Hey Dad –


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You’d be 64 now if you were still here.


Can you imagine being an old man? As disappointed as I am that you’ll never experience some of it, I’m pretty sure we both know you’d be terrible at it. You spent your entire life fighting for everyone else, who would you have even been if you had run out of fight?

It’s probably best that you never have to be confined to a wheelchair or lose your memory, you never need to be bored, sitting in a retirement home. You’ll never need to be fed cafeteria food or driven around town. You’ll never have to shrink in height or go completely gray.

You get to stay 62 forever, and even younger in our memories.

I still talk to mom every single day. She visited Colorado recently to see the house Matt and I bought. You were right about him, by the way, we made it through.

She asked me if I knew what yesterday was, of course I knew, but neither of us said anything more about it. We both know your birthday is not a day for tears, and the only way to avoid the tears is to avoid the topic.

It’s amazing how impossible it is so describe you to someone who wasn’t lucky enough to know you. You were and always will be the most uniquely genuine, caring, funny, and wonderful person, albeit inexpressibly.

I bet in your version of heaven it’s just a long timeline where you can jump through eras and probably pretend to be British , I’m sure you’re having a blast.

Happy Birthday Pops –


You live, you learn; you love, you learn


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Here’s the difference between the writing then and the writing that may potentially come.

All the preaching about how easy it is to be carefree and happy, and still carry on a normal type of life- I understand now that most people aren’t capable of just dropping all the bad pieces and creating a new image with the happy pieces leftover. It isn’t impossible, but it definitely isn’t as simple as I always made it out sound. I, well, I had help. I had memory loss and enough brain damage to honestly walk away from everything without recognizing what I was really doing. Everyone else, well, everyone else definitely doesn’t have that pushing them towards a new road.

In the 12 years since the accident I’ve spent a lot of time being disappointed in people who let themselves be unhappy (this will never change) but in 12 years I’ve also aged by 12 years. I see how the decisions I often encourage effect not only the person at hand, but the ripples that lead out into their lives. These ripples are not a reason to not drop the bad stuff from your life, but they may [sometimes] be good reasons to maybe move a little slower.

But keep trying, okay? Don’t give up on your own life because of the way it may impact someone else’s. At least try to put yourself ahead of others once in awhile. Especially when it comes to the very simple aspect of general happiness. If it makes you happy, hold it near, if it doesn’t then just leave it alone. It’s not yours.

I’m always going to preach that you make your own happiness. But I’m better at understanding now there are other circumstances at hand, and I’ll support you, any of you, any of my friends, my people, in where ever their path my lead.

I can acknowledge now that some of my posts over the course of the last ten years have been insensitive towards those going through things I couldn’t see or couldn’t understand at that time. I know I had a couple of posts that offended those who were immediate in my life, and I never meant for that to be the case.

If you can just take a moment each day and look around and think to yourself “ok, is everything good? Yep, I’m good.” That’s all I ask. Be aware, and don’t be stagnant.

The end of ‘this is why I write’.


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I wrote to survive my twenties. I wrote to find myself, lose myself, rediscover, heal, vent, and to want; to desperately want.  I started as a clean slate: brain damaged and brand new. I wanted so badly to express my sincere belief that life truly is simple and blissful. I was blessed with a fresh start after significant memory loss and a personality altering injury and some days I felt it was myself alone who could see the light, the simplicity of joy and calm. No longer did I feel the need for anger, sadness or stress and I wanted so desperately to self-help and self-aware you all to my perspective on things.

Most days I still feel this way.

It’s been ten years and ten months since that accident changed everything for me. For the most part, it doesn’t cross my mind too much anymore, but even as I type this my brain says “Yeah right, liar. I’m with you every day.” So, I don’t know. Maybe, I’m stuck on it, maybe I’m not. I honestly don’t know. Here’s what I do know:

My twenties are two months from over. Hello, Thirty.

I’m definitely not trying to figure me out anymore. I’m happy. I’m settled and boring and thrilled about it. I’ve accepted my faults and I appreciate myself for the things I do well and I can respect each piece of what makes me who I am.  I’m good.

My family continues to push me to write. The things I will write about will not be interesting and only borderline worthwhile. You’ve been forewarned.

My career revolves around car accidents. Maybe it was fate.

I have yet to feel ‘myself’ again after my dad’s passing almost two years ago. When life is not simple or easy or joyful you adapt. You change and redevelop and create a new normal.

I understand this post may feel like its contradicting. Such is life.

Real news, for those of you who are still following and patiently awaiting an update (you guys are amazing):

I am now a family of four (two dogs, zero kids, one wonderful man and myself).  We’re homeowners (oh my gosh!) and still loving each day Colorado.





Finding my way back


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My dad died four months and twenty days ago.


Next month will have been two years since we learned of the cancer. Throughout the life of the cancer, I hid. I hid away while my brain never stopped buzzing, never stopped reminding me of what would eventually come. Eventually, there’d be a day he wouldn’t be here anymore. I knew I was fading out of the lives of people who knew me. I knew my days were beginning to suffer. I knew, to an extent, what to expect. I was preparing myself. I was preparing myself for the absolute worst and, in hindsight, the ‘worst’ that I was imagining was nothing in comparison to what I’ve felt in the last four months and twenty days.


The last month of his life, well, the last 26 days actually, were bad. They were so bad I knew I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was. All the mental preparation, all the emotional storage I’d set aside for the day that would eventually come, nothing could prepare me for the cancer spreading to his brain. The tumor that caused him to go back in time and call me, midday, asking me why I wasn’t home to help him. The tumor that led him to believe that I was just a trip down the road, and yet never coming by to say hi. The tumor that caused him to believe that every phone call was me calling to say there was an emergency. Every conversation was a panic of him believing I was hurt, I’d been in accident, I was sick or I was in trouble.

The miracle of modern medicine, as much as it accelerated his downfall, finally came in to be beneficial. Two weeks of him being confused, lost and scared was wiped away in just a couple short shots of radiation to his brain. He was back. We had him back and he was doing better than he had in months. But we only had him for two more weeks.


I was at work when I got the call that he’d collapsed and was in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. I calmed my mom enough to drive and follow him, while silently but noticeably panicking on my own. I was working late, and there were only two others in the office. They overheard my conversation and promptly gathered my belongings and ushered me out the door. My mom told me over and over he’d be fine, don’t come home. Don’t waste the plane ticket just to have to come back out later, when he does pass.

A few hours went by, it was after midnight when she called and said to come home. Even though he wanted no life saving measures, they put him on life support until I could arrive.


I’d spent the last year imagining the plane ride to Michigan. Would I be hysterical? Would strangers around me be offering me tissues, wondering what type of tragedy I was flying to or running away from?

I was silent. Still. Stone.


He had been unresponsive since he’d collapsed. He probably had a heart attack, but we never did get confirmation, just murmurs from nurses about chances this or that may have happened. His body was shutting down, it could’ve been a number of things.

He was taken off life support moments after I arrived. I think I still had my coat on. Everything felt hurried. We held him and said our goodbyes. We cried and we were quiet.

And then we sat.

We were quiet for a very long time. We watched his breaths. They were staggered. They were rare. It was sort of fascinating to see how he could live on so few inhales for as long as he did. We watches the number of inhales on the monitor slowly go down, over hours.

Eventually we knew we had to say something. I started. We told stories and shared our favorite memories. We talked for hours. We never left him alone. We lived on coffee, water and cheap snacks the nurses would bring around.


Twenty three hours or so later. He left us.

We packed up our things, we made arrangements. We took care of the necessary paperwork, we said our goodbyes to the friends and family members who had arrived throughout the day. We eventually made calls and sent texts to the people we promised we’d update. We went home.


A week later I came back to Denver. I quickly descended into the place I’d never prepared myself for. I expected to miss him, I expected to be sad that he was gone, I did not expect every single day to be harder than the day before. I did not expect to lose hope and faith in myself. I did not expect to fall into a pit of depression that I could not dig out of. I did not expect to find myself losing all my goals, because what does an achieved goal matter if he was not there to be proud?

I cried, daily. I picked up my phone to call him, only to remember he wouldn’t answer. I painfully pulled out pictures, and quickly hid them away again, only to bring them out again.

I buried myself away. I had a very small circle of people who I could cry to, scream at, push away just to pull back again. I had to get through this on my own. Going out and talking about it just wasn’t an option for me. Going out and talking about anything wasn’t an option for me. Talking, out loud, was a reminder that I had nothing to say. Through the crying and yelling and hiding, I never had actual words to say. There is truly nothing that can be said.

I knew the day would come when I’d start to feel okay again. A couple weeks ago I saw the first glimpse of my normalcy. I’d have okay days and more bad days, my ups were never more than half way. But through the haze and fog I was able to remember why I am where I am, and who I am. I’m a creation of my dad’s work, personality and pride. I am lucky and honored to not only have known him and to be his daughter, but to also have had the friendship we had. We were close. We shared secrets and stories and never went more than a couple of days without catching up. This relationship gives me more to miss, but gives me that much more to be happy I had, and the memories I’ll always have.

I haven’t written much in over a year. Again, there was nothing that could be said. It’s been four months and twenty days, and I’m starting to find myself again. The version of me I’ve discovered, is different. I’ve changed, and I can accept that. My priorities have been altered, my personality slightly shifted. But I have a grip on my life again, and I can start moving forward.

My dad was an amazing man, husband, father and friend. The tales I’ve heard since he’s passed from the people who knew him have only increased my love for him. Every story has the same moral – he was kind, genuine and caring. He went out of the way to better every situation he was in. I don’t know if I’ll ever find another person like him.

I will live my life differently. I will bring his lessons into the lives of my eventual children. I will bring the same level of care and consideration into my own relationships. I will cherish every moment and never forget the man he was, my father. My friend.



settling [down]


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Tell me, world –

When is settling appropriate? What is the true difference between settling and settling down? When is risking everything for something potentially bigger and better no longer considered a good idea? Is it when you’ve reached a certain age? A certain income? A certain level of happiness?

I am happy; but then again when am I not? If there is anything ANYONE has learned from this blog it’s that I’m always happy. I’ve been in some pretty crappy situations in my life, I’ve stayed too long with bad boyfriends, I’ve had miserable employers and I’m dealing with a dying parent, but have you seen me lately with a frown on my face? I promise you that you have not. I’m happy. Always. I figure, this is life. This is just another step during another day, and I’m still alive.

If you followed your dreams and arrived in the city you always desired, and you have an amazing boyfriend and a job that pays well and doesn’t make you want to kill yourself – is it responsible to keep trying new things in an attempt for an even higher level of happiness? Since I can’t complain about my current life – if I don’t try to achieve more, am I settling for the life I have now? Or am I growing up and thus settling down?

Is this just what it feels like to be 27 and content? For the most part I’m completely unwanting.

For the most part. That’s the key phrase there. How far can I push it? Life is not meant to be perfect. People are not meant to be 100% totally happy and content and unwanting. The desire to be more or have more: that is the desire that pushes the human population to continue moving forward.

I’m happy. But the question remains… is it possible to reach that 100%?

What’s the risk? If I make a minor change in my mostly perfect life, could I lose all the other perfect pieces? I often find myself concerned when I’m stressed out in one area (because even perfectly happy unwanting people have their stressors) that all the areas are bound to fall apart as well. I’m often reminded by the people and situations that surround me that the puzzle pieces in my life are not usually effected by the puzzle pieces on the other side of the board, but only effected by the ones directly connected.

So at 27 and 98% satisfied, how hard does one push for a complete puzzle?

…on being afraid.


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I used to spend a lot of time being afraid.

After the car accident when I was turning 19 I became afraid of being alone. What if I died and no one knew? I became terrified of being in the car by myself. What if I died and no one knew? When I wasn’t afraid of myself dying, I’d become terrified of my parents dying. Driving down the expressway I’d find myself sobbing after imaging the phone call informing me of one of their deaths. On shorter drives, I’d imagine being old and unmarried, no children to care for me, no companion by my side.

One of my many goals when I moved to Colorado was to work through whatever caused those fears. I knew I needed to stop surrounding myself with people just out of my fear of dying suddenly. I knew I needed to stand up for myself, admitting when I was unhappy and being open about my views and insights on life happening around me. I knew, deep down inside, that I was okay, and I was good enough, and that there was nothing stopping me from being myself.

However, as everyone knows, this is all easier said then done. In social situations, I was still afraid. I was afraid of the people around me, uncontrollable, with their abilities to further scare me. I was afraid of my own ability to communicate. I was afraid I couldn’t say what I meant. I was afraid that even though I was in Colorado, I’d still somehow be stuck in scary Michigan-like situations.

And, as if it was a self fulfilling prophecy, the things I was afraid of all came to light. My dad is dying. My life in Colorado became full of Michigan-like scenarios I was uncomfortable in. I found myself taking all too familiar paths that I didn’t want to be taking, and I was doing so for reasons that didn’t include the betterment of myself, but instead because of a fear of walking away.

In my last post I mentioned that life is no longer a surprise. Honestly, it’s not. When it came time to face the fears I’d always had, they weren’t so bad after all. I’ve learned a lot in this journey with my dad’s cancer and I finally found the ability to walk away from the situations I’m uncomfortable in. I’ve found a source within me to be more comfortable in the situations that aren’t actually that scary after all. Also mentioned in my last post, I, to some extent, have found myself. My true self.

While making all these decisions for myself lately and not for those surrounding me, I’ve made a lot of changes that have drastically impacted my life and my well being. I put myself first. I made choices that were scary and ended up being some pretty damn great things for myself. I’m happy now, and much less afraid.


Forward Motions


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A lot of this blog has been about “growing up”. Making it through your twenties (early twenties I guess), learning, and experiencing life. People ask me why I don’t write anymore and I never have a reason as to why. Life has settled down to some extent. Not to say I’ve stopped learning and growing and experiencing, because that will never be the case no matter how old I grow. But the experiences have slowed down. The lessons are expected. Life is no longer a surprise.

I’ve been through all the basic life lessons a handful of times now, and as they continue to come at me in the future I’m more prepared for the lecture I’m going to hear from the world and the reactions I’ll have in regards to it.

I’m turning twenty-seven in a couple weeks, and being my overly emotional self – I have a strong feeling about it. I feel like this is going to be a big year for me. I feel like 27 is going to be an important year. I feel like I’m no longer a student in the game of life but maybe, finally, I’ve reached some sort of point where I have direction and a more significant plan. My previous plans, in hindsight, have been in order to set me up, to prepare me for the next step. 27 feels like the start of the next round.

Life comes at you in chapters. I did high school, college, insecure times, and the life changing times.

Now I’m here, life changed. Awaiting the next step. I have entered into the next chapter, and as my life has taught me about growing up – there is nothing I should be waiting for. It’s going to be a long chapter. The plot will not thicken quickly leading to a climatic adventure and an exciting page turning experience. Life just is. I’ve entered the chapter of quiet confidence.

I’ve had a lot of time to think, I’ve made decisions based on my needs rather than my wants and hopes. I am no longer crossing my fingers for other people to make changes to my life. I have learned to take my life for what it is and carry on. This might sound slightly negative depending on the connotation you’re reading it in, however this is a positive change for me. Life is a bit easier when you aren’t waiting around for the things you can’t control.

Thanks for listening, friends.



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I was thinking the other day
about how I feel so much younger than I thought I’d feel at this age
and that when you’re young and you imagine the future –  you imagine feeling settled and complete
but you never really do, ya know?
so maybe “young” is not what I feel
maybe it’s what every single adult feels
and it’s not actually feeling young at all
its just human
it’s just how people feel.

Is the grass ever greener?


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I felt like I was being accused of a grass is always greener type the other day.

Turns out the person “accusing” me was actually just making a little statement that in no way meant that they were referring to me, but I took it to heart anyway and they got an earful for it.

It was one of those moments that I responded without any thought and my response was perfectly worded and honest and wonderful and I love those random moments when that happens.

But I’ve been thinking about it for days.

That grass that people refer to is never greener. Not at first at least.

It’s the motivation to make a change that causes the step off the original path to wind up being better in the long run. When you stray from your route, the other side of the hill is just dirt. There is no grass. When you believe it will be better, you plant the seeds for something better. You put the work in and you create a greener path.

The other side of the hill is never just ready and greener when you get there. There is nothing easy about stepping off your path.

lost thoughts


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I think, maybe, for the first time in my entire life I’m experiencing the ability to take a step back and really look at it. For the first time my priorities are not just based on moving forward and creating the best life I can for myself, but also experiencing life and love and creating memories that are real. For a long time in my life I faked my memories, I covered up bad days with unrealistic fantasies in my mind and chose to believe the fantasy. For years I tried creating wonderful days only to have them stomped on by someone else’s poor attitude and for years I chose to look over all the bad and make believe there was enough good in my life to go on.

Once I woke up from that life I moved to Denver and made my priority to live my life for myself. In a year I created something amazing here. I struggled through each day, fighting for my best chance and I succeeded.

But now, now I look at everything differently. Now I spend each day torn between the life I created here – a life that is perfectly to my choosing, a life where I am thoroughly happy and loved and appreciated, a life where I have so much joy and give so much of myself to those around me, a life where each relationship I have is a two way street… and I look at the life I have back home, my parents, my family, my friends and a blank space where I should be.

Or, should be?

I feel like I’m failing my family by not being there with them now. My dad has a limited amount of time left and it is truly impossible to decide what to do. I have many trips and plans to be there and spend large amounts of time there over the next year, but is that enough? Is spending 25-30% of my time in Port Huron enough to satisfy the needs of everyone involved? In five years will I look back and think “I should’ve just moved home for the time being, and gone back to Denver later to start over again.”

Is it selfish of me, after working this hard to settle down here to not want to give it up? Especially after my parents were the people who supported me the most when I was working hard to create a life here? My life here is what makes my dad so incredibly proud of me, so how can I give it up for him? How can I disappoint him to spend more time with him?

It’s a catch 22.