird flew up, they went to shoot, and one of them slipped in some mud, fell in some water and the man’s shotgun fired. It’s just one of those things that can’t be explained and there’s no one to blame.

Travis and I left for Utah as soon as we could and the following 10 days would be a blur of cemetery visits, funeral arrangements and hosting. Neighbors would arrive with meat trays and huge tins of shepherd’s pie, lasagna, rice and rolls. There would be dozens of cards left on our porch and in our mailbox, and flowers in the most beautiful colors and varieties would be delivered. In a week where we’d feel more hurt and loss than we’d ever felt, we’d also feel love in ways it’s impossible to feel unless your heart is already torn in two. There would be so many kind words, hundreds of prayers from near and far, and countless shoulders to cry on.

People offered to do anything. My uncle picked up my dad’s dog who was with him when he died, and my dad’s co-workers got his truck and brought us pictures from his office. There was a 13-year-old who vacuumed my mom’s carpet one day and I can’t count the number of people who told me they would come over anytime to help with anything around the house in the future.

A teacher my mom works with brought four boxes of notes and gifts from her first grade students and other kids who attend that school, and those words and pictures drawn on pink card stock and printer paper will be cherished for years to come. Then there were fuzzy comfort blankets and gorgeous framed pictures of Jesus and necklaces from my cousin whose dad died a year ago.

I will never be able to name all the things people did, or the gifts people gave, or the thoughts that were shared, but for those things, my family and I will be forever grateful.

About 10 years ago, I discovered the quote “When it’s dark enough, we see stars,” and I’ve loved it ever since. It made me realize then as it does again now that in the darkest moments, there is still hope. Sometimes we forget about that hope, and unfortunately, sometimes it has to be dark for us to see it. If you really want to see stars, it has to be nighttime and you have to get away from all the light pollution. It’s best when there are no distractions and you’re in a place like the mountains with the smell of pine trees, the desert with its soft, white sand, or near the ocean with the waves softly crashing into the shore. You’re lucky if you can look at a coal-colored sky without clouds or the moon and there’s just you, the stars and hope.

My dad knew a lot of people and it was estimated that around 500 may have been at his viewing, and 700 at his funeral. I keep thinking that if every one of those people only said one small prayer, or had one tiny thought of hope for my family and the three men who were with my dad during the tragedy, then so far, we’ve been looked out for more than is comprehendible. I know there were people thinking of us from afar, too, and my heart will never fully know how to handle or receive all of that.

At my dad’s funeral, I spoke about how stars break up the darkest nights so that we’re able to see details of light.  For my family and I, the last couple have weeks have been darker. It’s like the sun has gone down on this great life and the stars glittering in the sky are what’s left – they’re these beautiful pieces of heaven filled with our memories.

And then I went on to share some of my favorite memories – the text messages that were exchanged as we prepared a surprise 60th birthday party for my mom, and the way his childlike heart was exposed at Disneyland when he wore Mickey Mouse sweatshirts, ate corn dogs and laughed while watching Billy Hill and the Hillbillies perform as if it were the first time. He was my family’s sports-loving, hunting and golfing enthusiast, and while he loved all those “manly” things, it wasn’t uncommon to see him cry in any movie about a dog, or get excited about choosing out a necklace for my mom, or watch Hallmark specials during the Christmas season. When I was in junior high or high school, he watched eight hours of “Anne of Green Gables” and “Anne of Avonlea” with me and surprisingly loved it.

There were his Hawaiian shirts, bright yellow crocks and a tie for about every occasion, including one with smiley faces all over it, and others with kayaks and golf scenes. There was his sneeze that could shake a whole room and scare children, and his chuckle that made others want to join in.

In spite of these good memories – my stars – what I feel now is that there’s something missing. He should have been there Christmas morning teasing us all about how spoiled we are. He should have been reaching into his stocking and pulling out the bananas, oranges and chocolates and pretending he didn’t know they’d be there. He should have been feeling every present before he opened it and guessing what it was (much to our disappointment, he was right about 80 percent of the time). And after the holiday ended, he should have been planning the movie he’d see the next day with a giant bowl of popcorn on his lap.

I know somehow things will be OK, although I almost hate saying that because I don’t know what that means. I also know I’m lucky my dad was in my life for 30 years, and even though I wish it could be more, I’m lucky to have three decades of memories when many children don’t. He was a great example to me of someone who loved and cared for his wife, children, grandchildren, friends, siblings, parents and strangers. He had faith in many things and I admire him for that.

Lastly, I know life can change on the most normal of days. Your heart can break into 1,000 pieces while driving on your most traveled roads on a common afternoon. Even though it’s almost impossible, nothing should be taken for granted. People should be treated gently, as you never know when their hearts might break, too. The last couple weeks, I’ve felt so connected with people who love me, my family and my dad. We’re all in this together. We are all each other’s hope. Those stars will keep shining. I just need to remember to keep looking up.

Categories
life

turning 30 and other ramblings

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I wanted to write this post much earlier – like the day before my birthday – the day one decade closed for me and another opened. But the day before my birthday, Travis and I were unpacking and working on our house so it would look presentable for my ’80s-themed party they next day. I’d been running errands that day – buying pizzas, paper plates and prizes (including a Rubik’s Cube for best costume).

The next day – the day I turned the big 3-0 – was jam-packed with rafting in Taos with some friends, then putting the final touches on the party decorations and dressing up in a green tutu and pink leopard T-shirt before 20 or so people came over to celebrate with me.

To be honest, the last month has been crazy. The good kind of crazy where we’ve had one thing after another to be excited about or celebrate. There was our White Sands trip the weekend before Travis’ birthday, and his actual birthday with an Isotopes game and brownies. At some point in there, I drove to St. George, Utah, by myself to visit my grandma who wasn’t doing well at the time, but as fate would have it, she is doing so much better now!

We were packing, packing, packing, then cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, then finally moving after closing on our house Aug. 25. Labor Day weekend, we slept in our new house for the first time and celebrated our first wedding anniversary. Then, a week later, it was my birthday and three days after that, we went on this wonderful trip to Glacier National Park – the prettiest place I’ve ever seen.

Now we’re home and gearing up for some visits from our families, the Balloon Fiesta and fall in general. Before all that happens, though, I want to step back and write about the last decade and the things I look forward to next.

Let’s start at the day before my birthday again. That day, I went through and found photos from almost all my birthdays for the last 10 years. I thought about where I was living, who I was hanging out with, who I was dating, and what things I was up to each year.

There was the China year, and the year I cleaned the sink at Angie’s. There was the year I lived with eight other girls in one big house. There was the year I went to Vegas, and the year I got on the saddle at Texas Roadhouse with a good group of friends who were helping me through a rough patch. Then there was the birthday I spent in Virginia right after I’d quit my job in Logan, moved to New Mexico and flew out to drive across the country with Travis.

My 20s, which began in Ningbo half a world way, treated me really well. They were my college years, my first job years and my dating years. They were years filled with friendship, family and travel. They’re the years I learned to budget, grocery shop, run marathons, how to study, how to work and how to live off four hours of sleep when I’d been up laughing all night.

I found the love of my short life in my 20s, and hope we have many more years together in this crazy thing called life. We made a big move together, started new jobs together and we’re learning how to navigate this adventure together.

The last decade was 10 years filled with so much growth, and years of simultaneous confidence and insecurity. They were the years I learned how hearts break, how my loved ones and I could feel small sometimes, and how we’d learn to live through and overcome painful, confusing situations.

I wasn’t worried about turning 30. The number does not bother me, and actually, the more I talk to those older and wiser than me, I’m learning the 30s may be where it’s at. There is so much to embrace and look forward to as this decade begins. I have plans, I’m going to dream big, and will let go of some things that have held me down.

There are regrets from my 20s, sure. There are plenty of them in fact. However, I’ll never regret the friendships formed and the adventures taken. I’ll never regret checking things off my bucket list such as taking ice skating lessons, learning to make quilts, going to New York and writing music of my own. I don’t regret the moments I truly followed my heart, even when the outcome hurt or wasn’t what I expected.

I do regret the moments I hated myself and didn’t give others enough of a chance. Life is too short for that. Last night was a bit sleepless and I thought about how much time has been spent in the last decade telling myself the things I’m not good at and the things I don’t like about myself. The mind is a curious thing and we believe the things we tell ourselves, even if they are not true.

I think my 20s were years I focused a lot on adventure, and while I will never give up that aspect of myself, I want my 30s to be years of belief – years full of more confidence, kind words and service. I want to believe the things I do can make a difference and that part of this crazy world is mine for the taking if I truly believe that. I want to believe in the good in people, believe that learning is endless, believe excitement and foreign countries await my arrival, believe more in God and holy beings, believe in the beauty of the world.

I don’t want to rush through my 30s. I want to be brave and analytical and gentle with others. I want the fun to continue and I want to push myself and surprise myself with the things I can do. I want to remember the important things in life, create countless good memories and moments. I want to be more patient and accepting. I want my heart to open in ways it hasn’t yet, and I want it to feel full of life and love and all the things that make us human.

These 30s. They’re going to be grand. Goodbye, 20s!

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