Category Archives: 2023

A Fond Farewell

15 Replies

As 2024 peeks around the corner, the optimist in me hopes for a kinder, gentler year ahead. After all, this year arrived with its fair share of Goliath-sized mountains to climb. Only a few weeks into 2023, Dad passed away. COVID-19 flanked our family, making me so ill I missed his funeral. Friends and loved ones visited the hospital a lot this year, and some are no longer here to see 2023 end. And, when the autumn leaves began taking over our yard, a health concern found me lying on a biopsy table.

Yet, this year also brought mountaintops, blessed moments of rest and joy after navigating life’s ups and downs. Hubby and I celebrated our 25th anniversary. Our kiddos are healthy and holding their own, in and out of school. Gatherings found us surrounded by love and joy with family and friends. That health scare I had? Thank God, I’m A-okay. And just this week, Hallmark Mahogany featured my writing as a guest post.

As the youngins say, life be lifing. But, it’s still life. And, this year often reminded me that life is such an incredible gift. Understanding this is how Dad could genuinely say on Day 3 of hospice, “I’m blessed. We’re blessed.” He knew, and was forever grateful, that life itself is a blessing. And especially because he’s now flying high with Mom, I’m clinging to the wisdom in his words a little tighter as this year passes the baton to the next.

So, farewell, 2023. Even when it hurt, thank you for reminding me of how precious life is, each day. You made me climb some rugged mountains that brought me to my knees … and, you lifted me back up with mountaintop moments that brought greater peace, strength, and gratitude for God’s blessings in my life. Because of you, this is my warrior song* as I look to the new year ahead.

2024, you’ve got next.
xoxo

* I do not own the rights to this song. I just adore it.

Papa

14 Replies

This time each year my heart takes a rollercoaster ride. We’re shaking off the busyness of summer. The kiddos go back to school and grow up some more on us. And our family celebrates at least 15 birthdays in September.

And this year’s heart rollercoaster ride is right on time. Our oldest is starting her third year of college; our middle is starting his third year of high school; and our youngest is starting kindergarten (first-time readers, that’s not a typo). I’ve smiled and laughed and shed my quiet mama tears as always, when I think of how much they’ve all grown and how blessed my hubby and I are as their parents.

This year’s ride is also different. While back-to-schooling, I usually would have planned something special to celebrate Dad’s birthday, too. Today would have meant simply being with him and enjoying colorful balloons, yummy cake, and lots of cards and gifts from loved ones near and far. Dad and I would have talked about the kids heading to school, inevitably sparking wonderful stories about how much he enjoyed his years as a teacher and principal.

My sis has often said that our parents were “little people people,” and she’s right. They marveled in the innocence and magic of children. Mom and Dad invested their lives not only in raising us, but also in positively impacting children they taught professionally, inspired at church, and loved in our extended family and community. And the grandkids? Spoiled generously by “Grammy and Papa Booker.” Dad would often tease me and my sis by saying, “If I knew grandkids were this much fun, I would have had THEM first, and then you girls.”

Children were such a joy to our parents. So, on what would have been Dad’s 93rd birthday today, it especially feels fitting to remember him wearing his Papa Booker hat with love. Here’s Dad in action, taking a break from his artwork to enjoy our youngest as a newborn. Volume up.

Happy heavenly birthday, Papa.
xo,
Karin

Knowing

5 Replies

Years ago, I worked for a large school district. Whenever we hit red tape and roadblocks, my mentor Carol would smile at me and ask, “Can you live with ambiguity?” And each time I’d reply with a grimace and mutter, “Nope.”

I’m one of those recovering perfectionists whose comfort zone is clarity. Understanding who, what, when, how and why is my jam.  Frustration often creeps in when details are MIA. When Life brings questions I can’t answer. And, I’m sure I’m not alone . . .

Everyone keeps asking what I want to be when I grow up, but I have no idea. I’m only 15. When will I know?

Why was my best friend just downsized? She and her husband have a baby on the way, and she’s been so dedicated to that company for years.

Is it time for me to leave my full-time job and start my dream business?

For those of us whose comfort zone is all about having answers at the ready, not knowing can stress us out.  But, no matter how much we try, Life’s questions can’t always be answered how or when we want them. Some questions stump us. Keep us up at night, or wake us up early in the morning, our minds racing way ahead of our alarm clocks. Often, we must allow time to pass so that we can live into our questions, for answers.

And, sometimes, answers won’t come at all.

When this happens, we have a choice:  

Remain frustrated in not knowing the answer,
or trust God who literally knows everything.

My fav Scripture reminds me that God knows the beginning, middle, and end of our stories and that He has our backs:

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11 NIV)

Jeremiah helped me get through some of my biggest Why moments. When we lost Mom unexpectedly. Caring for Dad in our home when our surprise baby blessed us. When COVID-19 kept me from Dad’s funeral.

But not just big Life moments. So many smaller ones, too, that often feel bigger than they actually are, but can still make me feel out-of-sorts. Jeremiah’s words remind me to rest in knowing that God knows all and holds us in His perfect love every day, in every way.

I breathe easier when I remember Jeremiah 29:11. Hope you will, too.

xo,
karin

Both/And

26 Replies

Since losing my dad a few weeks ago, I’ve been living in the Land of Both/And. It’s where two diametrically opposed feelings co-exist. Both gratitude and disappointment, both acceptance and sadness, both peace and grief. I’m feeling it all.

Dad was blessed with 92 amazing years. His heart and mind were as beautiful as his good looks. And, his legacy of kindness and love impacted so many. He was my buddy from Day 1, joking how I’d hang onto him as a little one and refuse to let others hold me. His sense of humor, sometimes sprinkled with naughtiness, kept us all giggling. A master storyteller, he shared the most fascinating, inspiring stories of his life. Dad was my first role model of love in action as a Christian, husband, father, and so much more.

When Mom died, I had a difficult time accepting it. Her death was unexpected and shocked us all. I wasn’t ready, and I fought the grief. Dad’s death was a completely opposite experience for me. I could see him slowing down, ever so slightly, over the last few years. Most recently, his 12 days of hospice care prepared me well for what was to come. I got to love on Dad each day and say goodbye. So, although I really miss him, I’m okay knowing that he’s okay. Both/And.

I wish I could end this post right here – that I’m fully at peace, even in my grief. But, there’s a plot twist: I missed Dad’s funeral. Had no idea that COVID would be the culprit that literally put me on my back minutes before heading to his service that day.

My hubby, kids, and I were all dressed and almost ready to leave for the funeral with the rest of our family. Just before our meet-up time, I suddenly became extremely warm and sick to my stomach. I couldn’t keep anything down. I eventually collapsed back into bed, completely weak, sweating. Just sick-sick.

I cried hot tears, realizing my body would not cooperate. My hubby and sister tag-teamed me and insisted I stay put, that my health was first. I disagreed, but it didn’t matter. I was so weak that I couldn’t even open my eyes to view the service online on my hubby’s phone. I could only listen, catching bits here and there. I was miserable, inside and out. Later that day, an at-home test confirmed it was COVID. I thought, “Really, Lord? I’ve. Never. Had. COVID. And it shows up now like a raging bull, of all days, TODAY?!?”

Once-in-a-lifetime moments like funerals never offer do-overs. I lay in bed, heartbroken I wasn’t celebrating Dad’s life with my family and community. I wasn’t there to comfort my teenager at the church and cemetery. I missed hugging Dad’s sisters, Mom’s sisters, so many cousins who traveled near and far to be with us.

And, while I see — and am even grateful for — God’s wisdom in keeping me from spreading COVID to countless folks at the funeral, it still hurts. I feel sad, even shame and guilt. How could I – the one who cared for Dad for so many years – not be there? It just feels all wrong.

My siblings and I were always a tight team when it came to supporting Dad after Mom died 15 years ago. As his needs changed, I became his primary care helper, eventually moving him in to live with us. During his final years in a memory care residence nearby, I saw him regularly. And when he received hospice care, I was with him twice a day.

I share these details not for accolades, but for context. To miss celebrating Dad’s life after being there with and for him so long, front and center, feels like a cruel joke. It’s like I ran a marathon with Dad all those years, but COVID didn’t let me cross the finish line. It stole my ability to honor his beautiful, extraordinary life with our family.

God gave me time to say goodbye to Dad, and I’m grateful. And, I know he’s happy with my mom, brother, and so many loved ones in a Far Better Place. I have peace knowing all of that. I just don’t have peace missing our family’s farewell moment, our celebration of Dad’s life together.

Both/And.

Yet, even as I wrestle with peace, I’m choosing to lean into Both/And. I’m relying on James 1:2-4 and remembering Mom’s wisdom that “time takes care of everything.” James and Mom have been right many times in my life. I’m trusting that, down the road apiece, this experience will be one of those times, too.
xo,
Karin