J.D. Combs's Blog

Dear Darlings,

Some of you may have seen my Instagram and Facebook posts, where I start with “Because some days…” and conclude with a thought, a picture, or a story about something in my life that I found important or interesting at that moment. And it’s my hope that these little snippets of my life give you a moment to smile. Because some days you just need something positive to glimpse, even for a second.

Most of you who have been with me for a while know that one of my passions in life is my time at the USO serving our service members as they travel through our airport. We see many new recruits heading off to basic training and boot camp, depending on which branch of service they have joined. As they head out the door to board their planes, I say things like…

“Good luck!”

“You got this!”

“Try not to laugh when your drill sergeants are yelling at you. They frown upon that!”

Or, “In case no one has told you today, I’m really proud of you. You’re going to do important things!”

This past Tuesday, I had the honor of sitting with a young Marine who had just graduated from AIT (advanced individual training) and was off to his first duty station. He was soft-spoken and had a calmness about him that we don’t often see in younger Marines. They are usually a boisterous crowd with an inflated air that you envision Marines need to have, not quite braggadocios, but full of bravado and a certain amount of swagger. This young Marine was confident, but not overly so. And filled me in on his plan. I sat listening and asking questions when the opportunity presented itself, and then I felt called to say something I usually reserve for the new recruits. “In case no one has told you today, I’m really proud of you. You are really planning all the big things.” He paused as my words sank in, and then his face lit up and his cheeks crinkled into a huge grin. He didn’t just say, “Thank you!” He went on to share his story with me.

And this is what he said.

“Thank you. I’m really trying hard to leave the life that was threatening to drag me down. I want to make something of myself. I want to escape the people who were leading me down a bad path. I love what I’m doing now and the people who are around me.”

My eyes welled with tears as he spoke, and I was humbled that he felt safe to share part of his past with me. I listened when I heard the calling to tell him I was proud of him, and I listened with my heart as he spoke. Because some days you just need to open your heart and embrace something positive.

xo,

me

Dear Darlings,

I feel all the feels right now: fear, nerves, sweaty armpits, slight nausea, a little thrill, and things bubbling up in my chest. And no, I’m not having a heart attack, although these symptoms could be the signs of one. This is something different, something better, something exciting, and yet it’s terrifying at the same time.

A few weeks ago, I attended a book writer’s BootCamp. It was four days of questions asked, questions answered, and insight into an industry I’ve been out of since I republished and rebranded my first novel. After that, fear ruled my actions. I was scared of watching my kids leave and fly away, afraid of a future where I didn’t know the certainty of day-to-day with my kiddos at home. I threw myself into their world to make sure I was present. Since then, I’ve been sitting on novels two, three, possibly four, and five. BootCamp rebooted something in my brain.

I decided to act and set in motion some things I’d like to share with you. Well, one thing. One big thing.

I hired an editor to help me with my next project. But I didn’t hire just any old editor. I hired the one who read my bio, book hook, and a 2,000-word excerpt from said book and came back hours later with this offer.

Job description

Dear Jenni,

First, I want to thank you for trusting me with your story. As I read about Cece sitting on that couch with her broken foot, scrolling through Facebook Messenger, I found myself holding my breath along with her as she discovered Catherine’s message. The way you capture that moment of suspended animation—when the everyday (a broken foot) collides with the extraordinary (a life-changing message)—is powerful.

What particularly moved me was your “Life and Death and the Adoptee” blog post within the narrative. The line about the “two Janes” and “two Darlenes” beautifully captures how adoption creates these fascinating echoes across generations. Your ability to weave together these coincidences (or perhaps not coincidences at all) adds a subtle thread of magic to the story that feels exactly right.

Your writing has several compelling strengths:

Your voice feels like a close friend sharing a story over coffee—intimate, honest, and often funny despite the heavy themesThe way you handle time shifts between the present moment, the adoption story, and the correspondence feels natural and engagingYour blog posts serve as wonderful emotional touchstones throughout the narrativeThe relationship dynamics, especially between Cece and Butch (that moment when he’s grumbling about the ice bath!), feel absolutely authentic

Off the bat, I see some exciting opportunities to develop the manuscript further:

Emotional LandscapeWe could explore Cece’s initial reaction to Catherine’s message more deeply —those moments of panic after hitting “send” feel like rich territory.There’s potential to expand on the three distinct family narratives you mentioned in your hook: the one that almost ended your life, the one that adopted but didn’t want you, and the one that denied your existence.Consider developing the “magical” elements – those extraordinary coincidences and naming echoes that seem to suggest something larger at workStructure and FlowThe epistolary format offers unique opportunities to play with time and perspectiveWe might weave in more scenes that show how this unfolding relationship affects Cece’s existing familyThere’s room to develop the contrast between Cece’s public voice (the blog) and private reactions

For a manuscript of this scope and emotional complexity, I’d love to offer developmental editing support. Here’s what that would include:

Developmental Editing Package:

A detailed editorial letter (usually 12-15 pages, sometimes more) exploring themes, structure, and character developmentChapter-by-chapter notes with specific suggestionsOne round of revision reviewOngoing email support throughout the revision process

I believe your story has the potential to resonate deeply with readers—not just adoptees and their families but anyone who has ever sought to understand their place in a complex family tapestry. I’d be honored to help you develop this narrative further.

I’m also happy to lend support in deciding what publishing path to take (at no additional cost). I work within traditional publishing, but I’ve also consulted many authors on best practices for self-publishing, as well as hybrid options.

Looking forward to hearing back from you!

AR

This one. This is the one I hired.

The fear is still there, but I know this story has a place in this world. Now, I have someone working with me who understands the complexity and the nuances and wants to see it come to life as much as I do. The thought of publishing this blog is more nerve-wracking than I thought, but I’m doing my best to embrace the fear!

xo,

me

Dear Darlings,

For years, I’ve seen hearts everywhere. I’ve taken pictures of them when I found them. I’ve semi-noted them. I’ve used them to remind me to be kind and show love, but until now, I haven’t connected the meaning to a particular sign from above.

As you can tell, I’ve taken time to hold on to most of the hearts I see. I adore finding hearts in obscure places, but I never put together what the universe, in its infinite wisdom, was trying to tell me. I’m still unsure if I have the correct meaning, but yesterday made me stop and think.

Yesterday, I listened to Mel Robbins‘ podcast (episode 264, in case you wanted to take a listen) on controlling your mind and redirecting your energy. In this podcast, she walks her listeners through the skills to rewire their brains. While the entire episode is fantastic (especially the part with Dr. Jim Doty), I want to focus on her second skill, which is a habit she uses as a daily game to train her brain and redirect energy. Every day, she looks for hearts and says she finds them everywhere. It’s called the reticular activating system, and it decides daily which information gets into our conscious minds and what gets filtered out. She uses this game to ensure her filter is working every day.

Me? I don’t look for the hearts. They find me. They jump up and down until I notice them, and I love it when they pop into my view. I don’t think the hearts are about my reticular activating system. I think they’re about signs and synchronicities. These precious hearts are the universe’s way of showing me the love of all who walked before me, beside me, and those who will come after me. 

I recently joined a large online writers’ community, and today, we had a Zoom call to meet, talk, and connect. It was an hour-long question-and-answer session for aspiring writers of all levels. We finished the meat and potatoes portion, aka the Q & A session, and then we were all encouraged to go to individual breakout rooms. The leaders said many were available, and we should pick one that spoke to us. I paged through all the groups and clicked on a Writer’s Accountability group on a whim. I joined and listened to the two women who were already there. They talked about writing, accountability, and how many hours of writing they wanted to dedicate to their craft per week. As I started to question my presence there, one of them began to talk about things in the woo-woo world I didn’t fully understand (think things like dowsing, at least, I think that’s how you spell it (I had to look it up after I got off the call)). I almost dipped out because I was uncomfortable and overwhelmed by things I didn’t understand. But something made me stay, or rather, someone made me stay. As I was preparing to hit the “leave” button, the woman talking about her work with dowsing rods addressed me. “Gotcha!” I couldn’t leave without looking like a fool. So, I stayed in that breakout room, my face a mixture of confusion, fear, and awe. 

But this is where I found dessert.

There ended up being five of us in the “room.” All of us are from different parts of the world. O e whose native tongue is not English, one who lives on the other side of the world, two who lean heavily into the woo-woo world, one who is just beginning her writing journey, all who are looking to publish non-fiction, teaching memoir books, delving into signs, and synchronicities. And then there was me. I was the lone fiction author, the only one who had previously published a novel, and I was also the one who felt the least knowledgeable in the group. But we got to talking, sharing, coming up with plans, and leaning into each other to help build the others up. In this room, I found dessert, and I enjoyed it with abandon!

I shared a little about the fictionalized epistolary novel I’m writing, editing, reimagining, and my current working title. I don’t want to share too much here (yet), but the underlying theme is inclusion versus exclusion. The one whose native language is not English spoke first and, in a very paraphrased way, said, “I love this. I grew up feeling the same way.” She’s working on a teaching memoir with all the signs and synchronicities from the universe that lead her to write about her experiences, working toward healing and creating an inclusive environment. 

What a sign and an incredible synchronicity to land in this room of women where I can share my writing, find encouragement, get feedback, and give back to a community of women who all aspire to be authors and share a piece of precious stories with me. While I didn’t find a physical heart as I talked to them, I felt all of theirs beating in time with mine. And it’s another heart to add to my ever-growing collection.

I hope you all find your own version of hearts and share them with me!

xo,

me

Dear Darlings,

I ran into a friend I haven’t seen in more than a year. We got to talking, and catching up. I congratulated her on an accomplishment she had been striving to achieve. She said, “Thank you. I’m finally back to finding myself.”

And it made me stop and think…

For years, I immersed myself in raising my kids. I was there for them nearly every step of the way. I cheered them on as they pursued their passions and explored their interests. I took time for myself, to be sure (for god’s sake, I published a book while I was in the throes of raising them). I played at tennis. I tinkered with writing after publishing my novel. I dipped my toes in different things, but my main focus was them. I knew I only had a finite amount of time with them, so I leaned into my mothering role and did it with my entire being.

When Claire left for school in 2019, I was adrift. My role shifted. I felt the axis tilt beneath my feet as I tried to figure out who I was again. I played around at tennis, but wasn’t good enough to be considered a true threat on the courts. I became a Court Appointed Special Advocate for kids who found themselves before the court due to abuse and/or neglect. It was hard work that left me drained and stressed. I didn’t feel like I was making a difference in the lives of the kiddos I was advocating to help. I was struggling to figure out what my next step was.

Then covid happened, and the three college kiddos moved back in. We went from two to five in the house in the blink of an eye, and I was in heaven (most of the time). I was back in mother-mode…my default mode. The kids proceeded to move in and out, in again and out again. Still, I kept my mantel of motherhood firmly on my shoulders. Reveling, ever reveling. I was comfortable there. And then…they all moved out for the final time. I was adrift once more.

Back in the day when our house was full to the brim with our adult kiddos and the boys’ loves (now their wives)!

So, when my friend said she got back to herself and found her passion, it got me wondering: What have I done to find myself?

Sure, I still play at tennis, but I don’t feel I’m a tennis player in the true sense of the word. It’s exercise and social. But I don’t think it’s a definition of who I am. Stan and I take Ballroom dance lessons, and we have a great time, but that doesn’t mean I’m a dancer. I love it, and we have a ball (get it? Ball, because we take BALLroom dance lessons!) I just dance for the fun of it. But are they my passions? Perhaps. Maybe.

I dabble in writing but haven’t published a blog in months. My novel was published in 2013….12 years ago now. So, am I a writer? Can I still call myself an author? The answer I’m coming up with is ~ Yes (I queried the Magic 8 Ball and it said, “YES, definitley” I can still call myself those things. I think those are two things that do define me as a person. I came back and found myself once again as a writer ~ a storyteller…making stuff up as I go along my writer’s path.

A couple of weeks ago, I took a writer’s BootCamp. It was four days of intensive courses in all things having to do with moving a story from concept to complete…crafting, writing, editing, editing, editing, more editing, and on to publishing . I thought I’d get bored, but as the days progressed, I found myself more and more and more energized. Since the beginning of the year, I’ve been writing most mornings ~ just for me. It feels so good to pick up a pen and write the words that are stuck in my brain. I’ve been working on editing a project that has been mostly dormant for a couple of years. And because of this beautiful bootcamp, I now have a community of writers behind me, and a way to access answers to questions that plague most solo writers. I have a community of not only other writers, but also the CEO and editor of a publishing house (no, they’re not my publishers, but I enrolled in their ongoing training, so I can ask them questions during monthly meetings.) The BootCamp did its job. It re-ignited a passion that I let go dormant.

And maybe it’s not about defining myself through one passion. Maybe, finding myself after identifying as a mom for so long is all about dabbling in everything I love and enjoy. Maybe, finding joy in small things (that don’t necessarily define me) is a huge step to finding a way back to myself.

There are exciting times ahead! I feel them in my bones!

xo,

me

Dear Darlings,

My title isn’t quite as catchy of a title as Four Weddings and a Funeral, but it seemed to fit the bill.

Two weeks ago I wrote a blog about my cousin and my father-in-law passing away and bringing my aunt to live near us in Virginia. That got me to thinking about their lives and what memories they gifted to us. When my father passed away in 2014, I had the honor of sharing his memories through his obituary and delivering his eulogy. When my mother-in-law passed away in 2023, I was gifted with the task of sharing her memory through her obituary. With Renee’s passing, I got to share part of her family history through a eulogy. And my last gift, so far, was to write my father-in-law’s obituary.

I shared my dad’s eulogy and his obituary with you after his passing to keep his stories and his memory alive. And now, I’d like to share what I wrote to honor Renee.

Before I do, a little part of the backstory is necessary. Renee was a little sister. She had that phrase tattooed on her arm. The pride she had in being a little sister was there for everyone to see. Renee’s big sister, Tina, was tragically killed in a car accident when she was 18 and Renee was nine. The call came on Friday, September 13, 1991. On November 7, 2008, I got a call from my mother telling me that my uncle suddenly died while sitting at the kitchen table. The family of four was now just Renee and Aunt Louise.

The proud little sister. This is a photo of Tina and me before right around when Renee was born. I loved both of them like sisters.

The above pictures are snippets of lives, love, and family.

So much death and tragedy marked Renee’s family, but her spirit kept going and stayed positive until the very end of her life. She truly believed she would beat the cancer that blocked food from entering and exiting her stomach. She told us many times that she didn’t want us to think she was anything but a fighter. She fought until the very end. My hopes are that by sharing her story, I keep a little part of her with us here on earth and that you enjoy getting to know Renee.

There are notes included in this to remind me to pause and breathe. Some I said out loud, some I just used to remind me to pause and breathe.

My entire being vibrated as I delivered these words to a packed church. One of Renee’s best friends was the officiant, and she sat behind me as I spoke. Stan watched her as she put her hands directly behind me, in case the vibrations overtook me and I fell. I didn’t.

Here is what I wrote.

On behalf of Renee and all who loved her, I want to thank each of you for being here, physically or via Zoom. Your presence in her life was, and continues to be, remarkable. If I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you, I’m Jenni, Renee’s cousin. Our mamas are sisters, and in our younger days, I spent many holidays, vacations, and summers with Aunt Louise, Uncle Jerry, Tina, and, most importantly, Renee. (pause and breathe)

Family. It was a vital component of Renee’s life. The love of it. The loss of it. The draw of it. The acceptance of her dwindling family. But in the face of all that she lost, she thrived on family, whether it was her blood family or the family she formed with all of you. She strived to keep that connection. Whenever I called, she would answer the phone with a cheery, “Hey, Cuz!” She often told me I was her favorite cousin, but I’m sure she said that about everyone she knew. (Cue laughter. Take a beat.) Family. As a word, It’s a small part of why I’m here. As a concept, it’s the embodiment of why I’m here. She was my family.

I was fourteen when Renee was born. I was over the moon in love with her as soon as I found out Aunt Louise was expecting her. Our family was expanding, and I couldn’t wait to meet our new little bundle. Every fiber of my being hummed when I held her for the first time. She was perfect. I watched her grow from an adorable, cherubic baby into a beautiful little girl and finally blossom into a gorgeous woman with a heart of gold.

In the past few months, a song has repeatedly played in my head whenever Renee comes to mind. I won’t sing it for you… I’d be desecrating Karen Carpenter’s beautiful song and damaging your eardrums, but I will quote it. “On the day that you were born, the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true. They sprinkled gold dust in your hair and starlight in your eyes of blue – just like me, they long to be close to you.” In my mind, those lyrics sum up Renee. So many of us wanted to be close to the girl with gold stardust in her hair and eyes so blue. (Pause and breathe)

When Tina died in 1991, my parents and I flew out as soon as we could. I was 22, and Renee was nine. I vividly remember walking into the house and seeing Renee. She seemed much smaller than I remembered. She looked tiny and lost without her big sister. My heart ached for her. While I was there, Renee and I shared the pullout couch in the den. Her little body curled tightly next to mine. I wanted desperately to take away the devastation of losing Tina. Aunt Louise and Uncle Jerry grieved so fiercely, and Renee got lost in that grief. As a young woman, I saw it, but I was powerless to help. The only thing I could do was be there for her. And listen for her “Hey, Cuz,” on the phone. Family. It meant so much to Renee.  (Pause)

(The above photos were taken the first Christmas without Tina.)

As my husband, Stan, and I moved around the country and the world with our growing family, trips to Long Island became increasingly infrequent. Once we settled in Virginia, though, visits began again, with Renee and Aunt Louise traveling to see us. Renee viewed coming to see us as a vacation; I loved that about her. She turned our very ordinary suburb into a vacation.

On one particular trip, Renee decided to explore Carytown on her own. It’s a kitschy, eclectic part of our city…a lot like Renee. (Pause and breathe) She loved wandering in and out of the little shops lining the street. Renee came home absolutely delighted with her excursion. Her excitement was palpable as she pulled out a box. “I found this for you, and it’s perfect. It reminds me so much of you,” she said as she handed me the package. She was bouncing up and down excitedly as I unwrapped this beautiful orb. “It’s the tree of life. And it’s how I see you.” That was her last vacation to Richmond, and this glass orb has been proudly displayed since Renee gifted it to me. It’s gorgeous and something I cherish. (Breathe)

(This is similar to the one Renee gave me, but not the one. I did bring her gift with me to the memorial.)

The Tree of Life has so much meaning. As I was mulling which words to use to paint the perfect picture of Renee, I knew I wanted to use the symbolism surrounding her gift to me. This is a small sampling of what I found, but I think it helps round out her story and show how applicable The Tree of Life is to Renee’s life. (Pause)

This is from the trip when she gave me the tree of life.

There are multiple interpretations of the Tree of Life symbol; most popularly, it is connection and unity. but, the evolution and depth of this design is multi-layered. 

Connection: Circles represent connectivity and inclusion. The roots of the tree reach deep into the earth while the abundant leaves flesh out upward. The tree poses as the linchpin, connecting the earth and sky, symbolic of how we are all connected by the circle of life. Renee was quick to include and slow to exclude. She bonded with all of us in different ways but continually reached out to connect. Her roots were deep; she reached upward with every breath to connect us all. She was Connection. Strength:  If we explore nature for the perfect symbol of strength, we think of the unwavering quality of a tree. Trees are deeply rooted pillars of strength, often surviving storms and natural disasters. It takes profound strength to uproot a tree, so this symbol represents strength and stability. Renee’s strength and tenacity were abundantly clear as she battled the demon called cancer that ravaged her body but never her spirit. She embodied Strength.  Tranquility : Nature is a tranquil haven. Ever pack a picnic and enjoy it under the shade of a large tree? Trees provide shelter, peace, and tranquility and evoke calm and serenity. In these past months, I was gifted precious time with Renee, during which I heard story after story of her sereneness and healing nature. She exuded tranquility.  Growth:  Trees grow slowly over the course of hundreds of years. Trees are in a continuous cycle of growth from a tiny seed to a sapling to becoming fully mature. Humans never stop growing. They constantly absorb new information and knowledge. Every person who crossed Renee’s path learned something from her. She spread knowledge and wisdom. She taught Growth.  Rebirth: With each new season, the trees shift and change. In spring, the bud and flower. In the summer, they flourish with leaves. In autumn, they teem with vibrancy and color. In winter, they are leafless and dormant. Still, trees are resilient and full of life. They grow and adapt each season, bringing a new opportunity to change. As humans, we endure the seasons, just like trees. To turn a new leaf is to embrace change. Renee’s rebirth is complete. She was called home. It was too soon, but she is home. She is still with us and always will be—just in a different form. She is reborn. Family: Trees represent a connection, so it’s no surprise that we use a family tree to connect our heritage and ancestry. Each new branch represents a new life. The circle represents a continuation of ancestry, a cycle of birth and life.  With her small present (pause and show orb), Renee gifted me so much about who she is and what was important to her. She gifted me the knowledge and the surety that family, whether by birth or the one she built with you, will be the core of how she will live on in our hearts, minds, and memories. She personified family and will live on in each of us and  our  families. 

God and the heavens above are singing joyfully as they welcome Renee home while we all grieve her loss. It’s part of the circle of life. But in our grief, we must remember to celebrate Renee, her everlasting spirit, and her love for us as her family. 

This was how I eulogized Renee.

Photo caption – The angel wings, the cupping marks, and the acupuncturist…

Renee was an acupuncturist and her business name was AcuAngel. For those she treated, she was their angel. The tattooed wings were for Tina. But now they’re hers. She earned them.

xo,

me

Dear Darlings,

I’ve been silent the past months. The journey has been challenging. The months have been hard. We’ve endured our fair share of hard knocks, but we’ve been buoyed by some joyous moments.

In these stories, there is heartache, heartbreak, and some hard knocks. Life isn’t fair. Life is cruel. Life is complicated. But when you join life with love you can endure what life hands you.

Sometimes.

There are other times when you just need to crawl into a hole and hunker down to endure the seeming never-ending loop of sadness.

And that’s what I did. I hunkered down. I avoided. I did what I needed to weather the storms that battered many aspects of my life.

Part of this story I don’t feel I have a right to share because I wasn’t there from the beginning. I came in late. I was invited in – so in a way perhaps that gives me license to share.

In December of 2022, my beautiful cousin, Renee, was diagnosed with gastric cancer. I read all about it on Facebook. I didn’t deal intimately with her illness. I didn’t think there was a need for me to get involved. All signs pointed to her surviving. She was young, months shy of 41 when she got the news. The odds were that she would beat it. I watched and waited for Facebook updates. I chimed in with well-wishes and good intentions. But I didn’t feel the need to be there. Renee had so many in her corner. All of her best friends rallied around her. They did fundraisers with local bands, sold duck sock, made keychains, set up a go-fund-me, and drove her to appointments. They took care of her. My aunt was there and I thought she was part of helping with Renee’s care. I didn’t have the whole picture.

Until I did.

In September of 2023, my 82-year-old aunt, Louise, was hospitalized because of congestive heart failure. I called Renee to check-in. I asked if she wanted me to come. It was just the two of them. My uncle passed away suddenly in 2008. My other cousin was killed in a tragic accident in 1991 when she was 18. Renee and Louise. They were all they had left. Renee was scared and in tears. These occurrences rarely become public with the women on my mom’s side of the family. She said, “No, I’m fine.” I told her to call if she changed her mind. Two minutes later, my phone rang. “Actually, I do want you to come.” I booked my flight then and there and flew out the next day.

What I found when I got there shocked me to the core. Aunt Louise. The woman who taught me so much in life. So many of my favorite childhood memories come from being around her. Renee. The cousin I held as new baby and swooned over, the little beauty and the much anticipated child. They were both in a state I wasn’t expecting. I guess I wanted to believe what I held true in my head. That they were okay and didn’t need us. That truth I held in my head was farther away than I ever imagined. They were both sick. Renee’s cancer was visible. Her slim frame was made slimmer from the chemo treatments, the nausea, the vomitting, and the lack of appetite. With aunt Louise, it wasn’t just her heart. Her sharp mind, and sharper wit were slipping.

The doctors bandied the word dementia around when it came to aunt Louise. It was there, in her chart, for all to read. Renee didn’t want to believe it. She said it was just the stress of her diagnosis making her mom forgetful and anxious. As my travels to a from their house became more frequent, I saw what Renee didn’t want to believe. Aunt Louise has dementia.

Renee never married nor had children, which can be construed as either a good or a bad thing in this situation. She had her friends to help her, but no husband or children there. No husband to hold her hand and help hold her hair back when she was violently ill from her treatments. No children to buoy her spirits with giggles and snuggles. But there was also no husband there to mourn her after she left. No children of her own trying to hold on to the memory of her laugh, her light, and her smile when cancer finally ravaged her body and took her from this world. March 27th was that day.

In the midst of my trips to and from New York to help, my father-in-law left us. December 18th was that day. Four days before Claire’s birthday, one week before Christmas, and eight days before Jo’s birthday. I went into a deep hole, wondering if I’d ever find a way to climb out. Guilt flooded my entire being. I didn’t go see him in between my trips north. I was so looking forward to Claire’s birthday, Christmas eve, Christmas day, and Jo’s birthday with him. I was assured in the knowledge that I’d see him all of those days. But those precious moments with him weren’t to be. And I felt like a failure. I didn’t go see him. Everyone reassured me. “He knew how busy you were.” “He knew you loved him.” “He understood how important it was for you to be in New York.” But he left, and I didn’t see him before.

I stayed in the hole a long time. Sometimes I think I’m still there. Sometimes I feel crushed by the weight of these past months.

We said goodbye to Renee one month to the day after she left us. It was a beautiful memorial. It was a true testament to her spirit, showing how big of an impact she had on all who were blessed enough to know her.

We said goodbye to my father-in-law, Stan Sr., six months after he left us. We gathered with all of the brothers, their wives and families and said a fond farewell to the man who devoted his life to being the best role model for his family. We buried both of my in-laws that weekend. Stan and Mary Jean are side by side for all eternity. I can imagine Mary Jean standing patiently at the gates of heaven to welcome Stan back to her side. Her hand reached out to once again have his placed firmly in her grasp.

And somewhere in all of this, we spirited aunt Louise out of her house in New York. We brought her south to live near us in Virginia. She talks about how she doesn’t want to remember what brought her here. But her dementia and anxiety have slowed. Her sharp wit is still there. I hear it occasionally and it makes all of us smile. And while the circumstances that brought her here aren’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy, I’m forever grateful to have her close to us.

The transitions and farewells were, and continue to be, some of the hardest of my life.

There is sunshine in all of this, to be sure. In November of 2023 we welcomed our first grand baby into our world. Yes, I’m a grandmother now, and he’s a joy to behold! He is pure, unadulterated love. Stan Sr. got to meet him before he left ~ his first great grandchild. My father-in-law was a big, big man. The pictures of him holding his tiny great grandson are beyond priceless. And now, I get to see my aunt interact with him, and it’s precious. She watches him and smiles when he smiles. The joy in her eyes when she sees him makes my heart ache for her a little less. Sunshine.

Then there is the love. It’s there. So much of it. Ripe for the picking. It’s my ladder out of the hole I let myself sink into.

Love and sunshine. That’s what combats death and dying. Leaning into the love and basking in the sunshine.

xo,

me

Dear Darlings,

Recently, I published a blog called I Did a Bad Thing. In it I chronicled some of my journey into my ADHD (mostly inattentive) diagnosis, and the validation I felt when I got the results. It helped me see that I wasn’t a bad person, or lazy. It helped to understand that I have a neuro-divergent brain. Weeks have now gone by since I was diagnosed. So, now it’s time for the rest of the story.

As soon as I got the paperwork, I called my doctor’s office to schedule an appointment. She was booked through December, I was told. But I could be added to a list for any possible cancellations. Oh, yes please! My time on a waitlist to get an appointment seemed to last forever, but in reality it was only a matter of a few weeks before there was an opening. “Would Wednesday at 2:30 work?” I’ll make it work, I assured the receptionist.

I was looking forward to this more than I cared to admit. I wanted, and needed, her advice and guidance. Was this all there was for me? Should I just accept what I have and keep plugging along? I was curious and open to any guidance she had for me.

She came in the room holding the paperwork from my testing.

“I see you have quite a diagnosis here.”

“Yes. Yep. Uh-huh. I sure do.” Nerves got the best of me, and so I bumbled a little. Was she thinking I was just faking it, I wondered? Her next question allayed my nerves.

“What made you look into testing?” She wanted to know.

I told her the same story I told you all in my blog. I did okay while the kids were at home and had to focus on doing things in order to keep them going. They depended on me. And in between them depending on me, I could get things done for myself. I told her that I’ve had this blog since the kids were little, and I used to write all of the time. I told her that I published a book when the kids were still here.

“So, now you’ve lost your focus?” She probed.

“That pretty much sums it up.”

I gushed on and told her that I’m doing all of the things to help me cope. Writing lists. Reading motivational books. Keeping notes. Putting things in my calendar. Drinking the mushroom coffee that’s all over social media, touting magical benefits to help people like me stay focused.

She laughed. “Is any of that helping?”

“To a degree, but…”

“So, would you like to try some meds?”

“That’s why I’m here to get your advice. Do you think they can really help me?”

“If none of those other ways are helping you feel more focused then meds can help.”

She went over a list of different brands and dosages, and the difference between stimulants and non-stimulants. A lot of the information I already knew from going through this with the kids when they were younger. But now I had to apply this knowledge to myself. She and I decided on where we were going to start. And then she went over the fine print. Class C scheduled drugs have rules. Lots of them. She said if I run out on a Friday and need a refill only the prescribing physician can refill the prescription.

“If I run out that’s on me,” I said. “And it’s not like I have a job where people’s lives depend on me. I’m not a doctor like you. So I’ll be okay.”

And Darlings, this is where she got me.

“Yes, but you’re a writer. You do something I couldn’t do. You put words together and make things happen with them. You wrote a book.”

She heard me. She listened. She validated me.

I left her office on wings. Flying in a way I haven’t before. Validation.

My prescription was ready. I picked it up and got a little nervous. Is this really what I wanted? To try this? I’ll see how I feel in the morning, I thought to myself.

Thursday morning dawned. I carefully crept out of bed so I didn’t wake Stan. It was 6:30. I drank my large glass of water. I drank my liquid vitamins. I fixed my mushroom coffee. I got my meds out. I looked at them. Before I could think too long, I took one…just downed it with my coffee. I drank my second cup of coffee…and maybe a third. Okay, so I was more nervous than I thought.

And then it happened.

My brain went quiet. My body was humming from too much caffeine and the meds, but my brain was silent. The monkeys in my head stopped screeching, and the squirrels stopped spinning in circles. And then I noticed something else. Something about myself I never realized before. My brain didn’t hurt. The physical pain in my brain was absent. I just thought that was a normal thing…my brain hurting. I didn’t know a brain isn’t supposed to be in pain. Is this what “normal” feels like?

Validation.

I went to my tennis lesson. My coach said he’d never seen me hit like that. Focused. Seeing the ball. Hitting consistently. No pain in my brain to distract me. Everything firing correctly for the first time in my life.

I called Claire. I called Lucas. I called Zach. I was so ridiculously happy.

I held off telling Stan. I wanted to make sure I had his undivided attention when I told him. We were leaving the following day to go to Charleston, and I knew I’d have the time I needed to explain what I decided to do for myself.

Stan and I went to our ballroom dance class that Thursday night. My focus was waning, but I still felt so good.

We loaded up the car and hit the road early. I was still hesitant to tell him. Would he judge me for not being able to just bull through this? Would he think that this was just a weakness, and I needed to be tougher? More emotionally that I intended, I told him about my doctor’s visit, and what she and I decided. I told him I took the meds she prescribed.

“Wait. You were medicated yesterday?”

“Yes, I was.”

He took a beat. “That makes so much sense! You were so focused last night at dance, and determined to get the steps right. I’ve never seen you like that before. I was wondering…”

Tears tipped over and slid down my cheeks. I felt seen, heard and noticed. This is what pure, unadulterated validation feels like.

xo,

me

Dear Darlings,

But I’m not a bad person. At least, not according to the latest Mel Robbins podcast I listened to on my morning walk. It’s about the secrets we keep and why we keep them. What I took away was that we keep secrets due to shame. Calling yourself a bad, horrible, awful person because of a mistake you made. We all make them. Mistakes. It’s a part of being human.

So, what was this bad thing I did? I did poorly in school. I was bad at it. Not horrible. I didn’t flunk out, but I struggled to focus, concentrate, get my assignments done. I would retreat to my room and read a novel until three in the morning, but that geometry homework that I had been assigned sat untouched. I flew under the radar. Not excelling, but not failing either. Not living up to my potential as my teachers and parents would often tell me.

And for years, it’s plagued me. Why couldn’t I have been better? More motivated? And what about now? Why was this coming back to haunt me now? Why was I struggling so hard with tasks and getting things done? I did so well when the kids were in school. But when they left, pfft. I had nothing. I bought book after book after book to help motivate me.

They sat on my bookshelf. Unread. Not motivating me. Just staring at me judgmentally.

It got me thinking about why I didn’t do well in school. I started looking at my kids and how I coped with life while I was raising them. I wondered if I could have undiagnosed ADHD. I talked to my therapist, who recommended testing. I set up my appointment. I took all the tests. And then I got the results. I’m in the 95% percentile of all women my age, who have been tested. Only five percent of women in my age bracket have ADHD worse than I do. The kids said, “Good job, Mom! You aced your test with that 95%!”

Questions answered. I know I didn’t do a bad thing, nor am I a bad person. My lack of motivation was driven by neuro-divergent pathways  my brain. My therapist asked me how I could best help the little girl in me who didn’t get the diagnosis when she was still in school. He told me to treat her like I would have (and tried) to treat my own. Buy a couple of books and learn how to best help her, he suggested. Set up a schedule for her to help her realize what she wants to do and who she wants to be moving forward out of the childrearing years and into the years for her. So, I did.

These two books were recommended by the therapist who did my testing. And they’ve been game-changers. Delivered from Distraction and The ADHD Effect on Marriage.

I’m a work in progress, but I’m at least progressing and not stuck wondering why I couldn’t motivate myself to read motivational books, or do the thing I love to do. Write. I now have coping tools and the knowledge that I’m not a colossal failure at schooling and academia. I’m moving forward with new books, a new chapter, and exciting new things in my writing world. Progress all around!

Stay tuned, and thanks for staying by my side!

xo,

me

Dear Darlings,

Last week I had the most incredible opportunity. Gary Sinise (he played Lt. Dan in Forest Gump) runs the Soaring Valor Foundation, and every year he takes a group of World War II vets to experience the WWII museum in New Orleans. This year they flew out of our sweet, little airport in Richmond. Our dignified transfer team was offered an extraordinary opportunity to help escort these heroes through the airport to their plane. I was as excited as a kid a Christmas as the weeks turned into days leading up to this event. When the day finally arrived I was giddy with excitement at the thought of being able to walk among this heroic generation.

The day far exceeded any expectations I had. I got to walk with heroes. I got to talk to these heroic men (and yes, there were many heroic women who were a huge part of WWII, but they weren’t represented among the Vets we sent off).

To begin the day, an Honor Guard from a local police department arrived and I was tasked with making sure they were photographed as they led the procession of Vets and their guardians.

Then I heard the roar of the motorcycles who were escorting the two buses full of history.

Following the police escort were a group of Vietnam Vets who were there to see their predecessors off. I was struck hard by the fact that these men, who were vilified upon their return from their war, were standing vigil and ensuring the WWII vets were taken care of as they were shuttled off on their travels.

And then came the excitement of watching these heroes coming off of their buses. I handed out American flags and took photos, taking in every minute of this brush with history. The first man I met fought in the Battle of the Bulge. The. Battle. Of. The. Bulge! Just let that sink in…

Everyone was shuttled in to the airport and gathered to process down to their gate.

It was at the gate that I actually got to look around and absorb the men in front of me. I met a man who was on Admiral Nimitz‘s staff. He was 98 years-old and this trip was his final wish. He said his only other wish in the world was to have an audience with the Pope, which he did and got to kiss his ring. He said, this trip topped kissing the Pope’s ring. He went on to say that he’s ready to go after this trip.

I watched a Marine sing the Marine Hymn as he walked the length of the terminal and got a picture with him kissing my head. He was aptly nicknamed Romeo.

But my absolute favorite part of the day was meeting a Tuskegee Airman named Thomas Newton and his son, Steve Carmack. Steve told me how hard it was to get information from his dad about his time in the war, and it wasn’t until Steve, himself served in the Air Force that his dad brought out a photo of him pictured among the 99th Fighter Squadron. The work he and all of those who served in the 99th did was more than fight for the freedom of so many who were being oppressed, but they also fought for to show the United States that they were capable to serve in the same capacity as their white counterparts. They went on to tell me about Eleanor Roosevelt’s support of the Tuskegee Airmen and how she was instrumental in helping get Black pilots in the air. I asked for a picture with Mr. Newton, who was in a wheelchair, and he cheerfully obliged. As I moved to stand behind him, he said, “No, I want to stand next to you.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt so humbled to be around another human being.

We sent them off through a hero’s water canon arch over their plane, and we welcomed them home the same way.

Upon their return I was able to talk to a few more of these men that we’re losing rapidly. I asked one man what he thought of his trip to New Orleans. He told me it was an amazing trip, but he got very emotional as he went through the museum. He told me through tears that he was in Okinawa for 21 months and that part of the museum really brought back memories. I didn’t press him for details. I just hugged him and thanked him for his service.

And then I got to walk behind them, capturing the cheers of a grateful nation.

I keep these stories for the love of my children, but what they fought for was for the love of all of our children. Never forget.

xo,

me

Dear Darlings,

Most of you I spend my Tuesdays at the USO. It’s a place I love to be. I don’t have to be there. I get to be there. I thoroughly enjoy the kids. For a few hours, I get to be a small part of their lives. I listen to their stories. I hear about their families and why they joined the military. I tell them I’m so proud of them as I send them on their way, and I thank them for their service.

Two years ago I was asked to be part of the dignified transfer team. As heartbreaking as it is, it’s an extreme honor to be a part of this team. We assist and escort family and friends of fallen service members who are being flown home. It’s not always the ultimate sacrifice of a life being lost in a time of war. Sometimes it’s the result of an accident, but the military always honors their fallen. They pay their respects. They do it well. And we do what we can to provide another layer of assistance.

In my time being part of this team, I have served in this capacity three times. I was at the window of the airport twice, escorting, comforting, and protecting the families as they see their loved ones being carried to a waiting hearse.

I say protecting because people at the airport can be nosy and intrusive, especially when they see American flags flying, an honor guard, and police cars and fire trucks with flashing lights. I’ve been asked what celebrity is flying in. I’ve been asked, “Is it President Biden? I hear he’s making a surprise visit today.”

Most of the time when people see our USO logo they know. And they respect the family. The terminal becomes silent as the plane nears the jet bridge through a water arch being sprayed as a sign of respect from the fire department. People crowd around the nearby windows as our team surrounds the mourning family from those curious onlookers who remain unaware of the somberness of the occasion. Yesterday, I had a woman approach me to say she was sorry for my loss. And she hugged me. She’s a veteran, she said. She knew. She understood.

As the family was escorted to another part of the airport to be reunited with their service member, I turned and embraced the woman who wanted to comfort me. I thanked her. Her service to our nation is priceless.

Below are pictures and a video taken by an onlooker and shared with me. It’s a heart-wrenching scene. The tissues we carry in our backpack are utilized by everyone who understands what is happening. A Dignified Transfer.

xo,

me