Category Archives: family

Still Here

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Dad slipped away quietly one year ago today. And, oh, how I miss him.

I remember that day in vivid detail. The steady rain. The chill in the air. How I knew he’d passed when hospice’s number appeared on my phone screen. How I let it go to voicemail because I was taking our teen to school, and my mama heart knows when to delay hard moments.

I hesitated before calling because I knew that, after 12 days of incredibly gentle and beautiful hospice care, Dad was gone. Calling hospice would – and did – make it all real.

In that moment, I felt so many emotions. I remember feeling heavy loss and sadness, but also humbled that I would be the one to see Dad and stay with him until the funeral home arrived to help us with next steps. I remember answering the kind hospice worker’s questions, pausing ever so often to hug another staff member at the memory care home who came to say goodbye to Dad and offer condolences. I remember being comforted by staff and comforting them, too. How I stroked Dad’s snow-white hair one last time and kissed his forehead.

I miss Dad and will always miss him. Yet, I’m very, very aware that he’s also still here, with us.

He’s with me every time I cook his sweet potato pie. He’s in my kindergartener’s mischief, my teen’s mathematical graphing with perfect lines, my daughter’s creative expression. He’s in the work my sister does so beautifully on behalf of schoolkids each day. He’s in every single one of his grandchildren’s smiles.

We all had to let go of Dad’s physical presence with us. Yet, these moments remind me that he lives on in all of us. That he’s still here. And that, even in missing Dad, he’s really not far away at all.

xoxo

A Fond Farewell

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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

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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

Both/And

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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

A Kind of Kindness

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Writing again feels so good. I’ve been navigating a swept-away season since the birth of our LO 3 years ago. Stretch-and-grow moments have been plentiful since then. Time for capturing those moments here? Not so much.

But, seasons change and mine is evolving again. So, onward we go. And, I’ll start with a lesson that still requires lots of practice:

While this idea is pretty universal, it’s especially for my fellow people-pleasers. We’re often described as “thoughtful” and “kind.” But, extending kindness to ourselves with zero guilt? Well, that can be a pretty tall order for us.

I struggle with this often. A prime example: When to schedule a long overdue medical procedure. My body tells me almost daily to be kinder to myself. Sometimes it’s a whisper; other times, a shout.

I know I’ll feel better once it’s done. But, I’m stuck on how to fit a procedure + recovery into my work sked and a multilayered calendar. (Fact: When moms are out of commission, a lot can happen in several days. IJS.) Balancing What’s good for everyone else? and How soon can I feel better? feels like herding cats … pretty impossible.

See, we people-pleasers hate being an inconvenience, especially to those closest to us. We usually adjust for others’ comfort. We often sacrifice our own needs to ensure theirs are met first. In our hearts and minds, not putting others first feels strange, wrong, unloving.

And unkind.

It’s how some of us end up delaying a medical procedure for 3 years.

So, I get it – even as I’m still working on living the lesson: Self-kindness requires mindful courage rooted in honoring my own worth. Making tiny and not-so-tiny decisions based on what I need isn’t selfish. And being kind to ourselves is one of the greatest kindnesses, indeed.

Weary, But Worth It

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Hard to believe my last blog post was 8 months ago.

The culprit? A tiny human with 2 teeth and a serious milk habit. His happy eyes and easy smile are downright disarming. And, his giggles? Like sunshine for your soul.

My last post was just weeks shy of Josiah’s birth. To say that life has been extra full and moving at warp speed since then is, well, a major understatement.

Are we exhausted most days, leaning hard on Visine® (and, sometimes, the wall)? Uh-huh.

Has everything–and I do mean, literally everything–in our lives shifted because of our newest plus-one? Yep.

But has our gratitude also grown exponentially in the process? Without a doubt.

How can that be, when we’re weary on the regular?

See, Josiah is a profound gift. His mere presence is nothing short of a miracle. The reasons he technically shouldn’t be here are countless.

Want a sampling?

My age. Remember my “Hey, I’m pregnant!” post? It noted a less than 1% chance of natural conception after age 44. I was well past that age, so mine was a “geriatric pregnancy.” And, the odds were stacked high against us for a healthy mom and baby.

Last-trimester worries. The first two trimesters were pretty smooth. Sure, I had nausea all day. Extra testing and monitoring. Even some pains. But everything panned out just fine. The real challenge came in the final weeks when my amniotic fluid level suddenly increased for no apparent reason. It meant almost daily monitoring to be sure baby was fine–and moving up my due date twice for our safety.

Josiah’s landing. We reported before sunrise for a scheduled C-section. But, if baby was head-down, I could opt to be induced and push instead. He was, so I did.  And 14 hours later, Josiah made his grand entrance.  

With the cord wrapped around his neck.

I never saw it. Exhausted, I laid back and closed my eyes to catch my breath. But my concerned hubby saw it all, including how quickly the doc unwrapped that cord quickly, quietly and efficiently. He told me about it waaay later, once some time passed from the scariness of that moment.

For these reasons and many more, we don’t assume Josiah is here by chance. Rather, just like our older children (and all of us), we’re certain he has a God-given purpose to discover as he stretches and grows.

So, yeah, the tempo of our lives has changed again. The pace often feels non-stop with a new baby, being present for our older kids, supporting elders we love, careers, community service, and more. We know this life of continuous toggling will be our norm for many more years. And while we also know this pace won’t last forever, right now we’re tuckered out.

Yet even in our weariness, we’re also deeply grateful to God for so many blessings. We don’t take any of it for granted. Like feeling wet kisses on our faces, planted by a healthy baby. Watching our 3 children mature, their love as siblings firmly rooted. Hearing them laugh with doting grandparents.

And, knowing that–as long as you’re not tapping yourself out completely–some things are worth the weariness.

Your Turn: What keeps your life busy, but also blessed?

Endings & Beginnings

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K Baby Bump Week 37 soft edges
It’s hard to believe that we’re quickly nearing the end of this very special pregnancy. I think back to last fall, when my eyes kept adjusting to the pink lines on the home pregnancy tests (I took 2, remember?). In shock, all I could think was, are you kidding?!? I have more than enough “life” on my plate already! Working as an entrepreneur, being a wife and a mom of 2, caring for dad in our home, volunteering . . . AND I’m knocking on 47! Continue reading →

At This Moment

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kd baby bump week 26

“Are you getting ready for the baby?”

(Pause) “Uhhh . . . no.”

My response to this popular, well-meaning question has likely surprised some folks. So, let’s be clear: We are over-the-moon happy and excited for Baby Dancy’s arrival this spring. And we’re equally grateful for a healthy pregnancy and growing baby in my tummy.

But, we’ve also had a lot going on. So much so that my stretch-and-grow muscles ache. Continue reading →

The 4th Reaction

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fashion-2939989_960_720 january 2018

Ever since sharing our surprise pregnancy at age 47, my hubby and I have received quite an assortment of reactions.

He has his own stories of responses from guys (let’s just say they involve a lot of high-fives). For me, reactions from women have varied but ultimately fall into 1 of 4 categories:

1. “Wow. Just, wow. Oh, and congrats!” (A shock-awe-and-happiness combo.)

2. “Better you than me.” (I can’t blame them but, quite honestly, it’s the hardest to hear and feels the least kind.)

3. “I’m calling my doctor to be sure I’M okay.” (Understandable, as they’re prompted to reassess if their own birth control methods are, ahem, in order.)

And then there’s a 4th reaction, and it’s been quite prevalent. But, it’s the one I did not see coming and did not anticipate would warm my heart the most:

“You’re giving me/my loved one/my friend hope.”

Those words, shared by more women than I can count, have made me pause every time.

See, before this pregnancy, I wrongfully assumed that 99% of women in my age range were like me: simply not even thinking of having kids anymore. At my age, a lot of women are already planning for empty nests, caring for elderly loved ones, and kicking up retirement planning a whole notch or two. Quite often, these rites of passage come up in conversations in our kitchens, on the phone, in Facebook groups.

New babies for my age group? Not as hot a topic as when I was in my 20s and 30s.

Case in point: The other day I realized there’s literally no one I nor my hubby know who’s been in our current situation—specifically, someone who’s working, raising school-age kids, caring for an elderly relative in their home each day, AND expecting a baby at our age. No one we can call to ask, “How did you DO IT?!?” We know we cannot possibly be the first folks ever in this situation. We just don’t know anyone personally. (If you do, we’d be grateful if you refer us.)

So, this 4th reaction from so many women has been wonderfully surprising for me, both generally speaking and given my own journey. Not only has it debunked my assumptions, but it also has stretched my gratitude for . . .

. . . being a hopeful chapter in many other women’s stories. Becoming an unexpected source of encouragement for others who persist on the journey to motherhood is humbling. And so is learning that they’re now praying for my health and a safe delivery.

. . . the reminder not to take blessings for granted. Like, a fiercely devoted husband who tells and shows me he loves me every day. Two healthy kids with quick minds, caring hearts and willing hands to help us love a new baby. And, yes, a new bundle of joy who happily dances in my tummy.

. . . the gift of a whole new tribe—women with renewed hope in the possibility of everyday miracles. Their hope, in turn, revives my own faith in God’s power to create odd-defying miracles in our lives each day.

I never expected to be pregnant at 47. I never expected to give others hope in the process. And, I never expected to be surrounded by so many prayers as a result. But, man, oh man, am I grateful for it all.

Your Turn:
How have you grown because of the unexpected reactions of others?