Introduction:

“If Harry Potter taught us anything, it’s that no one should live in a closet.” -J.K. Rowling

Sometimes when I get bogged down with the hard times in the world, one of the things I like to do is remember where I live and feel that sense of American pride that comes with it. As I was thinking about this fact earlier this week, I tried to remember the last time I actually felt proud to be an American. And then the sad truth sank in: I don’t remember the last time I felt that way.

I remember at the beginning of the pandemic when everyone was forced inside thinking that it was going to lead to something wonderful. I thought people would emerge from their homes refreshed and excited to see one another; I imagined a world where everyone just wanted one giant hug that we would all get swept into the moment we were allowed to leave our doors.

But anyone who has been outside of their four walls knows that’s not what is happening right now.

It’s my sincerest desire that someone will read this and find a glimmer of hope. These are effective ways that I found for dealing with some of the most hot-button issues facing us this year.

To be clear, this is not meant to be any kind of a political piece. This has nothing to do with how I vote, who I’m voting for, and who I don’t support. This is just one person’s take on being a good human being and just being kind to others.

LGBTQ(IA+)

I haven’t heard as much going on this month, but I heard plenty last month since June is also Pride Month.

I’ll be honest with you: I grew up in a Christian household where I originally did not enjoy learning about homosexuality when the initial push for tolerance (in my lifetime) came out in the 90s. I am slightly ashamed to say I felt that way at one time. This narrow-minded thinking now feels and sounds so closed-minded and unloving to me.

At the time, I didn’t have gaydar and I just thought everyone was heterosexual. I thought there was something wrong with you if you thought yourself otherwise.

Then I went through high school and found out one of my best friends was gay. Actually, I didn’t really “find out,” it was just common knowledge since he came out the year before I met him. I felt bad for him because he had a horrible coming out story. I had another friend who came out as a lesbian and then another who was bi. Slowly, my thoughts on homosexuality changed. However, at the time, the only thing I really recognized was the unhappiness they all seemed to share. I cared about them, and I felt less judgmental of the label on their sexuality.

For many years, I felt “unsure” about how to think of anyone who fell under LGBTQ(IA+).

After I took African American History, I saw that no good comes from oppression. I just wanted everyone to have the same rights, and who am I to tell you how to think or who you can and can’t love? That’s not my job. My job as your neighbor is to lift you up and ask you to be yourself because you’re the only person that can be you. My job is to love you as my fellow man. Nothing more and nothing less. I went from tolerant to straight ally almost overnight.

In addition, I know what it’s like to go through an identity crisis. I know what it’s like to not feel like myself because of what someone else thought I should be. I never want anyone to feel that kind of judgement from me. It doesn’t mean happiness for anyone.

Stay tuned for Part 3 tomorrow.

Introduction:

 

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” The Lorax by Dr. Seuss

Sometimes when I get bogged down with the hard times in the world, one of the things I like to do is remember where I live and feel that sense of American pride that comes with it. As I was thinking about this fact earlier this week, I tried to remember the last time I actually felt proud to be an American. And then the sad truth sank in: I don’t remember the last time I felt that way.

I remember at the beginning of the pandemic when everyone was forced inside thinking that it was going to lead to something wonderful. I thought people would emerge from their homes refreshed and excited to see one another; I imagined a world where everyone just wanted one giant hug that we would all get swept into the moment we were allowed to leave our doors.

But anyone who has been outside of their four walls knows that’s not what is happening right now.

It’s my sincerest desire that someone will read this and find a glimmer of hope. These are effective ways that I found for dealing with some of the most hot-button issues facing us this year.

To be clear, this is not meant to be any kind of a political piece. This has nothing to do with how I vote, who I’m voting for, and who I don’t support. This is just one person’s take on being a good human being and just being kind to others.

 

#BlackLivesMatter

I am so excited to see that perhaps a solution to racism is for white people to get their fingers out of their ears long enough to listen; perhaps open up to the thought that maybe if we backed up our Black brothers and sisters, racism may finally come to an end.

When I was in college, I took African American History. I ignorantly thought that racism was basically over. It was 2010, right? Racism was finally a thing of the past. Then I took the class and realized how deeply wrong I was. I finally understood how long Black people have been suppressed in our country, and it explained to me so clearly as to how and why it’s still going on. I’m not going to go into all of the details because I could write a whole book about it, but many are still living in daily oppression that is all about how they are being treated based on the color of their skin and nothing else. Even now, we are still dealing with blatant racism. Accusations are being thrown at Black people in a way that’s still so unfair. If you’re reading this rolling your eyes, I beg you to educate yourself. Do a little research. Watch a documentary or two, and you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about.

After the class, I was fired up wanting to make a change and I remember trying to talk to people about what I was learning in the class, but no one really wanted to listen to me. I felt like my words fell on deaf ears. I was frustrated, and for a while I just gave up unless I heard someone say something racist.

In 2013, I was so happy when the #BlackLivesMatter movement began. I thought, “This time, maybe we can back up our Black brothers and sisters and become unified.” Plus, it also made me think of all of the dear people I had in my life that might be affected by racism that still goes on today. I started thinking about friends, co-workers, people my parents are friends with, students that I had in student teaching, old babysitters, and many more. All I could think about was how many people I love who are being affected by racism every day, and it’s all happening right under my nose.

Sadly, while I saw that some understood #BlackLivesMatter and the hope to create a world of equality and freedom from racism, there were (and are still) those who sincerely thought Black people had the same rights and if you work hard, you can get where you want to in America. These are people who are ignorantly (and unusually unintentionally) saying, “All lives matter!” It misses the point. I remember at the time trying to explain to someone who wasn’t understanding #BlackLivesMatter and that it exists because all lives matter. The discussion quickly turned into an ugly, racially charged version of Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s On First?” stand-up routine.

If you’re one of the many still having trouble with the explanation of the movement, I recently heard it put this way: “If you have 5 kids, and one child falls down and hurts her knee, you’re not going to give a bandaid to every child. You’re going to give it to the child who needs it.” – Marre Gaffigan (Jim Gaffigan’s 16-year-old daughter)

This year, I feel like there’s been a bigger change in our country with a larger plea for white voices in the movement to stand up and say, “I may not have heard you before, but I hear you now. I understand that even though I’m not a white supremacist, my life has benefited from it because I am white. It’s my job to educate myself, speak up when someone isn’t kind, and help put the right people in office to make a difference.”

I said it already, but I’ll say it again: educate yourself. Talk to friends who are Black about their experiences with racial injustice that’s happened to them personally. You’ll find that even the loveliest person can say something stupid without even meaning to. “Oh, you speak so eloquently for a Black person.” That one I heard from more than one friend. After you’ve educated yourself, be sure you’re fully educated on who you vote for and make sure you’re voting for people who line up with true equal rights.

Stay tuned tomorrow for Part 2 and Monday for Part 3.

Have you ever wondered what it takes to find the person you’re supposed to be with? That person that’s your best friend, but gives you butterflies? And every time you hear that 8-letter, 3-worded sentence, your toes curl up inside your shoes?

Me?! You love ME?!

If you’re married or engaged, I sincerely hope that’s how you feel about your significant other. If you’re still wondering how you seem to be one of the ones on the outside looking in, keep reading. I’ve got a story you’ll want to read and that I hope will bring you hope for your future.

My story starts 10 years ago. I was a junior in college, and I had recently started at a new school. I was in the Admissions Office with my mom the first time I saw him. For the sake of keeping his identity hidden for the time being, let’s call him…Charles. I couldn’t put my finger on what I liked about him, but something inside me felt an instant ease. As my mom and I were leaving, my mom silently pointed him out and whispered in my ear, “He looks nice. That’s the kind of boy you should date.”

Later on that day, I saw Charles again in the apartment of one of the resident counselors on campus. As I sat down next to one of my friends, I whispered, “Who is that?” She looked back at me wide-eyed, “That’s Charles. You like him?” I shrugged. I still hadn’t met him yet.

Over the next few weeks, I got to know Charles. We had a lot in common. We had grown up with really similar backgrounds and we bonded over things like religion, dating, music, and even politics. I was overjoyed when I found out we had a class together since it meant I had more excuses to talk to him (and lets be real…he was so attractive, I just wanted to look at him all day.)

At the end of our first couple of months, he started dating one of my friends. I was heartbroken. I still remember seeing them holding hands and the drop I felt in my stomach. I ran up to my room, grabbed my keys and my purse and drove off campus trying to forget about what I’d seen.

The Colbie Caillat CD that I’d had on repeat since we’d met was not helping me. Songs that had opening lines like, “I think I felt my heart skip a beat/I’m standing here and I can hardly breathe/You got me,” and “I think I may be falling for you/Dropping so quickly…” only made me cry harder. Tears stained my cheeks as I drove the back road to the grocery store in the next town. I finally parked my car and sobbed.

I had a decision to make: be happy for my friends that they had found each other and keep the friendships that I had so carefully nurtured during my first few weeks, or I could get mad and possibly lose them both. I chose to suck up my feelings, be happy, and hope I could move on quickly.

As it turned out, Charles dating one of my friends allowed me to spend more time with him. Before I knew it, he felt like my best friend. I knew it was a little weird since he was really my friend’s boyfriend, but I had no intention of stealing him and I couldn’t see him leaving her, so I got to know him under safe terms that allowed our friendship to grow into something I began to rely on.

There were still moments that were hard for me. I remember when his family came to town and I realized that not only did he feel like home to me, but they did, too. I remember his mom’s perfect combination of serious and silly, and I was so happy to see that such a nice guy loved his mom. His dad was laid back – much like my own, and Charles’ relationship with his younger sister reminded me of my brother’s relationship with me. They seemed to fight and make up about every 10 minutes.

I did my best and swallowed how I felt.

The following year, I met someone else. We were smitten from the get-go of our relationship and following my college graduation, he proposed and we got married in January of the following year.

I never lost track of Charles. We were a bit more distant and I knew he didn’t like my relationship with my husband from the get-go, but I stuck with my man even through all the red lights that told me not to marry him.

After I got married, things went downhill fast. I won’t go into it in great detail, but it wasn’t a very healthy relationship, and something just didn’t seem right under the surface of it all. Most of all, I hated who I had become. I didn’t recognize myself. I overate, my body felt like it wasn’t mine, and I had no idea who was looking at me in the mirror.

Over the years I was married, I would hear from Charles every so often. Because I was trying to keep the peace in my marriage, I kept him at arm’s length. I’d tell him I was fine, but I knew he knew that I was lying through my teeth. That’s the thing about your best friend – they always know when you’re leaving things out. Charles was no exception, but he nicely let me pretend everything was fine.

One cold Sunday, I remember I was on the phone with him on my way to my parents’ house with my husband. When we got to the house, my husband went in and told my mom that I’d be in the house in a moment, but I was on the phone with Charles. Mom sighed and said, “He needs the love of a good woman.”

After nearly 5 years of marriage, my husband and I got divorced. I still heard from Charles here and there, but it was sporadic, and I knew he was a little bit bitter thanks to some relationships that hadn’t gone well among other things.

The following year, I heard from Charles again. I was afraid he was still bitter, and trying to give him some tough love, I said something stupid about him needing to toughen up. As I ended my text conversation with him, I expected to feel like I’d done something good for him. Instead, I felt as though I’d yelled at a puppy. What had I done? He had always been there for me and now when he needed me, I had been cruel.

Over the next 14 months, I tortured myself. I so badly wanted to talk to Charles, but what would I say? Would he answer me? Would he be nice or would he be distant? Not knowing what to do, I left the bridge burned.

As 2019 began, I was working with a life coach who encouraged me to write down 10 things that I wanted for the year. I wrote down the normal things – to lose weight, find a better job, move to a better apartment, etc, but there was one thing I wouldn’t let myself write on the list. I didn’t think it would happen, so why write it down? At the same time, there was nothing I wanted more, so I couldn’t replace it with something else. As my coach listened to my circular conundrum during our weekly session, she got quiet for a moment and finally recommended I just put it on the list and leave the rest up to God/The Universe/Higher Power/whatever-PC-term-you’d-like-to-add.

10. Fall in love. 

I wrote it on my list on January 26, and I can tell you that I instantly felt stupid for writing it in pen. At the same time, I felt relieved that I could just leave it there. Still, a large part of me thought, “That’s not going to happen before December 31, 2019.”

Several days later – 12 to be exact – , I scrolled through my phone book looking for my cousin to tell her a cute story from my day at work. As I dialed her number, I noticed Charles’ name just a few people below her. I decided to text him.

Hey, Charles. I’m really sorry for the last time we talked. If nothing else, I hope this message finds you well and happy. -Lauren

I deleted and rewrote the message about a dozen times before I finally sent it. And then, I held my breath. Just after I sent it, the three magical grey bubbles popped up letting me know he was responding. His text said he was surprised to hear from me, that he was at work, and he’d be free later that night.

That night, I could tell he was skeptical of my phone call, but he listened to me and forgave me for the last time I’d spoken to him. I was relieved.

Over the next few days, Charles texted me every single day. It was like clockwork. I found myself waiting for the text with bated breath, and usually by about 10 AM, he had already texted me.

Every time I saw his name pop up, even if all the text said was, “hi,” I felt my stomach flip. With that, I knew I liked him again. But what would I DO about it? Did he feel the same way? Would I just hide my feelings the way I had 10 years ago and find myself heartbroken when he found someone else again?

I waited. And then, I prayed.

God, if this is the guy, I just need a perfect opportunity to tell him how I feel. If you provide me with one, I promise to use it wisely.

It had been 9 days since I had reconnected with Charles. That night as we talked about reconnection, I found myself giving a hypothetical situation that began with, “What if we were dating and…?” As the words escaped my mouth, I froze. I knew he knew what I was getting at, but to my surprise he admitted to feeling the same way.

That day was 9 months ago. NINE months. I can hardly believe it’s been that long. In that time we’ve seen each other through getting better jobs, getting new apartments, the loss of a grandparent, meeting families, and the exchange of that 8-letter, 3-worded sentence that every person longs to hear.

So, to my mystery man, you certainly know who you are. I love you so much. Happy 9 months.

To the rest of you, you’ll have to wait and see who it is, but also, if you’re in that boat of wondering if the right person is out there, trust. Trust God to show you the way. Trust that God wants the best for you. And most of all, trust that the right roads will open to put the right person in your path.

Because when it happens, it will be the best thing that ever happens to you. Of that, I’m certain.

Item 10: check.

One of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned happened on and from the day my brother passed on. Before you read this, if you are bracing yourself for a painful read, think again.

As of the day before, my brother, Sturg (as we affectionately call him) had been progressing very nicely. He was responding to my parents and though he was in a long-term care hospital, he was doing relatively well. At the time, no one had even brought up the possibility of his not making it through this.

I don’t know what I did the night before. I remember going to bed on the late side, and when I heard my phone go off the next morning, it was late enough so that for a brief moment, I thought it was my alarm. I quickly realized that it was the ringtone I’ve assigned to my mom’s cell phone number.

I knew before I picked up that if she was calling me at 5:20 in the morning, it wasn’t going to be good news. I won’t relive the moment of her telling me, but I was so shocked I hoped it was just a really bad dream I was having. I can also tell you that I’ve never gone into hysterics that quickly since I badly scraped my knee when I was little. She told me that she and my dad were together and that they were with Sturg – even though he was no longer with them.

I quickly told my mom I wanted to be with them. I just needed to call my boss and tell her I wasn’t coming in. I think in my mom’s slightly delirious state, she somehow thought it would still be okay for me to go to work.

I called my boss. I remember that originally she was supposed to be in Houston and meeting with me later that morning, but because of flight delays, she was actually somewhere in Europe when I called. She picked up on the first ring. I was somehow able to blubber out the news, and she felt so bad, she cried and told me not to worry about work and to just take care of myself.

After that, I called a very dear and close friend. I needed someone praying for me and for this day. I had no idea what was in store for me, but I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. This very dear friend had some comforting Bible verses to share and was calm, comforting, and loving. I was so grateful to talk to her.

I sat for a beat in my bathroom and let myself absolutely sob. After several minutes, all I wanted to do was calm down enough so that I could drive up to Tomball where Sturg had been getting care for the last 3 weeks and where I knew I could find my parents in the hotel room they had been residing in while Sturg regained his strength.

To calm down, I took a shower. Even though it was summer, the warm water felt soothing on my skin. During that time, I prayed. I just wanted to feel close to God and to know that Sturg was okay. I reasoned that if Sturg was okay, I would be okay.

I quickly changed, fed my cat, and I was out the door very quickly. As I pulled onto the highway, I wanted to talk to someone and so I actually called my former mother-in-law. Most of my ex-husband’s friends call her Mama Lowe, so that’s what I’ll call her here. I knew by looking at the time that it would be almost 4 in the morning where she was on the west coast, but I wanted to talk to her. It was worth a shot.

She picked up on the first ring. Her voice seemed to sing through the phone. I told her what had happened. Mama Lowe had lost her son – my former brother-in-law – a few years ago and I knew that as someone who had lost a son herself, she might understand why I wanted to talk to her before I got to my mother. I didn’t know how my mom was responding, but I wanted to be able to be there for her instead of selfishly needing her all day.

Mama Lowe was so sweet and assured me that my mom was strong and anything we needed to get through, we would get through as a family and that God was leading and guiding us the whole way. She also recommended that we get off the phone and that I talk with Sturg.

As I clicked off, I thought about everything I wanted to say to him. Everything I wanted to tell him, all the doubts I had, the darkness I felt without him, the fact that I missed him, and most importantly, that he was an amazing brother and I would always love him.

I said it all, and then some. In those cathartic moments, I knew I was healing already.

—

During that morning, there seemed to be a weird vortex of time that seemed to stop while all of this was going on.

It was 5:16 AM when my mom called to tell me Sturg had passed on. Since then, I had talked to 3 different people on the phone, taken a long shower, fed the cat, gotten in the car and was already well on my way to Tomball by the time I was calling Mama Lowe, but it was only 5:45. I had no idea how all of that could happen in 29 minutes. The only thing I could reason was that God was creating a window for me to get to my parents quickly.

As I thought about that, I didn’t know how, but I knew that God was already providing a day of miracles and that He was going to find little ways to show me that He was there – guiding me every step of the way.

For example, I didn’t feel like I was driving my car. It seemed like I was outside the car watching everything happen around me. I was almost in disbelief that I felt so well, so upbeat, so full of hope. I didn’t know what it meant or what to think about it, but I knew that this strength was coming from God, and I instantly felt very grateful for it.

From the conversation I had with Sturg, I felt like he was still here. The air felt very much alive, almost magical. I had no idea what was coming, but I was grateful for this peaceful moment that God was providing.

As I continued to drive, I suddenly realized that I was at my parents’ hotel. It was still pretty early in the morning. As I walked through the hotel lobby, I felt like I was in a daze. It felt strange that the rest of the world was still carrying on as though nothing had changed. I punched the button in the elevator, found myself running down the hall, and knocking on my parents’ door where I found my mom waiting for me.

The moment she let me in, I felt myself pulled into a tight bear hug with both of my parents. We all stood there – tightly wrapped up in each other and we all cried. It was a quiet moment. No one sobbed, but we all silently wept. It made me feel like we were already healing, and healing as a family.

The rest of the day was a blur of phone calls, texts, emails, you name it. I talked to dozens of people I hadn’t talked to in months (sometimes years), and though I wasn’t happy about the reason, it felt so good to have so many people who just wanted to love us. I remember I even had one friend who was in Canada for work and was in an area with terrible cell reception. The second he received my text with the news, he hiked out a bit from where he was meeting with his work team just so he could talk to me for 5 minutes. That one meant a lot to me.

I was floored by the outpouring of love we received that day. I think because I already had the love from the people I needed it from the most, everyone else’s love felt like extra.

It was hard to convey that we were okay. We missed him tremendously, but we were all so clear that he was with God in a better place. We could all feel it. We discussed it over and over as we rehashed the plethora of happy memories we had of him. There was no doubt in our minds that he was doing great, and that realization let us feel peaceful.

Near the close of the day, my dad and I still needed to pick up overnight bags so we could spend the night at the hotel. We left my mom on the phone with her sister and drove back down to Houston. We talked exclusively about happy memories of Sturg. It felt so good just to love him and remember him exactly as we had always known him, and it was so cathartic to talk about him so freely. We both had our moments when our voices would break and one of us would comfort the other.

When we arrived at my parents’, it felt weird knowing I would never see Sturg in this house again. I’d never come in and find him sitting in his favorite spot in the living room, or on the chair in his room, or sitting “crisscross applesauce” atop one of the kitchen stools the way that only his lithe little body would allow.

I sat down on the couch in the living room and looked out the window. Appropriately, it was sunny and peaceful outside. The pillow that Sturg always used to hug was sitting beside me. I took a big whiff and buried my face into it, crying all over again. It smelled exactly like him. I didn’t know how long the smell would last (a while as it turned out), but I was grateful that it smelled like him just then.

As my dad and I drove back up to Tomball to join up with my mom, the most beautiful sunset I had seen all summer unfolded in front of our car. Plus, as God would have it, there seemed to be pillars of clouds in front of us: 3 larger ones with a smaller one that looked like it was catching up. We took it to mean that Sturg was with my 3 grandparents who had gone before us.

While we were watching the sunset, my mom had gone for a walk back at the hotel. She had seen the same image in the clouds, too. I loved that all three of us received the same message about our sweet Sturg. It made us feel warm amidst this day that I had thought would be so dark.

Each decision we made about Sturg, we made as a family. We didn’t go by societal rules. We took each day at a time. We were gentle and patient with each other. We found strength in our little family. We decided we didn’t want a funeral. Instead, we wanted to honor his life with a memorial service in a few months’ time. We chose to do it a few days before Thanksgiving – his favorite feast of the year.

After we returned home, people began visiting us in small, intimate gatherings. These beautiful one-on-one visits allowed us time to be quiet but still welcome in the overflow of love that had begun during the previous days.

What I love is that our family’s situation doesn’t have to be an exception to the rule. If you ever see the three of us and wonder how we’ve weathered this storm so seemingly easily, you now have the basics of why.

I cannot express enough the importance of gratitude. Look for even the most minute things that make you happy. Even if it’s a pen that you love that writes really well, the way the sunshine hits a spot in your home, the colors of the sunrise, a happy memory, a phone call from someone you’re fond of, etc. Believe me, once you start, it’s hard to stop. What I didn’t realize until this day was how much it would help me in the long run. The gratitude that began the day Sturg passed on has carried through to today and wondering what miraculous thing today has to offer.

I’m so grateful for the 29 years I spent with Sturg. He taught me how to be happy, how to love unconditionally, a little mischief is a good thing, and the occasional leaning on others when needed isn’t a weakness but a strength. God knew what he was doing when He gave my parents that precious boy all those years ago. If it had to be that he’s the only sibling I would ever know, I’m grateful I only knew Sturg. He enjoyed pushing my buttons, but he was kind and he loved me with all of his heart.

And for that, I couldn’t ask for more.

Mitch: Alright, Ed, your best day. What is it?

Ed: No. I don’t want to play.

Mitch: Come on! We did it.

Ed: I don’t feel like it.

Mitch: …Okay.

Ed: I’m 14 and my mother and father are fighting again. You know, because she caught him again. Caught him? This time the girl drove by the house to pick him up. And I finally realized he wasn’t just cheating on my mother, he was cheating on us. So, I told him…I said, “You’re bad to us. We don’t love you. I’ll take care of my mother and my sister. We don’t need you anymore.” And he made like he was gonna hit me, but I didn’t budge. He turned around and left and never bothered us again. I took care of my mother and my sister from that day on. That’s my best day.

Phil: Well…what was your worst day?

Ed: Same day.

-City Slickers

Alright, folks, there’s an important lesson I learned over the last few days that needs to be shared. Fair warning: You’re in for a rough ride.

First, I have to back up. *Cue cassette rewind sound*

Tuesday, October 25, 2016.

That day and the three days that followed were the worst days of my life. I never want to have another day like it and I never want to relive them.

The first part of that Tuesday had been like any other. In fact, when I got home from work, I was flying high. There was an event at school that I was in charge of and had been working on for weeks. Before I left school, I realized the majority of the organizing for it was done and the event was almost taking care of itself. I was psyched to feel so ahead because it meant that I didn’t have to worry about it too much before the big event on Friday and I could focus on another big event for the next following week.

I rushed home to tell my husband, who suggested we celebrate and go out to dinner. We chose to go to one of our favorite TexMex restaurants that was right near our apartment. At dinner, we sat outside because it was so beautiful out, and as we were finishing out meal, we caught a glorious sunset since we were sitting facing west.

We got home, and my husband still had some work to do, while I settled in to watch The Voice.

As the show ended, my husband came out of his office and said he needed to go meet with a client, he would be home late, and I shouldn’t wait up for him. He gave me a dry peck on the cheek, walked over to the front door of the apartment and left.

I must have fallen asleep, because I remember groggily waking up to Jimmy Fallon’s voice and the theme song of The Tonight Show. I promptly switched off the TV and started turning off lights before going into the bathroom to put on my PJs, wash my face, brush my teeth, and get in bed. I had just tied my hair into a ponytail when my phone rang.

Everything changed during that phone call.

My husband called to tell me he had been arrested. He wasn’t positive where they were taking him, I couldn’t see him, he didn’t know what to do, and they were only giving him a few minutes to let me know. Somewhere in there, he told me the charge of the arrest which I didn’t understand and promptly forgot, and then he told me that he loved me before the line went dead.

I remember feeling cold and looking at my face in the mirror and wondering if I was really dreaming. Things like this didn’t just happen.

I snapped out of it and quickly realized that I didn’t have time to think like that and that I needed to spring into action. I called my mom, my boss, a coworker when I couldn’t reach my boss, a close friend to pray for me, and some close couple friends of ours to pray for us. I called them in that order.

The coworker I called was an angel. She offered to come be with me or come over to her house and when I said I was going over to my parents’ house, she started listing off everything I needed to pack that she knew I wouldn’t be thinking about because I was so preoccupied. Looking back, it was one of the nicest parts of the night.

The next 29 hours were a blur of phone calls. I know I didn’t sleep. I know I got ahold of a friend who is a lawyer who got me in touch with the right kind of defense attorney my husband was going to need to get him out of jail and help him through the case once he was out. I got in touch with my in-laws, and a place that would help me bail him out of jail.

He was finally released somewhere around 3AM on Thursday, October 27, 2016. It already felt like an eternity, but it was only the beginning.

Later on that day, we had a meeting with the lawyer and he asked me to leave the room to talk to my husband alone. It felt strange to be treated so separately from him. I had gotten so used to every decision being made together and being treated as a couple instead of one person, it caught me off guard when he told me he wanted to talk to my husband alone. I got up, went down the short, carpeted hallway, and sat down in one of Kelly green pleather chairs in the small waiting room. Although I was far away from the room and the door was closed down the hall, I could hear some of what was being said.

That is when the attorney asked my husband the question that would change my world forever.

Have you always been faithful to your wife?

There was a short pause before I heard his answer.

No.

My mind instantly went blank.

My heart began to pound.

Angry tears streamed down my face as I sat there looking at my hands. I felt deceived. I felt ashamed. I felt mortified. But mostly, I wanted to run. I wanted to get up, grab my car keys and run, but I stayed glued to my seat and willed myself to stop crying so that my husband wouldn’t know anything was wrong when he came out.

I won’t go into every detail of the next 22 hours. It wasn’t pretty. But at the end of that 22 hours, on the morning of Friday, October 28, 2016, I was sitting on the couch of our apartment, and I calmly turned to my husband and asked for a divorce.

I really had no idea just how horrific that next 12-month period would be, but the following October 25, I remember staying off of social media. The realization that it had been a whole year and how much had happened was too much for me and I just couldn’t think about it.

This year came, and I stayed off of social media for the first part of the day. The day finally felt like a normal day to me.

Then I got home and logged onto Facebook.

Never in my life have I noticed a day when so many people have good memories of various October 25ths. Wedding anniversaries, the beginnings of relationships, children being born, honeymoons, adoption days, awards, and birthdays. Everyone was posting good memories from October 25 in past years. I even joined Facebook on October 25, 2005, and so Facebook had prepared a “Happy 13th Faceversary” video.

Why? Why that day? And why did that day have to be so horrific for me when it felt like the rest of the world got to celebrate it?

I angrily shut my computer and began to brood in self-pity. Lately, I’ve been working on turning bad moments into positive ones, but at that moment, I was not in the mood.

Why, God? Why me? Why did I have to be the one to marry the wrong person and have this horrible scar of a memory? As I sat there, I noticed that sitting next to my computer was my gratitude journal. I write in it twice a day and fill up an entire page by the time I go to bed.

I opened it to what I had written that morning, and there was one word that caught my attention at that moment: choice.

I took a beat to think about the word. Choice. I had a choice.

Was this going to be a good moment for me? Or would I continue having bad ones? All I knew is that I hated how I felt.

At that moment, I realized what really happened two years ago. On one hand, it was painful. As I already wrote, I never want to relive those days again. But it also gave me the life that I had today. I’m happier, I have more friends, I’m more open, and all of that grows and gets better every single day. How could I be mad at that?

Plus, those days reminded me just how much God loved me. He had pulled me out of something terrible and had given me a whole new life and a second chance at a lot of things I had been wishing for. I suddenly realized that I wasn’t devoid of goodness while others were prospering. I was in the midst of it just like everyone else. I had something to celebrate, and what’s more, even if I didn’t, I realized that it was proof that there was still good going on in the world during my worst moments. I could choose to look at that as unfair or as something to keep me going and keep living until I felt the goodness of the world again.

It was a huge epiphany for me. So here is my hope for you: take those bad moments and realize that right now, there is good going on in the world. Even though your moment might be dark, wonderful things are happening all around you, and you might have to wait to feel like your life is good again, but it will come. Just let the light in. Let go of the dark. Do whatever you have to do to let go of the dark.

Because when you let go, the pressure of your world turns the coal you’ve been holding into a diamond. Hold onto the diamond and don’t let it go.

As my dad was going through old files today, he found the Agape talk that I gave in 8th grade at Annunciation Orthodox School. If you’re not familiar with AOS and Agape talks, let me explain. AOS is Greek. In Greek, Agape means love. It’s not just love, but the it’s of the highest form of the word and is the kind that God has for man.

In middle school, the morning meetings we had every day after second period were always called Agape. Someone from each class had a job. Someone from fifth grade would give a Quote of the Day, sixth grade would give a Current Event of the Day, and someone from 7th and 8th grade would give an Agape talk.

My dad found the one I gave in 8th grade on my 14th birthday. I chose to speak out about my brother, how the world treats him, and how we treat each other. I was also trying to make a stab at the end of people using the word “retarded.” Appropriately, it came just 3 weeks after September 11. The talk made me smile when I read it after my dad found it this afternoon, and I thought I would share it.

“Although he can’t speak with words, he communicates well. He speaks through signs and his eyes and his soft touch. Although he can’t write or read, he knows people; he senses their feelings and knows how to react. When he isn’t feeling well, he knows how to take care of himself until he is better. He does not know prejudice or hatred, only love and acceptance. He does not know anxiety, turmoil, or depression, only contentment, peace and happiness. He is one of the wisest people we know. Unfortunately, some people use the word ‘retarded.'” 

My name is Lauren Kelly, and today, I’m going to talk to you about what it’s like to have brother with Down syndrome. The paragraph I just read you was the last paragraph of a story called, “A Special Gift.” My father wrote the story in 1995 about my brother, Adam. In the story, my father makes him sound like any other normal child until the last paragraph. In some ways, my brother is like any other normal child. Like any other normal older brother, he enjoys annoying me. Although he can’t do this with words, he likes to do things like sit by me on the couch and tap my shoulder until it gets extremely irritating, or pull my seat belt when he’s sitting behind me in the car. If I react by yelling at him to stop, he thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world. In some ways, he feels like a little brother. For one, although he is 19, he is shorter than I am, and since he’s not really in a grade level at school, he doesn’t know as much as I do. He is in a special education class at T.H. Rogers School consisting of children with disabilities.

One thing that is difficult is that, wherever we go with him, people stare at him. As his little sister, the first thing that pops into my head is, why do they do that? Because he is different. Well, what’s wrong with behing different? Nothing. As my dad put in the story, “he does not prejudice or hatred, only love and acceptance.” Although my brother accepts everyone, not everyone accepts him. Being different is bad. But being prejudiced against someone who is different is a struggle for many people. Although many of us probably think, well I’m not prejudiced against anyone, some of us probably are. It happens every day.

Even here. Think of the word “groups.” In most grades, there is a popular group, and an unpopular group. There wouldn’t be any groups if no one were prejudiced. So my challenge to all of us is, accept everyone. No matter how popular, not matter what race, religion, or belief, just accept them. We don’t have to be best friends, but we shouldn’t push each other away. And the next time you see my brother, don’t be scared of him because he really is very gentle, loving person. Many people look at him and think of a boy with Down syndrome, but to me, he is just my brother.

October 3, 2001

If you read my last post or attended my dad’s retirement party and heard my speech, you’ve already been given a glimpse of the masculine half of my upbringing. After I gave my speech, and the night progressed on, I had already been thinking about what I would say or write if someone asked me to do the same for my mother. What you don’t know is that I actually wrote an article about her to warm myself up for writing about my dad.

As the night of Dad’s party began to come to a close, my mom didn’t give a speech, but she gave a beautiful toast to her husband at the end of the evening. She stood on stage and for the first time, I watched as my dad stood in her shadow while she read her toast to the crowd of 350 people that had come to celebrate her man. I couldn’t help but beam with pride watching the two of them up on the podium.

Damn. I come from two kick-ass people. What a powerhouse couple.

I really can’t help myself in moments like these where all you can do is really breathe in the moment and savor every detail about it.

My dad was wearing a beautifully tailored suit with a light blue tie that had (of course) been put together by my mom. My mom looked beautiful. Though style comes naturally to her, she had put her outfit together weeks in advance. She had decided to go with a Carolina Herrera look. She had started with a long skirt that she owned and is tailored to her tiny body and even smaller waist. The skirt is mainly hot pink. It had a faux-sash that cinches her middle and the skirt is pink and white striped and has beautiful, large flowers all over it. She had paired it with a tailored, crisp, white button-down shirt and the shoes she wore underneath that you couldn’t see were beautiful hot-pink suede sling-back heels. They tied the outfit together perfectly.

Like her outfit that night, my mom is actually perfect. Okay, so she’s not actually perfect in that way that no human being is perfect, but if you look at my mom, how she thinks, carries herself, and her overall outlook on life, I really don’t know anyone who could fit the description better.

Before I go on, I should state that I already know she is reading this and thinking two things: First, that I am incredibly biased and second that her beauty comes from her ability to “clean up well.” I think that’s a lot of hooey. However, she is entitled to her humble opinion of herself. That humility is only more of what makes her so perfect.

My mom is the most positive person I know. She literally dances without music. My dad and I have caught her cooking in the kitchen while unconsciously doing dance moves with no music playing. She does it because she’s happy and she can’t help herself.

Her positive outlook comes in handy in more ways than one. My dad often uses her as a good luck charm when he’s watching sports because my mother has this uncanny ability to turn games around simply by sitting down and watching them. My dad both uses this, but I know it also drives him crazy, mainly because my mom’s knowledge of sports is quite slim, but she’s always happy to come in, route for his team and then watch as they pull out of whatever pickle they’ve spent the last 3 innings or two quarters in.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the story of my parents watching Craig Biggio’s 3,000th hit back in the summer of 2007. I don’t know or remember all the statistics, but the night he got his 3,000th hit, there were several things that needed to go into play in order for him to make it to 3,000 on that particular night. On the way to the game, my mom had made the comment of, “Well, this will be so exciting to see Biggio’s 3,000th hit!” My dad was amused as my mom’s knowledge of baseball is quite small. He tried to warn her by explaining the statistics that had to be in play in order for this to happen.  As he explained what would need to happen, my mother’s face lit up. “Wow! That’s going to be exciting to see all that tonight!” She probably clapped her hands in excitement. My dad was both amused and annoyed that she refused to listen to his warning. Later that night, as Milo Hamilton called the incredible career achievement that Biggio earned that night, I know my dad looked at my mom’s beaming smile and watched her child-like excitement which probably had him feeling the way Mom makes life in general feel: magical.

As you can probably already imagine, my mom loves to laugh. In fact, there are often things that can get her into trouble because some of the things she finds are so hysterically funny are things like people’s furrowed facial expressions when they take themselves too seriously. Often the even-larger frown that’s given when she starts to laugh has her laughing so hard she cries. As such, my dad’s dry, sarcastic sense of humor matches her perfectly. She also loves anything that has a dry wit to it.

At the same time, some of my favorite times with my mom and listening to her laugh have not only come from me or my dad teasing her, but also from spending time with her sister who is so much like my mom, it’s nearly crazy that two human beings are so similar even though they’re a decade apart. In fact, my mom’s sister lives in the Boston area, and during the two years that I lived there, whenever I’d spend the night at my aunt’s house (and uncle and two amazing cousins), it felt like home because the feeling of their home is so similar to the one I grew up in. Mom’s sister, Care (or Carrie), also has two daughters. Care, Julia, and Laura are among my top five favorite women on the planet and the five of us all love to laugh. It’s always slightly dangerous when we’re all together, but having that quadruple dose of four of my favorite women on earth is the most rejuvenating and magical feeling that there is for me. I also can’t leave out that my Uncle Wayne (Care’s husband and Julia and Laura’s dad) is also in my top five favorite men. Really, our families spending time together have created some unbelievable memories.

Besides all of that, my mom is just a fantastic woman in general. She’s one of those rare, unicorn wonder women that rest of us aspire to be. She makes it look easy. You know those women who always seem to have a clean house, are thin without trying, having classy style, a great business, are caring moms, and have the ability to do things like carry all their pregnancy weight with their perfect basketball babies and then lose the weight within weeks of giving birth and have their 6-week-olds sleeping through the night? No, you don’t? You think they don’t exist? Meet my mom. I’m actually sincerely not joking on anything on that list.

I count myself blessed as I have dozens of women that I can call friends both where I live and also littered all over the country. I absolutely love every single one of them and the richness their presence has given to my life. Really, God has created some absolutely spectacular people. However, if I had to pick a best friend, it would definitely be my mom. You probably could have guessed that one, but I’m just stating it for the record.

I have a lot of “favorite people on the planet” (as you can probably tell), but Mom has always been at the very top. I call her for everything. Really. Everything. I call her for bad days, good days, advice, just because, and sometimes, just because I miss her. We live in the same city now and there are still times when I call her to say I miss her, to which she usually laughs and says, “Well, then come on over, silly girl!”

To that, I say, “don’t mind if I do.” You are the bread to my butter, the laugh to my joke, the couch to my favorite movie, the style to my wardrobe, and as already stated, my very best friend. Love you, Momma.

*The idea of the title of this article came from the May 1st episode of Splitting Up Together. If you’re curious about it, go watch it!

The following is the speech I gave at my dad’s retirement party given at Annunciation Orthodox School in Houston, TX on April 21, 2018.

Good evening. For those of you I don’t know, I’m Lauren Kelly, Mark Kelly’s daughter and also an alumna of the AOS Class of 2002.

Let me start off by saying I am so proud of my dad’s accomplishments and I’m so grateful for the wonderful 22 years he has spent as head of school for AOS. My dad is a natural leader, and I always thought his job suited him well. He leads by example, he’s calm when there are difficult things to deal with, and with his experience comes wisdom that he builds on and leads the school with each year.

Everyone here knows my dad in different ways: as head of school, teacher, boss, friend, brother, uncle, husband, or if you are me: Dad. Before I go on, I’d like to say that I’m not only speaking for myself, but on behalf of my older brother, Adam, who passed on last summer.

I’ll start off with this: my dad is awesome. He is one of my favorite people on the planet.

My dad was always a very involved parent. My mom stayed at home with us and so she was slightly more involved, but I barely have a childhood memory that doesn’t involve my dad. As a parent, my dad was always loving, kind, funny, a great listener, an incredible friend, and a wise giver-of-advice. Of my childhood memories, I think the best illustration of my dad as “Dad” is the one weekend a year that my brother and I got him all to ourselves.

My dad always had a few weekends or weeks every year when he would go to a conference or go on one of the out-of-town trips with the middle schoolers, but once a year, my mom would take a long 4-day weekend to go to a special church conference in Boston. My sweet dad was always willing to let her go and take care of me and my brother all by himself. I’m pretty sure this was pretty easy because I always handled it with such maturity. Usually each of these weekends would begin the same way: Mom would back out of the driveway and I would immediately burst into tears.

I remember one year, as we were waving goodbye to my mom at 5:30 in the morning, my dad got up the courage and asked me, “Do you get this upset when I leave town for a few days?” Without skipping a beat, I blubbered, “No.” Dad sighed and I think found my blunt honesty incredibly amusing. He didn’t take it personally, he just let me have my moment of missing my mother while he lovingly calmed me down and reminded me that we would still have fun even though it was just the three of us.

Dad is creative and instead of trying to perfectly fill Mom’s shoes, he had different things that we would do and different traditions that would take place when my mom was gone. Dad would do whatever sounded fun. Usually we’d build giant forts in the living room, go on walks, have a picnic, go to the playground, watch movies, go to the zoo, or play ball out in the driveway.

Now although Dad was creative, there were parts of our daily routines that Dad couldn’t mess with and he had to take on my mom’s usual role. This involved things like making our lunches, getting out our outfits and getting us dressed, and making sure we were ready on time for our school mornings. When I was really little, this also meant he had to do my hair.

When Mom was in charge, and it was time to deal with my tangle of curls, she would come into my bathroom, quickly brush my hair, throw it into some artistic hairstyle, and secure it with a giant bow. This usually took her about 2 minutes and my hair was so well secured that a tornado could have run over my head and my hair would have stayed intact.

Dad was a different story. After attempting to brush out my tangled curly hair, he would try to gather all of my hair into one ponytail, and simultaneously strain to get his giant fingers into one of my tiny pony elastics to secure my hair into a ponytail. Usually, this process took so long and was still so poorly done, I could forget about the bow and or getting to school on time. I would also offer up constructive criticism: “that’s not how Mommy does it.” Thankfully for me, instead of getting defeated or upset, Dad usually had a funny, sarcastic comment, or he would just tickle me until I was laughing so hard, I forgot all about my hair.

Honestly, though, those weekends were filled with so much love, joy, and humor, and my brother and I are so grateful that my dad was willing to take on Mom’s role, not only for her sake, but for the incredible memories he has given us.

As I got older, and especially when I was in middle school, I noticed that my dad was actually cool. At the time, I wouldn’t necessarily have admitted this, because when you are 13, the sheer existence of your parents is embarrassing. However, when I was in sixth grade at AOS, there was a group of 8th grade boys who loved my dad so much, that I was cool by association and they all used to call me Miss Kelly. Even though I thought they were deeply mistaken about how cool my dad actually was, I felt so cool and it felt so good to be recognized by cute 8th grade boys. Plus, it got me cool points with my own grade and made plenty of girls incredibly jealous. It was one of the few perks to being daughter of the head of school…at least when the headmaster is Mark Kelly.

As I got even older and when I entered college, I usually called Dad when I needed advice on something. Sometimes it was small, like, “could I just have you look at my paper?” And then there were bigger ones, like when I was convinced I was in love and wanted to know what he thought. Now, when I began seriously dating, he gave me the best dating advice I’ve ever gotten: Pay attention to what he does, not what he says. Unfortunately, it took me years to really listen to this advice. I almost always fell for the kind of guy who would say, “I’ll call you right back,” and then I wouldn’t hear from him for 3 days. Well, that was the tip of the iceberg as far as the worst that these guys would do.

I would call Dad who would remind me of his original advice: “Pay attention to what he does not what he says.”  He would quietly listen to me, but wouldn’t get involved. And when I really hadn’t listened to his advice and I got my heart broken, Dad would help me pick up the pieces without saying, “I told you so.” He’s pretty awesome that way. He would always give me and my brother his advice and guidance, but if we needed to fail, he would let us and then just help us back up when we would inevitably ask for it in our own ways.

I really could keep going on about how much I love my dad and how many times he has proved how wonderful he is by what he does, but I know you all have moments like this. That is why I would like to end my time up here to thank my dad for always being such an incredible father; for always being there for all of us, for being the quiet backbone of our family, and for seeing us through everything in our lives – both good and bad, and I am so thankful that you are mine.

“This place reminds me of Santa’s Workshop. Except it smells like mushrooms and everyone looks like they want to hurt me.” – Elf

If there is one nugget of Truth I have learned from going through a divorce and the number of other unexpected things I’ve gone through this year…something I want every man, woman, and child to hear or read, it’s this: Don’t settle.

I’ve learned this in 3 different ways over the past year, and if you want to really know how I’ve learned this lesson in more ways than one, then keep reading.

1. I married the wrong person.

I know what you’re thinking. You just said you’re divorced. Isn’t the fact that you married the wrong person kind of obvious?

Hear me out. This is important.

I knew my ex-husband was the wrong person very early on in my relationship with him. It wasn’t quite immediate, but there were plenty of red flags that I did not heed.

I was rather enamored with him at first. He was charming and handsome and is one of those men that you feel could have any woman he wants. And he chose me. Out of all the women in the world, he picked me. Wow. I felt so lucky. He was everything I had ever wanted. I told all my friends that if you could take every quality I ever wanted in my husband and blew it up x10, you’d have this man that I was so lucky to be dating. And he wanted to marry me. Life was beautiful.

But it wasn’t.

We had been dating less than a week when he told me I was too skinny. It was a really small comment he made off-handedly that, “we have to get some meat on those bones.” I did not care for it, but I ignored it. Well, I ignored it at first.

Then he came to visit me at Thanksgiving 3 months later and it grew worse. I could see we weren’t compatible in the food department. It scared me. I had worked hard to change this issue that had been plaguing me for nearly 10 years. I was almost done losing weight when I met him. I had changed my habits and I was just waiting for my weight to bottom out to its happy point.

Over the 2 weeks he spent with my family, it threw me for a loop. We argued about food. I couldn’t make him see that eating healthy and going to the gym and being a healthy weight were important things to me. I didn’t want to spend my life with a weight issue.

Something in my gut told me I needed to break up with him. In fact, I almost felt bad that my family liked him so much because I was trying to plot out exactly how I was going to break up with him.

But your parents love him so much. If you break up with him, who knows if you’ll ever find someone this good to love you again. What makes you so special that you think you’ll find better? Is food really that important? You’re being so vain! It’s just food.

But it wasn’t just food. Food was the surface of it all, but I knew deep down there was something wrong, and I knew if I didn’t take care of it, the day would come when I would be sitting on my couch wondering what had happened to my life.

Now, let me just say I am not blaming him for what happened to me. I am not blaming him for the pounds I packed on during the 6 years I was with him. I have no one to blame but myself. However, these incompatibilities and ignoring this gut feeling that we were wrong for each other were things that were occurring to me early on.

Things escalated and the day came when I had a meltdown in a Nordstrom dressing room trying on my wedding dress a week before my wedding. I was with my mom and she knew it was more than just the fact that my dress didn’t fit. I blurted out all of the things that I had been feeling that let me know he was not the one. One of them was that we couldn’t agree on how to treat money – one of the leading causes that leads to divorce.

My mom looked me square in the face and said, “Then don’t marry him.”

I should have listened, but I swallowed my feelings and let the fear of cancelling a wedding we had been planning for over six months and the 160 people that were coming to it take over my better judgement. I married him the next week.

Then life became dark. Fast. I felt neglected. I was unhappy and I didn’t know why.

Christmas came – my favorite time of the year. It was time that was always filled with magic for me. I remembered the way I used to feel looking at the decorated tree and listening to Christmas music and taking walks with my family and just feeling that wonderful, child-like goopy feeling in my stomach that filled the holiday with magic. The first Christmas I was married, I had never felt so empty. I didn’t feel the magic of the holiday. Holidays were just days to get through. What was wrong with me?

I remember sitting in my apartment. Alone. In the dark. I would close my eyes and hope and pray that maybe…just for one single solitary glistening moment that I could feel like myself. Even if it were just for one second.

It didn’t come.

I had one small glimpse of it when my mom came to visit. It was Mother’s Day and we were in church. The final hymn that morning was a hymn she used to sing to me when I was a little girl. At that moment, singing the hymn in this big church with hundreds of people backed by a huge organ, I suddenly felt like myself. And I cried. I didn’t just cry, I bawled. My mom tucked my head beneath her chin, held me close and sang me the hymn as though I were 5-years-old again.

It didn’t last very long.

5 years went by and I finally found out that my husband had been unfaithful for the duration of our relationship. It took all that time to get to that morning in late October for me to finally pull off that bandaid I should have pulled 6 years earlier to finally break up with him.

I tell you this not to scare you, have you take pity on me, or have a hate-fest on my ex-husband. In fact, if you know him, please do not blame him for what has happened to me. Don’t let those facts taint your view of him. Like the rest of us, he’s a person with things to learn. I say this only to tell my story and to say that it took all that time when I should have followed my original instinct.

The truth is, I didn’t understand my worth, but I will get to that at the end.

Let’s move on to part 2.

2. My Parents’ Marriage

After reading the first part, you are probably wondering how there is any more I could possibly have to say, but stay with me. It’s only just getting good.

I would write a whole sentence instead of just, “My parents’ marriage,” but there are so many things to fill in the blank that I have learned from it, that I just had to use it as a heading.

When you get married, you never know what life will throw at you. You only know that you have committed to spend your life with someone else. Watching my parents over the years has let me know how important it is to marry the right person.

My parents have been through a lot over the years. My dad’s first job was not the best and my parents constantly buoyed each other up that first year. My dad made a 4-figure salary that year and at the end of the year – just 9 months after they arrived in this new place – my parents drove back home without a job in sight knowing that what they had just been through was not something they were willing to return to.

My parents have moved 5 times. Three of those times could be counted as cross-country moves. They’ve raised two children. They have gone through the moment of finding out that their first child had Down’s syndrome just moments after he was born. They figured out how to raise a child who didn’t speak and found the joy and glee that he brought them every day.

And then they went through the pain of him passing on. Now, I lost my only sibling. It was hard and painful. However, my parents lost a child. No parents want to outlive their child. I know I’m not a parent, but I know that is one of the most painful things you can possibly go through.

My parents went through it with flying colors. How? They put each other before themselves. They put their relationship above the other person. Their marriage stays at the center of it all, and they nurture it every single day. They respect each other. They don’t yell at each other. They always want to help the other.

My parents are whole and complete people on their own. Beyond that, they both know that and act accordingly. As such, as a team, they are unbeatable.

I have never seen two people love each other quite the way my parents do. It’s a different kind of love. It’s a love that sees through all else. Because they meant their wedding vows, those vows have taken them through everything that’s been thrown their way, and their relationship has weathered the storm.

Okay…let’s move on to part 3.

3. I watched two whole, complete, beautiful people marry each other this year.

You are probably wondering how I could possibly learn the “don’t settle” lesson any more than I already have, but there is one last example that brought it home for me.

So, I have two friends that I will describe separately.

The first person is a very dear friend of mine. I’ve counted her as one of my best friends for over 7 years. She’s beautiful and artistic and compassionate and full of life. She’s one of those people that you treasure every second you get to spend with her. She’ll spend hours listening to you if you need it, but she’s got an awesome sense of humor that could easily bring you to your knees laughing. I could gush even more, but I should probably stop.

I will also say that she’s the first person who knew I was going to marry my now ex-husband, and she’s also the first person besides my mom that I called to tell I was getting divorced. It’s a friendship that easily picks up where it left off when we get together, and I really couldn’t be more grateful to have such a beautiful person in my life. She’s really the cream of the crop in more ways than I can even begin to list.

Long story short, she’s pretty incredible.

The other person is someone I more knew of than someone I have known well. We lived in the same city for 2 years and though we knew each other a bit more through friends, from the times I had met him, I was well aware of the kind of person he is: thoughtful and a deep-thinker, but he’s fun and easy to talk to as well. He has a humble confidence that would let an outside eye know that he knew his own worth and God-given purpose.

On my final day living in the same city, he came over to the apartment I shared with my ex-husband to say goodbye to both of us, and the three of us had a long talk about marriage. As I sat listening to him, I realized that he completely understood what it was all about. He talked about the qualities that go into marriage, things he wanted for his own marriage, qualities he was looking for in his wife, but most of all, he talked about the things he wanted to bring to the table for his marriage.

For someone who wasn’t married and was just being quiet and letting his desire for marriage unfold, I was so impressed with the things he was looking for and what he knew he was bringing that I blurted out, “You better marry someone good.”

Now, both of these people have had relationships with people that were great. For various reasons, those relationships ended, and as an outsider looking in, I was in awe at the wisdom that led to those breakups.

And then these two incredible people began dating each other.

I still remember scrolling through Instagram and seeing that first picture of the two of them smiling at the camera – two gorgeous smiles, I might add. I immediately texted and asked if they were dating. I have never been so over-the-moon to find out two wonderful people were dating each other.

A few months later, I got to see them together during a girls’ trip with my mom to visit friends and family, and my heart exploded even more. Their relationship was blessing everyone they came in contact with, and I just felt so grateful that I was able to see it first-hand.

And then the email came that they were getting married. I was so happy, you would have thought I was the one getting married. Later, as I sat there watching them say their vows, I thought about how great God is and how wonderful life is when you let God take the reins of your life and let Him lead you where you are supposed to be.

Neither of them settled. They waited for each other. And though it may have taken some time to get together, it happened for them. I can see that they understood their worth apart and like my parents, they make an excellent team together.

So now the finale.

At one point in my life, I didn’t know how beautiful I was on my own. I didn’t know that I was whole and complete on my own two feet. I didn’t understand that I am enough all by myself.

But I am enough. I’m more than enough, I have something to offer the world. I find that out each and every day in my relationship with God, in the people I meet, the job I have, the family I love, the kitten I care for, the general things that matter to me, and the kind of relationship and marriage I know I will one day have.

I just wish I had known it then. I’m now happy and complete on my own. That is something that you must know before you ever begin to think about marriage.

Once you know that, know that you deserve someone else who is whole and complete, too.

I now have the patience to let myself find the real me – even if that means cutting myself off from dating while I find out exactly who that is. I know how to appreciate her and to build her up because the world needs her.

The world needs you, too, in the same exact way. If you don’t know that yet, start learning it, because it’s true of every being on the planet. The world needs you and the best version of yourself that you can give.

Let’s start living, shall we?

Note: This is the speech I gave at my brother’s memorial service held on November 20, 2017 at The Brookwood Community in Brookshire, TX.

“What day is it?”

“It’s today!” said Piglet.

“Ah,” said Pooh, “my favorite day.”

When you’re little, brothers are these weird, stinky smelly people that seem to exist to annoy you and torture you in any way they possibly can. But as you grow up together, somewhere along that road, you realize they are your best friends and those people that you wouldn’t trade the world for. When I was little, I didn’t understand or realize how wonderful my brother really was. I didn’t understand that when he was being annoying on purpose it was his way of saying, “I love you.” I think on some level, I did, but I was also his main target for pushing buttons because my buttons were so easily pushed. This brought great enjoyment and laughter to him. In fact, nothing brought him more glee than to hear the words, “Stop it!” come out of my mouth. It would always send him into a wave of giggles that would make me mad. Adam – affectionately called Sturg, was always gentle. So when he would poke me, or pull my hair, or yank my seatbelt when he sat behind me in the car, it was always just enough to annoy me, but not enough to hurt me. As we got older, our relationship transformed out of that into something that was much deeper. I understood his ways of saying, “I love you,” a bit more, and some of the things that used to annoy me were now amusing. On top of it, when I got older, I realized that he was a living example of the way that everyone should live. My brother lived every day as his favorite day. In his 34- almost 35-years, he truly lived every day happy. It’s just one of the many ways he set an example for the rest of us. My brother was a true gentleman. He made everyone in his presence feel warm, comfortable, and welcome. He loved without condition and never judged anyone. He trusted without fear or doubt. He expected a lot, but always expected the best, and in most ways always received the best as a result. The joy he felt was an inner joy that you only know when you’re really and truly comfortable with yourself. It was a true contentment in who he was – and still is as we have found in the last few months.

Sturg always trusted that the right thing was going to happen and that everything was going to be good. One time in particular, I was about 14 or 15 and I was afraid to fly. I was on a plane with my family and my mom was sitting between me and my brother. At the time, I was feeling anxious and nervous and I was squirming in my seat before we took off. Mom knew how I was feeling and she leaned over and just said, “Everything is fine. You have nothing to worry about, and if you get nervous, just watch your brother when the plane takes off.” I looked over, and my brother just looked so calm and serene looking out the window as the plane was being maneuvered into its spot for final departure. Then, as the engines began to rev, my brother began to get excited. He waved his hands and used the seat in front of him to push his feet against so that he could propel his body up. Then, he began to laugh and he excitedly rocked back and forth and clapped his hands and his feet together as the plane began to take off and give that final rush that sends your stomach to the back of your chair. I realized that not only did Sturg have no fear, he was actually excited for the plane to sail into the sky with him inside of it. It’s a sight that still sits with me each and every time I board a plane, and any time I find myself feeling a little bit nervous, I always think of my sweet brother and the trust and expectation he had that everything was good and happy.

Sturg was also incredibly intuitive. He had these beautiful, deep green eyes, and when he looked at you, he didn’t just look at you, he seemed to look right through you and deep into your soul down to the depths of who you are and what you’re feeling. I might also add, that he loved mischief and there was always a little sparkly glint in his eye when he looked at you. He was always able to quickly assess what kind of mood you were in and what you needed according to it. Because of it, he always had a way of smiling at you, holding your hand, or if you were really lucky, giving you a hug that would just make your day better. There was one day last year when the two of us were alone in the house together. That particular day hadn’t been my best, but it was mostly due to the fact that I had spent a lot of the day taking myself too seriously. I was sitting by myself in the living room looking out the window and I heard Sturg come into the room behind me and he sat down on the sofa next to me. I could feel him look at me intently with those big, green eyes, and I knew he was assessing how I was feeling. I remember thinking, “Uh oh…what little trick do you have up your sleeve?” After a few moments, Sturg took his foot and gently poked me in my side with his toe and then yanked his foot back, sending him into a wave of giggles. For me, it completely broke the self-righteous feeling I had let ruin my day, and I couldn’t help but laugh, which just made Sturg enjoy it more, and the two us sat there laughing together. It was very humbling, but it also allowed me to release the mistakes I had made. Sturg was pretty great that way.

Sturg’s intuition is something that has continued even though he’s no longer here. One of the things I used to love was picking Sturg up at the Brookwood bus every day since he was one of the commuters here. When he would appear at the top of the stairs of the bus and see it was me, he often had a big smile for me, and when he would get in the car, we would always listen to Oldies. Now, I will tell you that his was his preference more than mine. I know my dad is going to talk about his music taste, so my part on this is brief, but Oldies were Sturg’s favorite genre. One of our favorite songs to listen to together was “Do You Believe In Magic” by The Lovin’ Spoonful. We really used to jam out to it, and Sturg used to love it because when it came on, I would roll down the windows and open up the sunroof in my car. After he passed on, I couldn’t bring myself to listen to the song without him. It was just too hard. A couple of weeks ago, I was exercising at the gym and I had my playlist on shuffle. The first song that came on was, “Red” by Taylor Swift. I went through a divorce last year and that song reminds me of it when it comes on since it’s about a breakup. During the initial breakup of my marriage, I lived at my parents’ house for about a month which gave me some time with Sturg, and one of the things that I told my mom in front of my brother was that being married to the wrong person made it feel like all the magic had been sucked out of my life. I was thinking about that as I was exercising to “Red”, and just as I was thinking about those words, “Do You Believe In Magic” was the very next song. All of a sudden, it felt like Sturg was there telling me in his own way to move on: both from my divorce and from the sadness I had felt from missing him. It just completely broke all of those feelings, and all of a sudden, I felt this joy from my brother, and though it made me cry, they were happy tears of gratitude.

I am so grateful for every one of you that has come to celebrate my brother today. Whether you are physically here or listening to this as a recording, I know you have been blessed by my brother. The biggest lesson I learned and continue to learn from him is that life is good and happy and is meant to be enjoyed and treasured. You can live each day happy if you are content and grateful for the beautiful life that God has given every one of you. Life really is good if you just let yourself be happy. Happiness isn’t something that you wait for or that you have pursue or capture. It’s yours already. If you cherish it and hold it in your heart as a priority, you’re in for a very good and joyful life the way my brother did. If you knew my brother, you know the joy I’m talking about. I feel blessed having gotten to see it first hand, but even if you didn’t or you didn’t even get to meet my brother, know that it is possible and it’s the most worthwhile peace that you could possibly find for yourself. That is my hope for each and every one of you.