Sunday Thoughts

In this year of learning how to live without dad, one of the most remarkable experiences has been having people who know loss reach out. Even in the midst of a storm in their own lives. Especially when I was keeping pretty much everyone at arms length - a determined few kept checking in.

Cousins, old friends, new friends...I've been humbled by the people who willingly shared the burden with me. And I appreciate even more the ones who didn't co-opt my loss with their own, but simply acknowledged our collective struggle.

A few in particular have realigned the course of grief for me and I am so grateful. Who knew you could be grateful and grieving at the same moment? I don't intend to list names - but you people know who you are - and I love you.

It sounds like a cliche but you made me want to be a better human. A better mom and wife and friend. Your thoughtfulness reminded me to reach out anyway and love bigger...because really, as Ram Dass said, "We're all just walking each other home."

Inaugural Dando's Day

Today my little family of three started a new tradition. One I hope we will continue and maybe even share with more of our relatives. On the year anniversary of his passing, we decided to take a day to honor my dad and all the good memories we have. 

Initially, I wanted to do something on a grander scale in memory of dad, but that wasn’t in the cards this time. Maybe next year. I think he would have whole-heartedly approved of today, though.

We started off driving south, along the coast, listening to old cowboy songs. (When I was little, Dad always sang them to me while we ran errands.)

Our first stop was Philz for a snack and delicious ‘Julie’s Ultimate’ coffee & hot cocoa for E. (Dad’s given name was Phil but all his grandkids called him Dando because when Madison began talking she couldn’t quite manage ‘Grandad’ so she shortened it to ‘Dando’ & it stuck.)

Next we hit one of those ‘paint your own’ places to celebrate dad’s love of all kinds of art. E painted a ceramic horse (my dad loved & owned horses) while Chris and I worked on a Christmas ornament. We added dad’s initials to both pieces and I can’t wait to see the finished products!

Of course a trip to a local bookstore was planned - both E and I picked out books. I got a classic, ‘Don Quixote’ and she picked out a book about a wolf. (Dad was a voracious reader and was the one who introduced me to ‘Don Quixote’ so it seemed fitting to re-read it now.)

**I actually called dad collect from Cervantes’ hometown while in Spain years ago. It was probably the most expensive phone call ever, but what a cool memory we shared!

Finally, we’re headed out to enjoy some Mexican food to wrap up the day. (Dad loved this hole-in-the-wall place in our hometown - it’s since shut down - nobody but him regretted that!)

Already planning year 2 of #dandosday.

One Year

It's been one year since my dad died.

Exactly 12 months.

Precisely 365 days.

Not sure how many minutes and seconds because I don't do that kind of math.

There were/are so many emotions...too many, really, and I had to take a break from a lot of life. Hundreds of times I wanted to call him - and thought about him even more than that. The circumstances surrounding his passing are still too much to bear.

I love knowing he is safe and at peace. But his loss is something I'll carry with me for the rest of my days.

In recent years our family amended a phrase my paternal grandparents started. They told all of us grandkids, "I love you the most." 

(We even put it on my grandmother's headstone, mostly because she couldn't argue back.)

With everything our family been through, we began saying, "I love you the most no matter what."


I miss you, daddy, and ILYTMNMW!

For Daddy

Grief can be sneaky. Most days you walk with it, making adjustments here and there, eventually discovering a kind of rhythm after the initial shock. And then there are the times it slashes the skies anew, leaving you just as bereft as that first knowledge of loss. 

Never did I think I’d be here - in this spot in life - without my dad. 

I don’t want to glorify things…Dad struggled for so long, and mostly the losses topped the victories. In the harshest phases of his addiction, it was one step forward, two steps back - like a playground see-saw banging out of balance. 

But it always somehow felt like we were one action away from ‘success’ even though our family had no idea what that looked like long term. 

Ultimately, I lost my dad in inches. And I didn’t even know it was happening.

There were many days (even months) I didn’t speak to daddy at all. A boundary of my own making - protecting my mental health, my little family, and the thousands of good childhood memories I was desperate to save.

The dad who proudly lifted me on his shoulders after my first time walking in a fashion show at age 3. The one who took me sledding in a park and sang old cowboy songs while running errands. The one who taught me how to mow a lawn, drive a stick shift, and shoot a gun. The one who gifted me my first piece of jewelry and helped me choose a pair of cowboy boots. The one who would leave $20 on my dresser when I was in high school, calling it ‘purse money.’ The man who passed his love of family into my DNA.

After a significant hospitalization following a fall late September 2018, it seemed the darkest times were past. I really felt he was truly coming back to us. And that our fractured family might have a shot at cohesion again. A real chance to heal.

Dad and I chatted on the phone every day for nearly two months - sometimes more than once a day. I loved those calls and the way he spoke my name - ”Hey Jules,” he’d say, ‘What are you up to today?” A simple and perfect hello. 

But...we lost touch again. At the end of November 2018 I was packing up my life to move across country - back home to CA - and our calls became less frequent, often replaced by a voicemail message or quick text. 

I’m still struggling to forgive myself for those inactions. I thought he was better - and that I would have time on the other side of our move to renew that closeness. 

I didn’t. And I still wonder if what I know now would have changed things.  

Officially, on December 18th 2018, he left earth for good. Personally, I believe he left us late on the 17th…and was called home to heaven. I think God decided ‘enough was enough’ and welcomed dad with open arms - knowing his heart.

The rest of us are all still picking up the pieces.

I Love Fridays...

But not for the reasons you may think. 

Fridays I open the studio and get to work with an amazing woman. We connected pretty much immediately on meeting and I look forward to seeing her each week. Not only is she is a wealth of information about fitness but is insanely positive and actively listens to her students so she can encourage them in the way they most need. She is a gift to my Fridays!

Because I have a later start (Hey there 5am!) I am able enjoy breakfast-time with my daughter, along with that all-important 2nd cup of coffee, then take her to school.

Today as we pulled up to the drop off line she had So Much Stuff to juggle. Props in a bag for an after-school club, her lunch bag, backpack, water bottle - and was remarkably unfazed by my visible anxiety about her gathering everything and exiting the car. She sat peacefully with her earbuds in, just listening to music.

Finally I said “Hey, you kind of need to get it together because we're at school.”

And then she said, “Mother, I will probably never have all my stuff together but for today let’s just say I do.”

That kid teaches me something every single day. ❤️

It's All About The Laces

I cannot put on a pair of tennis shoes (aka sneakers or trainers depending on where you reside) without thinking of my dad. This has always been the case, even before he died. The man had a thing for athletic shoes.

My dad loved shopping - his kind of shopping that is. His style was not the wandering aimlessly through stores searching for that elusive must-have-new-thing, he relished the purposeful hunt for a particular item. And that mission usually involved new tennis shoes. 

He was the absolute best when it came to back-to-school shoe shopping. I always had the latest ‘in’ shoe to propel my walk into a new grade in the fall. And when those wore out, another new pair seamlessly backed up my shoe game. I can’t tell you how many times I exaggerated a ‘hole’ or flaw in my shoes to score a new set. Dad always played along...although I now think he knew better and just indulged me.

Back to that fresh pair of kicks.

Once the in store approval was met and funded, the second half of our story takes place. You brought the shoes home and took them out of the box…normal, right? But in our house, the next step involved taking all the shoelaces out. Every single bit, so the shoe was completely laceless. Then you lovingly replaced the laces so each side laid perfectly flat against the tongue of the sneaker and hugged the grommets exactly right. 

It was a process for sure, involving patience and dexterity, manipulating those laces across the shoe and rotating ‘just so’ as you thread and repeat. I loved every minute of it. I still do.

It will forever remind me of dad.

As I tied up my Stan Smiths this morning to take my daughter on an adventure in our new town, I thought of him as I made sure the laces were flat and the tie was even.

Almost four months Dad, and I still want to call you every day to talk about stuff like this.

Family Day

Yesterday was the 11 year anniversary of our Gotcha Day - the day we became a family of three. Large or small, created by blood or circumstance, every family has a story of how they came to be and all are worthy of celebrating.

When she was younger, at least once a week Ella would ask me to recite the story of the day we met. It begins, "Daddy and I woke up very early and drove to the airport..." At this point, she can tell the story as well as I but she enjoys hearing me recount my version and I'm good with that.

The date we were given to appear at the embassy in Guatemala City was April 11th - my godson's birthday. A few years prior in North Carolina, he and his twin arrived several weeks premature and I got to be with their mama Jenny to feed, hold, and love them while they were in NICU. Jake made his mark on my heart - I wear the necklace I was given at his baptism every day.

Our story becomes unique as we did not see one another on the day of Ella's birth, as many mothers and daughters do. Instead, I got to see a picture of her tiny face at 10 days old and knew in my heart she was mine. We finally met in person, a few months later, in a hotel lobby in Guatemala City on April 10, 2008. It was every bit as exciting and scary as being introduced on the day Ella came into the world.

I dreamt of Ella for years and to us, the circumstances of becoming a family are no less spectacular than had I carried her for 9 months and labored to deliver her. It was thrilling to discover some aspects of parenthood are universal, regardless of the path traveled to get there. The instant I first saw her face, the moment she was handed to me, the second I realized she was really, truly mine - they are all branded indelibly on my soul.

Like any other mother, I re-tell Ella's story to her willingly, joyously even, because it is a love story...hers and mine. It's not a recounting of basic facts or statistical data like birth weight or time of day born but the glorious tale of how we found each other and I will always love telling the story that made me a Mama.

Happy Family Day, sweet girl, we are lucky to have you!

Second Chances

I really love second chances…both welcoming them and offering the redemptive opportunity to others. In theory, second chances are generous amounts of sweet-smelling, gossamer tulle gently wrapped around a gift box of ‘Hey, who cares what happened before?’ 

The truth is, second chances are really hard. Like sprinting in flip-flops hard. Where if you go too fast, you end up proned out, shaking your head trying to figure out what happened. Second chances are dirty, skinned knees and sweaty sleepless nights wondering how the hell this is all going to work out.

I still believe in them though. Champion them, even. Because if anyone is willing to put in the necessary work, then a second chance is just that - the moment where you get to positively re-write an ending. 

I’m guessing everyone is open to a better outcome. I sure am.

For My Other Family

During the last few years I worked at a wonderful gym in Delaware, Fusion Fitness Center. I was a client there before I became an employee and I think that says a lot about ANY kind of business but especially a gym.

Over the years, these 'gym friendships' became family - Fusion Family. (It's legit, we even made a hashtag and everything.) Whether we knew each other from kickboxing, small group training, or just regular visits to the gym, it was amazing the way we grew to be integral parts of each other's lives.

We celebrated victories, shared condolences, told off-color jokes, commiserated over burpees and laughed over who forgot what workout item that day. (Bras & shoes were at the top of that list.)

Right before my family moved back to California, Fusion closed its doors. 12 years of sweat, spandex and love ended and we are all still grieving the loss of such an incredible place. The really beautiful thing is that we KNEW how special it was...even in the midst of sled pushes or muscle-ups or that crazy mile run down Main Street.

The unassuming building tucked back in the corner of a parking lot was a safe place. An inclusive place. A place where all you were required to do was show up and you could find a workout buddy, a class to push you, or simply a hug when you most needed one.

I am pretty sure there will never be another place like it. #fusionfamily

Stupid Pluots

I had such a great weekend! Spent some time with my brother, his wife, and his oldest in her chosen spot in the world. Lovely time to reconnect, laugh, and just be together.

I also gave my brother our dad’s watch - the one I most remember him wearing. It’s not fancy at all but something sentimental I knew my brother would appreciate. I had it cleaned & gave it to Matt as an early birthday gift. It was everything I hoped for - a moment for us to remember dad gently, without the searing pain that accompanies sudden loss.

Then we came home and stopped by the supermarket. 

There was a whole display of pluots that are apparently in season and my dad was totally into hybrid fruits and vegetables. He grew some on his own and relished the experimentation process. I especially remember him talking about the science of pluots…a blend of plum and apricot. He loved that dumb fruit.

The memory did me in.

I just pushed the cart around the store as my husband and daughter placed their items inside. I don’t even really remember the rest of the shopping…or the ride home. 

It’s funny how the smallest remembrances overwhelm you with grief. ANY loss is hard - but the sudden ones are a gut punch that leave you gasping for air. And sometimes those punches hit you at the grocery store and you can do nothing but try and keep breathing.

2 months and counting. I really miss you dad.