My Sweet Spot 8/31/22

We've lived here almost five years and I've just now found my sweet spot.

It's the spot that I can't wait to get to each day.

I'm not sure why it took me so long to discover it; it's been hiding in plain sight for years.

Maybe it's the rocking chairs angled just right.

Maybe it's the steal of a table I found that's wedged perfectly in between the chairs.

Or maybe it's the cheerful seat cushions that pull it all together.

But really, I think it's because it's become home to some of my favorite memories.

It's home to the ongoing Uno game with my husband (which to date I'm winning).

It's where a sweet face plops down across from me to tell me about school.

It's where giggles flow when orneriness prevails.

It's become the place for me to get in on the gossip with my teen.

It's the perfect place to watch the sunrise.

It's my favorite place to drink coffee and read my Bible.

It's brought out my inner old lady who watches the cars drive too fast down the road and appreciate the ones that seem to be going the correct speed.

It's got the perfect view for watching kids perfect front yard flips and catch lightning bugs.

It's all of these things and so much more.

Perhaps it's that it gives me the opportunity to slow down.

Perhaps it's that it reminds me to appreciate what's right in front of me because this year has reminded me how quickly it can all change.

Perhaps it's that those that I love the most make their way to me rain or shine in that sweet spot. With them usually come the hugs and kisses that warm my heart.

For five years I didn't know what I was missing. But now that I've found it, I'm soaking it in.

If you're in the neighborhood, stop on by. We can sit in the rockers and watch the world go by. And maybe, just maybe, that's what we've all been missing.

When They See Us 7/17/22

"I wanted to take a picture because you guys just look so cute!" - Aspen

And that's love almost twenty years in. It's wrapped up in each other's arms when we sleep.

It's holding hands driving down the road.

It's a head on the shoulder in the restaurant booth.

It's holding onto each other every step of the way in the good and bad.

Love looks a little different than it did when we first couldn't keep our hands off of each other.

Love looks like this. Sunday nap day snuggles.

Four kids and a lifetime of craziness.

Our kids see it and they know. They see us and they see love...even when we're sleeping.

The Real Me 7/15/22

I'm an open book. For some, that's hard to handle. It's hard because it's real and it's raw.

I don't live my life behind secrets. If you want to know, ask. I won't make up a lie to make you feel better. My time is too precious for that.

I sometimes come across as abrasive. I call things like I see them. I'm not rude or overly blunt, but I also don't try to sugarcoat the truth to make it more palatable for everyone. 

Decisions, I can make them. There's too much time wasted on indecisiveness. I'll hear both sides and decide.

Religion, I'll let you know how much God loves you, and let you make your own decisions from there.

Politics, we can talk. I refuse to let a letter behind a name determine my vote; too many people have given up their lives for me to just blindly follow a party letter, so tell me about your platform and then let your walk reflect your talk.  

Hard topics, let's talk about them. I believe that knowledge is power. Conversation brings change, and change is good. I may not change my mind about the topic, but I'll have the conversation and walk away knowing more than I did before.

My life, my marriage, raising kids, I'll tell you all about it. It's crazy. It's messy. It's beautiful. It's hard, exhausting, overwhelming, wonderful, and a multitude of other adjectives. You need someone to be in the mud with you, I'm your girl.

It's hard living with a mom and wife like me. Privacy is a thing of beauty, and I respect and appreciate that. If there's something that makes someone in my household uncomfortable with me sharing, we talk through it. Sometimes I share, sometimes I don't. I come from the position that we can learn from this and sometimes others can too. Some things we keep close to the vest, others we share openly so others can learn from our trials and victories.

I didn't grow up this way. I grew up where things were hush hush. 

We didn't answer the door or phone all of the time. I remember hiding in the stairwell until someone left or peaking out a window to make sure they were in their car.

I had to keep track of who knew what. Secrets had secrets. And all of it was exhausting.

Bearing that weight was not and should not have been mine. But it was. As I've grown, I've recognized that and it's a burden that I refuse to pass onto my children.

As an adult, I had to learn to navigate life struggling to find the ability to break free of the image that was expected of me. The straight line that I was supposed to walk, the people that I was supposed to do as they said, I found it too much. I had to make the choice to break the mold and know that some seas may be stormy because of it. The stormy seas were worth every second of my peace of mind, so going against the grain, I'll do it every single time.

My kids aren't responsible for protecting my story. It's mine to tell. They won't learn lies to protect me, they'll know the truth and we'll talk about it. The uncomfortable things, the conversations, and mistakes I hope they never ask about, ultimately, I know they will and we'll talk, laugh, and cry through them. But I won't shy away from the truth.

In truth comes freedom. With truth comes life lessons. Some they'll learn from, others they'll never believe that mom was ever that person, and both are acceptable outcomes. But they'll have the freedom to not be weighed down by me.

They'll have their own secrets to keep. They'll figure out how much of them they're willing to share, and they'll find that balance. By living life as an open book, I want them to be free from the oppression that secrets bring. I want them to know that some things belong to just them, but they shouldn't hide just to be or pretend to be who someone else thinks they should. 

Mental health is something we should never take for granted. Freedom in transparency and truth for our lives fosters mental wellness. When we live in such a way that others don't see just picture perfect lives and we have the real conversations, others benefit. Let's stop trying to make life look perfect and force our kids to make it look the same. Life is hard sometimes, let's be real and talk about it. For you, for me, for them.

Grace 7/12/22

Some days I just feel tired and over it.

Some days there's no particular reason for that feeling. Other days, it makes sense.

Has anything bad happened? No. But sometimes I just feel weighed down by the weight of it all.

The weight of:

*schedules - remembering who needs to be where and when

*what we need - are we running low on soap, milk, socks?

*emotions - who's had the best day? Who's overwhelmed? Who's battling friend drama?

*food - what are we eating three meals a day?

*laundry - this uniform and these socks need to be clean by tomorrow

*work - gotta work to pay the bills

*marriage - finding time to stay connected

These are just a few things that feel heavy. Things that I feel guilty for feeling weighed down by.

Guilt: it comes in heavy. Heavy because every one of the things above are blessings to have. Therefore feeling weighed down by them breeds guilt. And the guilt becomes another weight.

Then the outside factors of the world add an additional layer. The layer of loss of life, illnesses, violence, and the subconscious weight and fears that these produce.

Sometimes it feels like too much. Like I just want to shut it all out. Close the door. Keep my family in a safe little bubble.

On these days, it's a choice to concentrate on finding the good. It's intentionally counting blessings. It's remembering to cast my burdens on the One that can carry them.

In those days when it's easy to be hard on myself for feeling overwhelmed instead of grateful, I have to remember to give myself grace.

Grace to know that I'm not alone.

Grace to know that I can still be thankful for all of my blessings and yet still feel overwhelmed by them.

Grace in knowing that I'm human and therefore it's ok not to have it all together.

Grace to know that this too shall pass.

These days, I have to remember that His grace is sufficient for me.

Friend, you're not alone in being grateful and overwhelmed simultaneously. You and I simply have to remember that He can handle our burdens and give us the grace that we often don't give ourselves.

2 Corinthians 12:9

Missing You 6/16/22

It's not the day that's hard. It's the days leading up to the day.

By this time we'd have had at least a hundred texts between all of the siblings about what to get Dad for Father's Day. We'd have decided who was buying what and Venmod money this way and that.

It was always a struggle figuring out what to get someone that didn't want anything. Kitchen gadgets, we'd bought them all at one point or another. Lotto tickets always made the cut. Usually a gift card to Casey's or one of the places he loved to eat were thrown in too.

But this year is different. We aren't scrambling to figure it all out. We're not trying to collect money from each other. This year is different. We're trying to figure out how to live without you.

I'm not worried so much about the day itself. Yes, it'll feel different not loading up the kids to come swim and eat burgers at the pond. It'll feel different just acting like it's a normal Sunday. It'll be different, but it's been the time leading up to it that's tearing my heart apart.

I think of the smiles. I think of the hugs. I think of the wait to see what the scratch off winnings were (generally a goose egg). I think of all the times we had and all the times we're going to miss. And I've thought about this for weeks.

It's not just me. We've all thought about it. Nobody's put a finger on the heavy sadness that's hit us each at different times over the last few weeks, but I think it's that another first is sneaking up on us that we are subconsciously aware of. It's because this one is publicized. It's a day just for Dads and ours isn't here anymore.

We've watched the profile pictures change to our friends and their dads. We're hearing commercials celebrating Dads. We're seeing the cards line the aisles at the stores. And each one is a reminder of what we're missing. You, we're missing you.

Maybe with each passing year, it'll get easier. Maybe with each passing year we'll be able to look back and smile more. Maybe one day it won't all feel so raw. Maybe, but this isn't the year.

I knew the firsts that we had without you would be hard. Birthdays, weddings, holidays, they would all be hard. What I didn't anticipate is the things that we did leading up to days that celebrate you would hurt.

Learning as we go. Learning to live a little differently because nothing will ever be the same. Learning that sometimes it's not the actual day that hurts, but the ones before. Learning that letting go can be really hard. Learning that being ok is a different kind of ok. Learning that I'll never stop missing you and that's ok. Learning that watching life happen and change without you will cut pretty much every single time. Remembering how much love there was and is, is why every single lesson hurts.

Forever missing you. Forever wishing things could have been different. Forever loving you.

.

I Never Thought I'd Be 6/12/22

I never thought I'd be:

 

A swim mom;

 

Or a choir mom;

 

A band mom;

 

A basketball mom;

 

A tumbling mom;

 

A soccer mom;

 

Or a minivan mom.

 

Nope, never thought I'd be any of them. But I've been them all and then some.

 

I've been them all and found that I love every exhausting second of them. Win or lose. Burning heat or freezing cold. I love it all.

 

Why do I love it all? Not necessarily because I love the activity or because I know so much about it (I mean I am year nine into soccer and I'm still Googling rules). No, it's because I love the kid on the field, on the mat, in the chair, and in the seats behind and beside me.

 

I love watching them learn and discover what they like and what they excel at. I find myself wrapped up in their ambition. I cheer louder than I knew I could (and I used to be a cheerleader) because my heart beats for them.

 

Do I care if they get first place? Nope, not at all. Is it sweet when they do? Yep, it is. But it's the in between, the pushing through, the fight to stick a landing, to hit a note, to shave a few seconds off a stroke, the grinding all day because sunrise comes early for practice that I love. It's watching them watch themselves get better and grow.

 

Are there days when it would be easier to not fight about practicing their instruments or having to attend an outdoor practice because the weather stinks? Yep. But somethings are worth fighting about. And if I don't teach them to fight for themselves, who will?

 

So for all the things I never thoughts I'd be, and so much more, I'm extremely thankful. Thankful that I get to walk alongside of these beautiful souls and watch them grow. I get to be there for the hard falls and the high highs. And that too is more than I ever thought I'd be.

Love Grows In Gardens 5/29/22

"When I grow up, I'm going to be an organic farmer. And I'm going to have a garden just like you because you love gardening. Maybe I'll have some animals too because you grew up on a farm right? And that's what you did with your dad."

For as long as I can remember, his garden had the straightest rows and the finest dirt; the kind you could walk through barefoot and it felt like sand through your toes. It's where I hopped from footprint to footprint behind him as he pushed the tiller between rows. There wasn't a weed to be found in his garden. It was a masterpiece.

Year after year, his garden grew. There were years he'd tell me he'd replanted it three or four times before anything grew. But he also told me, just like it says in the Bible, there's a time to reap and a time to sow, so when it's ready, both will happen. He reminded me of that when I'd complain that I was late getting my garden in.

Dad's garden didn't just feed his house. As his garden grew, it also grew in size. The bounty to be shared throughout the community. Green beans and tomatoes were also abundant. There was always more than we could use, so we canned and the rest he gave away.

For years, I've never planted green beans, I didn't need to, he always had more than enough. The same for tomatoes, I'd plant a few, but when it came time to can, I depended on his supply. This year, I planted rows of both.

As I went out to weed my garden and Afton walked with Rob behind the tiller, I couldn't help but admire the rows of beans that were growing. I felt proud that they grew. And as I watch my little girl hop into her daddy's footsteps, I couldn't help but think how it would have made him smile.

It was then that I remembered that he lives on and continues to be with me. She'll remember working the ground. She'll remember planting the seeds. Though she may not grow up to have a farm, somehow I believe that she'll have a garden and one day smile when she remembers being out there with us. She'll remember her roots and where that love began, and he'll continue to live on and at some point, so will I. Because a lot of love grows in gardens.

For Such A Time As This 5/25/22

You didn't get a Preschool graduation.

You didn't get Kindergarten graduation.

I don't have any cute pictures of you in your little cap and gown to contrast to those you'll take years from now. I didn't get to capture your sweetness in those Kodak moments. And it makes me sad.

Sad that so much was robbed from you. You didn't know it then and you likely don't realize it now, well maybe you do as you see others a grade below you celebrating, but one day you will. You'll inevitably wonder why you don't have side by side pictures like your sister does and I'll have to remind you that the world changed in one short year.

I know that you were made for such a time as this. God doesn't make mistakes on when and where He puts us. You were made to grow through some of your formative years during a pandemic. So while my mama heart feels robbed because we didn't get those moments of little caps and gowns or big signs with your future graduating year, I know there is a purpose.

Perhaps nothing was robbed from you. Perhaps instead, you were made to shine and be celebrated in other ways. Like learning to nail that cartwheel, losing your first tooth, or conquering your fear of trying something new. Maybe, just maybe, we celebrated and Kodak momented some things that normally we wouldn't have because you were achieving in a time when the world was looking for things to celebrate and we got to celebrate everyday moments with you instead.

Yes, my mama heart will be a little sad when the class of 2033 graduates and I can't put your little cap and gown picture next to your big cap and gown picture in the yearbook. But I'm hopeful that at that same time, my mama heart will remember the little things it got to enjoy and capture in its place.

The pandemic may not have given us much, but it gave us the gift of time. Your learning how to land a good joke, your growing bond with your sisters, your sweet imagination, and your sweet faces lighting up when you learned to read or solve a math problem is something I may have missed if not for the borrowed time.

So I'll smile when I see the other littles. I'll nod to the mamas with tears in their eyes lamenting about how fast their baby is growing up because though mine wasn't able to be freeze-framed, my heart feels exactly what theirs is: an overwhelming sense of love, gratitude, and pride. And we were each made for such a time as now.

What Could I Have Done 4/27/22

All deaths are tragic. Grieving any death takes time. But there's something about a person dying by suicide that makes it seem so much harsher. Maybe it's because all of the coulda, woulda, shoulda beens pile up. Maybe it's because we wonder if we could have done more. Maybe it's because it leaves us with so many questions that we can't ever have answers to.

I've pondered many times what could have changed the outcome of my father's death. Though I know that ultimately, it was his decision, it gives me pause to think how we could have prevented it from happening. Though I can't change the outcome of his story, I hope that his loss can make a difference in the lives of others.

We need to end the stigma associated with mental health. Men particularly struggle to reach out for help, they are about 14% less likely to receive mental health treatment. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, 90% of people who die by suicide had shown signs of a mental illness (i.e. depression, anxiety, etc.). Something has to change.

My dad sort of lost his purpose when he retired. In life, work or not, people lose sight of who they are. It's our job to help remind them. We can help them find who they are again if we don't wait and just think "oh they'll be fine." These are things that I really truly think would have made a difference in my dad's life.

You know that person you loved to see at work but one of you moved on or retired? Call them. Text them. Check in on them. Let them know that you haven't forgotten them. Better yet, visit them or invite them over.

That person you randomly think "huh I wonder how they are?" Find out. Just a quick check in. Sometimes an out of the blue message is all you need to feel better.

Don't judge. If someone is brave enough to tell you they are struggling with something. Don't judge them or condemn them for their choices. Believe me, they know they've got a problem and it's eating them alive. Don't shrug it off and think they'll be ok or that they would never hurt themselves, odds are high that if they've shared the struggle, then the thought and/or plan is present.

Do NOT shut them out. There's a fine line between protecting yourself from being taken advantage of and of someone reaching out to you because they need you. They need to feel valued and loved. If someone tells you they are struggling, believe them and be there.

Help them find a purpose. Have a project you're working on? Ask them to help. If they are physically unable to, that's ok, ask them to come hang out while you work. Feeling alone and isolated is a major trigger with depression and suicide.

Know something that they enjoy? Invite them to do it with you. Buy tickets to a game, plan a Sunday junk food and football session. Are they great at sewing? Ask them to teach you the basics. Help them remember what they enjoy doing and find the joy in it.

Schedule a weekly or monthly date. If your schedule is always filling up, let them know that you want to set aside a specific day for them. A Tuesday morning coffee date. A Thursday lunch at a Mexican restaurant. It doesn't matter what it is, set aside the time and be intentional in letting them know it's because you value spending time with them. Then, follow through.

Depression and suicide go hand in hand. Both are hard to talk about. For too many years, both have been shrouded under a cloud. People struggling with depression are easily judged. Mental health has been ignored for far too long. Our mental health directly impacts our physical health, according to the CDC, depression can increase risks for heart disease, stroke, and diabetes. It's far past time for our legislators, insurance providers, and employers to acknowledge its importance. The time to make a change is NOW.

Make the change by asking the hard questions. Showing up. Demanding more for each and everyone of us in the way of mental health benefits. Let's be the change so another family doesn't have to suffer the loss of someone they love.

One Month 4/21/22

It's been one month since you left us. One month. It seems so short but so long at the same time. I'll never forget the call, the scene, the tears, the disbelief. I'll never understand how you didn't know how damn much you'd be missed. Since I got the call, "damn it Daddy" has been what I can't stop saying. A month later, I'm still saying it. Mostly it's damn it, I miss you, but over all, just damn it.

I drive down the road and wait to meet you. It's strange because I could go weeks without actually seeing you, but knowing that you were here or driving by to check on us made me feel better. Now, I look out the window and expect to see you driving by to see the progress of the barn (currently, there's still none).

Grief is a funny thing, because I can be ok, but then I see something that makes me think of you and I realize that you're gone. I've realized just how small my world feels without you here, though you hated leaving the county. Roads make me think of you, make me wish I'd have turned right one more time to see you when I was passing through.

If I'd have known the last time was the last time, I'd have held onto that hug a little longer. Your hugs were the best. Damn I miss those.

I'm still not mad, I'm not sure I'll ever be. I just miss you. I miss the comfort that just knowing you were here brought. I still don't understand why you thought this was the only way, but I know that's what you thought.

I think of all the big things we have coming up and how big your absence will be. I try to imagine how we're going to make those days happy knowing you're not there. We will, but it's definitely not going to be the same. I guess I'll step up my game on talking about how much I hate the drive to whichever location we're at just to bring a little bit of you to life, but I'm afraid that'll just make us miss you more.

I keep saying that I'm ok because I've accepted the fact that I'm always going to miss you. That part's true, I'm always going to miss you. Being ok is a new kind of ok. My girls are still learning to deal with you not being here, and that makes my "ok" a little harder. My life will always have a hole. Their lives will always have a hole. They say time heals things. I'm not sure it heals, but it mends. We'll mend, but there's a gap that will never close.

Suicide sucks. Addiction sucks. I will use losing you, forever going forward, to let others know that there is hope. As much as you'd hate me sharing your story, your story is our story, and good will come from it. One month later, one year, one decade, one more lifetime, our story will bring light out of the darkness.

I Get It Now 4/11/22

Today I finished up the last round of thank you notes to be sent out. I looked at the stack of cards and notes and my heart was overwhelmed with gratefulness. Next to the notes sat envelopes full of donations to local charities in memory of my dad. When I walk through my house, there are plants throughout as reminders of those that cared.

I've read every note. I've passed along every word to my kids that was sent for them. We felt the love from those that we love and those that loved Dad. Thank you really isn't enough in times like these.

I never really realized how impactful those words and calls were. How much the cards meant. How simply showing up with some chips and plates meant so much. I get it now.

When you lose someone that you love, the pain and loss are monumental. But I promise you, the words you say, the notes, the food, the hugs, they help. My heart will never be whole again, but each one of the acts of kindness extended to our family helped mend it just a little bit.

Through our loss, I've learned so much, much of which I wish I'd never had to learn. Know this, no act is too small and your thoughts and prayers matter. This takeaway though was big for me: show up. It's overwhelming when it's all coming at you, but it's noticed and appreciated.

As I continue to learn lessons and find any good I can in this situation, you all showed me the good. The good is in others. The good is in showing up. The good is in your love and prayers. There is good. Thank you for reminding me that even in our worst times, there is good and it's found in each one of us.

I promise to start showing up more because now, I get it.

For This Child 4/10/22

 

For this child I have prayed.

I prayed for you before you were conceived. 

I prayed with a grateful heart as you grew.

I prayed for every feature of you as you grew inside of me. 

I prayed for your salvation before you took your first breath. 

When you arrived, I prayed for the ability to take care of you, to love you like you deserved to be loved, and to guide you.

As you grew, I prayed for each milestone you would mark.

When you were old enough to start school, I prayed for you to love it. I prayed for the friends you would make, the teachers you would have, and the choices you would have to make.

Each year leads to a new challenge, I prayed for the wisdom to guide you through it.

With every celebration, I prayed for your success and happiness.

With your losses, I prayed to be able to comfort you and help your heart heal while mine was breaking with your sadness. I prayed through tears to dry mine so yours could flow freely.

Changing is ever constant—in who you are, who you think you are, who you are becoming. I pray for you in each of these steps. I pray for my ability to support you as you find your own way. I pray for others to come along beside you to help guide you in your choices.

As you grow older, I pray for your safety as you get behind the wheel. I’ll pray for you to make the right choices at late-night parties. I’ll pray for you to know who you are enough to not be afraid to walk away from any situation that isn’t safe for you.

I have prayed since you were little for your future.

I pray for your health. I pray for the career you choose to pursue. I pray for the spouse and family you may choose to have.

I pray you’ll know you can always call . . . ALWAYS.

As you make your way into the world with all of the things that will be thrown at you, I pray you will overcome them with grace and humility.

I pray that you always remember who you are.

I pray that kindness never leaves your soul and that this world doesn’t leave you hardened to the needs of others.

I pray that when you feel lost, you remember Jesus is there to guide you through all your highs and lows.

I pray there is never a doubt in your heart that you were one of my life’s greatest gifts. 

I pray you always know the love I have for you is bigger than anything you could ever do wrong.

I pray you always feel my prayers even after I’m gone.

I pray you know that until my last breath, I’ll be praying for you. Because for you sweet child, I have prayed.

Significant Others 4/5/22

Here's to the significant others that stand beside you in the toughest moments of your life.

When you've been diagnosed with the worst, here's to the one waiting with open arms to hold you while you cry. Here's to the one praying silent prayers because they can't imagine life without you and the fear in your eyes is something they'd do anything to take away and calm your fears.

Here's to the one that sits and holds your hand when your parent dies. The one that picks up the slack without a word to take a portion off of your plate. The one that silently moves in the background and waits for the tears and words of sadness to come pouring onto their shoulders.

To the ones not trying to fix it, but that know just being there is exactly what is needed. The role is hard. The role is heavy. But you wear it well for those of us on the receiving end and in that your love shines the brightest.

Thank you for being exactly what we needed when we didn't know exactly what we needed.

Dad 3/30/22

Addict. Alcoholic. Suicide.

Weak. Cowardly. Selfish. These are all words that as recently as ten years ago I associated with the three words above. But over the years, I’ve learned. I’ve learned so much, and those word, they are none of the things I used to think. Last week, I learned more than I ever hoped to know about all of it, and it changed my world forever.

My dad committed suicide on Monday, March 21, 2022. It’s a day forever etched in my memory. It’s a day that changed the life of our family. I’ll never get to see him again this side of heaven. Man does that hurt my heart.

Today, a buddy of his that I’ve know since I was a kid passed and I reached for the phone to tell my dad. There will be a million other times in my life that I’ll want to tell him something little or big and I won’t get to, and it hurts.

All my life, my dad was what I’d call a functioning alcoholic. He always drank beer. But unlike what many think of as an alcoholic, my dad was a hard worker. In fact, for most of my youth, he worked two plus jobs to make sure we never went without. He was never a fall-down drunk; he just always drank beer. He functioned and he functioned well.

He retired from the Illinois Department of Corrections as a Lieutenant after thirty plus years. He and his wife built their dream home, and he made that place shine. My family spent hours there at his pond swimming, fishing, eating, and making memories.

My dad was my go-to person, for about everything in my life. My kids adored their Papa Tim. They were thick as thieves, and they all loved it. Never in their life or mine did we ever doubt that he loved us. Never.

Over the last several years, my dad began to feel hopeless. The identity that he found in his work for so many years was now gone. He struggled to find exactly what he was living for. He would never tell me that, but looking back now, I can see it. He never wanted to burden me with his problems. What I couldn’t ever get through to him is that it never would have been a burden to me. I just wanted him with us for as long as possible.

Below are the words I said at his funeral:

“He had many names, Tim, Hop, TimHop, Hoppy, Hopwood, Papa, and each meant something special, but my favorite name is Dad.

I look around at the people that loved him most, and we are the same people he loved the most. We’re the people that he laughed with, loved with, and cried with, we are his family, and he was ours. Family doesn’t have to be blood; family is those that invest in you and you in them. Dad did that. Whether it was taking us along in the tractor when we were young, braiding our hair, helping us learn to fix things, teaching me how to can, or simply sitting out at the pond listening to the ballgame while the kids swam, he was invested.

He’s the papa that smiled the most when you talked about his grandkids, and there’s not much he wouldn’t do for them. Whether it was riding four wheelers, sneaking candy bars out of the freezer, telling him he’d cut off whatever ailment they had with his pliers, or just teasing them with a nickname (Peanut or Stinky Butt were favorites), he loved the heck out of those kids and they him.

We liked to tease him too. Whether it was for his flip flops with socks that made him only have two toes, his total dad shoes, or the mullet he swears he didn’t have back in the day. Those are also some of our favorite things about him. I think every time any of us see white New Balance shoes, Old Spice deodorant, Carhart shirts, or Red Man chew, we’ll think of Dad, those were his signature pieces.

He was the first one I’d call when I didn’t know how to fix something or thought I knew how to fix it and got in over my head. He was the first one I’d ask for fingernail clippers at any point in time because he always had them. He was who I’d call when I just needed a hug because I was scared or worried. And he was one of my favorite Mexican lunch dates. He wasn’t perfect, heck none of us are, but he was exactly who I needed.

The one thing that I’ve never doubted, is how much he loved us. Man did he love us, and we loved him. I always tell my girls that you know something was special if it’s hard to let go of; and he is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to let go. But what I know is that he will live on as will his love. He will live on in the ornery little laughs of his grandkids (because it’s the same one as his and my grandpas), in the endless hours spent fishing and swimming in the pond, in gardens grown, in a love for Cardinals baseball, and for each other. He’ll live on because we’ll carry him with us.

If you ask someone about Dad, one of the first words that they’ll say is hardworking. That he was. Dad taught us lots of things in life, how to work hard to get where you want to be is one of them. Each of us has worked hard to get to where we are, and he always made sure to tell us that he was proud of us.

While hard work is important, I think the most important thing that he taught us was love. Looking at his nine beautiful children, that can’t be denied. He loved us and he made sure we knew from the time we pulled into the driveway or he ours. Every single time, the first thing he did was hug us. And every single time we left, he would hug us and say I love you. Even if it was just a text message, it always ended with I love you baby for us girls or I love you buddy for the guys. He never wanted us to doubt his love. Those memories and that love will live on.

Today I guess I get to say the last goodbye, so I love you too Daddy, I love you too.”

It’s a lot, but I share all of this because he was a person that was loved. Every single addict, alcoholic, and suicide victim has people that love them and care about them. It’s easy for society to shrug off because of the struggles that they faced. What society fails to acknowledge though is how hard they fought to not be a victim of any of these things.

Hurt, pain, embarrassment, they are often coping mechanisms that people try to mask with drugs and alcohol. Unfortunately, what they’re using to cope is exactly what buries them deeper into darkness.

My dad grew up in an era when men didn’t cry or talk about their feelings. Seeking help was for the weak. So, he thought he had to take care of it on his own. He resorted to drinking to cope. He was ashamed to ask for help. The few people that he did attempt to reach out to, brushed him off. When a person doesn’t know what they need to overcome their struggles, but makes an effort to reach out, I beg of you, be there. It took more courage than you could ever imagine for them to try at all. My dad was not a coward. A lifetime of watching, admiring, and learning from him guaranteed that.

Mental health has a stigma. Mental health for generations has been looked over. IT HAS TO STOP. Mental health is every bit as important as our physical health. In fact, it’s directly linked to it! It’s time to end the stigma. It’s time that we advocate for mental health and not just sweep it under the rug.

Suicide has a stigma. Suicide is directly linked to mental health. Do you see the pattern? It’s time to stop the cycle. It’s time to come out of the darkness. It’s time that we, as a society, rise and demand mental health benefits be deemed as valuable as physical health benefits.

My dad was strong, and I’ll never see him in any way other than that. Unfortunately, he became hopeless because of his mental health and alcoholism. I refuse to let his death be the end of his story. I refuse to sit back when I know others are suffering. Good will come from our heartbreaking circumstance. If another family never has to endure what my family is because we’ve been brave enough to share my dad’s story, good wins, and his story isn’t over.

There is hope. There are people that care. If you are struggling to find your purpose, if you think nobody cares, find me, I promise to care and show you that your life has purpose. You are not lost, you are human. You are loved and needed. Your current circumstances do not define you. You are more than your worst mistake. You are more.