"Of All the Gin Joints in All the Town"

Almost immediately after my Dad's death several family members and friends went to the location on the Bear Creek Bike Trail where he was found and left flowers. It was a beautiful tribute and since then there have been many people who have ventured down to pay their respect, leave flowers, and nail live strong bracelets to the tree.  The day after his death I snapped at my Aunt Patti and walked away from her while she was talking about the flowers she had taken that morning saying "I can't hear about this." I have never gone and I am not sure when I will be ready to face the place where he died.

Places have memories that tug at your heart for good or bad. The other evening I was driving by the Dairy Queen Dad would take us to for good report cards and I vividly heard my siblings and I in my head arguing about who saw the DQ sign first, it was a competition for us! I smiled, enjoyed the memory, and drove on feeling a little bit happier than I was before. There are places in Colorado that make me feel closer to my Dad and help heal the hole a bit. I have driven to Clement Park, Coors Field, and taken Morrison Road to Evergreen because those places make me happy. They are where I want to remember Dad because they represent the good and happy times we had as a family. 

At the same time, I go to serious lengths to avoid the places associated with his death. I avoid driving by the place he died and if  have to get on Hampton I make sure I stare straight ahead but I feel my blood pressure rise and I always have some anxiety driving past. I try my best to avoid going by the mortuary because that was the last place I saw my Dad at the private family viewing. I remember sitting under a tree at the Mortuary sobbing, picking out his cremation box, and then driving with my family to pick up his remains and the clothing (the riding jersey I had bought him in South Africa) he was wearing when he died.

I told myself when I ran from his reception at the University of Denver's Strum College of Law that I would  never enter that building again. I don't want to remember what it felt like that day to speak at my Dad's funeral and to see the desolation that filled the eyes of over 700 attendees. I can't find the words to describe how horrific that day was and how claustrophobic and lost I felt. It was the second most difficult day of my life and that place will always represent all we lost in a heartbeat. 

I found out this afternoon that we will host our first graduation in the atrium on May 31st-- almost  9 months to the day after Dad's service. This is a day I have been looking forward to for months. I saw it as the end of an immensely challenging and heartbreaking corps year that, despite all obstacles, was still tinged with success and a way to celebrate the wonderful corps members I have had the privilege to manage. It was a night to say, "you did it! you made it through the year! now, you can take a moment and catch your breath!" In City Year graduation is that magical reset button you rarely get in real life and it is a time of joyous relief and pride that I needed desperately. 

I will dig deep and I will find the courage to enter the atrium, stand on the stage, and congratulate the work of 50 incredible people. I will smile when we take pictures and I will fake it 'til I make it. But, right now-tonight- I feel like the world has played a cruel joke on me and that I have finally be given all I can handle. 

The Missed Fall

It is starting to feel normal to live with this ache in my heart and that terrifies me! For the first several months after Dad died the pain was so acute that it was difficult to function or think about anything other than how much I missed him. Grief, in that form, is exhausting and all consuming! My mind, body, and soul were frantically trying to make sense of his unexpected death and I felt like I was in survivor mode—get up, go to work, eat, take care of family, try to sleep, repeat.

I remember driving home from work one day in November and noticing, for the first time, that fall was almost over. How had I missed my favorite season? Had that much time really passed? I started crying and had to pull over because I realized Dad had missed an entire season and that I had missed it too. Nothing magically changed that day but I understood that life was going to continue and that, eventually, I would need to dive right back into my life to honor Dad fully!

The holidays were exceptionally hard for me and I struggled to find any reason, other than tradition, to celebrate. I would find myself going back into survivor mode to find the strength and energy to get through an event or gathering, it was a safe place. One of the hardest things for me was my inability to sleep and the crazy dreams that came whenever I actually slept; my dreams were dark and twisted for months! I was exhausted, scared, and emotionally spent when the holidays were over.

Time has continued to pass and every day it seems that I move farther away from the acute pain and isolation that consumed me. I have come to realize that there is comfort and safety in that form of grief—you protect yourself from visualizing a life without your loved one. You are isolated from the world and your pain becomes proof that he lived and was loved. Pain becomes part of your identity and the fabric of your life; you learn to live with sadness. I now understand why some people have such a hard time embracing life after the death of a loved one and appear content to live half a life. The true test comes in finding the strength to not only grieve but to give yourself permission to feel happiness again. For me, I can’t imagine missing another fall.

I’ve discovered that the real risk and pain comes from moving forward and finding your footing again. There are days that seem almost normal and then I become terrified that I am accepting a world without Dad. The question, “how can I move forward without Dad?” has been a constant thought in my head. It seems so much easier to remain stagnant in my grief than to put in the work to rebuild my security and life—every assumption and plan I had for my future has changed in the last 8 months. I have felt and witnessed the absolute agony his loss has created in our friends and family. I have learned first-hand how cruel and unstable the world can become. Moving forward without him takes courage, strength, and a huge leap of faith.

Working through the emotions of his loss is a process that will take me years. It is something that no one is prepared to do and there is no magic cure to avoid the messy emotions. The question in my head needs to change from “how can I move forward without him?” to, “would Dad be happy with how I am living my life and who I have become?”

People have told me that life will eventually fill-up the hole in my heart; especially when I get married and have children. They say there will come a day where I can remember my Dad and not feel pain but, instead, love and nostalgia for a great man. I want that! I want love to fill up this ache in my heart and to live my life in the way Dad taught me—with integrity, compassion, laughter, and love. The best way for me to honor Dad is through a life well lived! It is time to trust the world again and look forward to the beauty of spring! There will always be bad moments, days, weeks, and but I have to find the courage to face life head on even if I risk this pain again because I will never (as my Dad and T.Roosevelt would say) "live with those tired and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

Opening Day 2012

The Colorado Rockies hosted Opening Day 2012 today at Coors Field. It is only the second time since 1993 that my Dad did not attend. The first, several years ago, he was out of town for an important deposition he couldn't cancel--though I am sure he tried. And today, while I am sure he was present in spirit, marks another occasion where the world moves on without him.

I spoke about the importance of baseball in my family at his service. So many of my childhood memories revolve around attending a game or watching it on TV with my Dad. The best days were when we went to the game together, with our snacks from 7-11, and stayed for the whole 9 innings. Dad was the only person who would willingly sit through 9+ innings of baseball with me without complaint.

On July 4th, 2010 we were given tickets to a table at the restaurant in the outfield. It was a gorgeous day at Coors Field and the 4 of us (Dad, Mom, and Jenn) enjoyed great food, great beverages, and wonderful laughs! It was special! It also became the longest game in Rockies history and the best part of the restaurant is that they continue to serve alcohol long past the 8th evening. After the game we went to a steak house, had some appetizers and enjoyed each other before heading home and sitting outside watching the neighborhood. That was the last Rockies game I ever attended with my Dad and it was perfect.

Dad was a true fan and he adored his Rockies. I will always be a Rockies fan and I will always make trips to Coors Field to be close to my Dad. I wish I could have been at Coors Field today to represent my Dad but, I figure, 17 out of 18 Opening Day's is a pretty solid average.

Garage Parking

There are things in life that you are afforded by age-- the right to be blunt, to wear silly clothes, a glass of wine, control of the remote, and the coveted garage parking space. In high school I would grudgingly go outside early in the winter to start my car and scrap off any ice or snow that had accumulated overnight. I would spend most of the time glaring at my Dad through the front window thinking, "a really good Dad would do this for me." I once told him that while he sat on the couch drinking coffee and he just gave me a look that said, "are you crazy?"

My Dad earned the right to park in the garage! Growing up, I never realized why we lived in my Grandparents basement for several years. I never realized that in order to go to law school my Dad worked full-time and attended night school at the University of Denver. He completed a 4 year degree in 3 because of his determination, grit, and desire to work.

He sat on non-profit boards, coached our basketball teams, found time to ride his bike, kicked ass at his job, and never uttered a word about finding the correct work-life balance; he just found it! He told me this past summer that my generation was too concerned with work-life balance and that I should work until the job is done and not worry about hours. He took pride in his job and he took pride in his family. When Dad came home from a long day he pulled into his spot, placed his keys and wallet in the same place, and sat down in his chair to watch whatever game was on. He had earned the right to relax.

Since his death in August I have been the one parking in his space and getting control of the remote. I would argue for the right to for both privileges with my Dad when I was younger and he told me it was a gift of age and I'd have to earn it! Parking in the garage is actually painful for me some evenings. It is a visual and permanent reminder that Dad will never come home again. Somehow, I have become the working adult in my house and that terrifies me.

There are certain rites of passages that you look forward to for years and some that come way too soon. This summer I was finally able to buy a car by myself and it was a huge accomplishment. It was the first of many 'real life decisions' I had mapped out in my head and the next was going to be a 1 bedroom apartment with parking.

I never earned the right to park in the garage. It is one of the many things and responsibilities passed down to me through tragedy. Some things aren't supposed to be yours and, when they are, it brings a terrible weight to your soul. I would gladly scrap off my car each morning if it meant Dad's truck was still parked in the garage.

I can only be me

Please do not tell me what I need or what to do--I will not respond well.

Please do not expect me to act like you-- I can only be me.

Please see me for who I am--not who you want me to be.

I spent 6 years away from home figuring out who I am as a person and growing into the woman I am today. I discovered I am a little selfish, a little controlling, and fiercely protective of others and myself. I root for the underdog, cry at human interest stories, and love romance novels. I am adaptable to any situation and I love being around people completely different from myself. I like sports and muesums. I like wine, tequila, and beer. I love to cook and take care of others.

I enjoy hard work. I don't make excuses for myself or others. I am very self-contained and afraid of being hurt. I don't want to be the center of attention at a party but I do want to lead. I love being around people but I get energy from being by myself. I don't make myself vulnerable to others and I don't trust easily. I like organization, structure, and strategy. I like reading while drinking a cup of coffee and lazing around. I like going to bed early and waking up early.

I am confident in who I am and I can't be anyone else. I am not as open and carefree as others; I am serious and grounded. I love fiercely! I don't respect others because they have authority, I respect those who earn it. I value integrity, strength of character, and stability. I find joy in the little moments and happiness in belonging and laughter.

I need to grieve in a way that sits well with my soul--not yours. I can't and I won't pretend to be anything other than who I am. I need you to allow me to be who I am and, hopefully, you'll begin to understand who I've become.

"I knew you'd come home"- Grandma Sheliah

"Happy Birthday, Grandma!"

"Happy Birthday, Kristin! I love you more than the whole universe!"

For the past 2 years my Birthday has been bittersweet because I haven't been able to share it with my Grandma Sheliah. There has been no rush to the phone to call each other to win the contest of who wishes the other 'Happy Birthday' first. The day has lost that special connection that made it so sweet. I have never been one (as I've gotten older) to celebrate my birthday with elaborate gatherings or parties. Instead, I was perfectly content to call my Grandma and share in that special bond we had with each other.

Three years ago she entered hospice on our birthday. My Mom refused to tell us because Jenn and Brian had driven to Beloit to celebrate with me and she wanted me to have one more happy day with Grandma. The next day when she told us we loaded the car around 4:30pm and started the long 15 hour drive home. We didn't tell Mom we were going to drive through the night because she would have worried and we didn't tell Dad because he was in trial and he would have worried even more. But he knew his kids well enough to know what we were doing and asked to enjoy our evening and to be sure we were safe.

When we pulled into our driveway around 7am my Mom scolded us for driving all night and then thanked us for getting there so quickly. When I walked into my Grandparents house and into the room Grandma was in she looked at me and said, "I knew you'd come home". Two days later, on April 5th 2009, my Grandma finally lost her fight to cancer surrounded by her entire family and best friends. She lived for her family and it was her strength and love that shaped who we are as a unit. She was, and alway will be, one of the most important people in my life. And I will never forget the look of relief on her face when she told me she knew I'd come home.

I've often wondered if it was Grandma Sheliah guiding me back home this summer. I still can't explain why I had the sudden and intense urge to transfer back to Denver--all I knew was it was incredibly important to go home. I believe she is my guardian angel and when things get really hard I feel her love surrounding me.

Tomorrow is going to be incredibly hard without 2 of my favorite people, it seems just like any other day. Sharing a birthday with my Grandma is beyond special and every year on April 1st I will think of her and cry a little. But, more than that, I will remember that Grandma was synonymous with home and her love will forever guide me back to my foundation. She always told me "I love you more than than the whole universe", and I know her love transcends worlds and will always be with me.

Dear Dad,

Dear Dad,

I miss you! I miss you so much that there are times I can't even breathe, times were I stop moving and I feel like the world is caving in. There are moments were I pick up the phone to tell you something random and your phone rings once, twice, and then I remember--you won't answer. That is when I feel broken.

I am so angry that you are gone! I am so angry that you won't answer my phone calls. I am so angry that I have to live the rest of my life with out you. I am so angry that I can't tell you about my meeting yesterday and have you tell me you are proud. I am so angry we wont celebrate with a blizzard the next time I succeed. I am so angry when I see a picture of you and I know you aren't here. I am so angry that I had to watch your wedding ring fall to floor. I am so angry you died too young.

I am so confused about life! There is so much I don't know, so many things I need to talk to you about. What do I do about my taxes? How do I ask for a raise? What do I do when I feel like isolated and alone? Who is going to make fun of me about altitude? How could you leave? How could you do this to Mom? To Brian? To Jenn? To Me? How could you be taken away so soon? How am I suppose to celebrate life when you're missing?

I am scared! I am scared about how we will live without you. I am scared because life has changed so quickly and I don't like change. I am scared I will forget you. I am scared to grieve you because it is so overwhelming. I am scared when Mom doesn't answer her phone. I am scared about who we will become without you and what will change. I am scared that I am changing so much that my friends don't know me anymore; I am scared that I am too much work and they will leave. I am scared that I'll screw up and I won't have you to offer me advice, refuge, and a willing ear. I am scared, for the first time in my life, to face the future.

So much has changed in the past year and I haven't been able to adjust to any of it. I miss my friends. I miss laughing at life and finding true enjoyment. I miss calling you in the middle of my day just because. I miss evenings spent in our living room just talking as a family. I miss you feeling whole!

You're the one who gave me refuge who made me feel safe-- How am I suppose to feel safe now? What happens next? Why did this happen? Why aren't you here to fix this?

I guess I will just have to be broken for a while and, eventually, you'll help me find balance. Until then just know that I miss you and I love you. And, more than anything, I wish you were here.

Love Always,

Your Annie Bannie

Learning About Finance

The past 7 months I have felt very out of control of my life and my emotions. I have struggled to find any type of balance because, to me, the world lost its balance on August 30th. Each day presents a new loss as we figure out how to function without Dad. Things that used to be an inconvenience (like new tires or rebuilding part of fence that blew down) are now incredibly scary. The security of our world has disappeared both emotionally and fiscally. And, for the first time in my life, I am intensely aware of money.

I was spoiled and sheltered from money concerns growing up. I didn't think twice about attending a super expensive liberal arts college because Dad always said he'd pay for undergrad. I knew I could work for a non-profit because if I ever came up short Dad would help me out. I didn't think twice about us going out to dinner, taking a vacation in the mountains, or spoiling each other on holidays. I never expected a free ride in life and I have always worked hard to be independent but I knew there was a safety net if I ever started to fall.

For the past 7 months fear about our financial security has left me paralyzed and afraid. I have no idea how to do the work I love and find ways to create a safety net for myself and my family. I am ignorant of how to build wealth and how to be fiscally smart. Which debt is most important to pay off? How do I invest money? How do I save enough for a down payment on a house? How do I protect the people I love financially? Who do I trust?

Dad's death has been a financial wake-up call for me. It has been incredibly stressful to feel paralyzed, scared, and ignorant of how to manage my personal finances well and with purpose. I realized last week that the person I trust the most is myself. It is time to become knowledgeable about finances and to stop burying my head in the sand. I need to take control!

So many young women that I know (myself included) admit to being ignorant about finances. Personal finances are taboo to talk about and it doesn't make sense to me anymore. Dad's death was a wake-up call to me that I need to empower myself to act with discipline and purpose; I need to be in control of my future and I need the knowledge to make smart financial decisions.

Finding balance is going to take a lot of time and work but there are simple steps I can take; managing my money correctly, being mindful of my grief, and finding ways to take better care of me and my family. Eventually, our world will balance out but until then I am going to do all that I can to reestablish the security I lost when Dad died.

Sympathy Cards

"Oh? Are those the sympathy cards for the Crockers?"

"Yes."

"Oh good! That one is one of my favorites."

Sympathy cards are a wonderful tribute to send. It shows the grieving that you care, that their loved one mattered, and that they are not alone in the world. People leave you messages and memories in the cards and when you read them, after the initial grief, you feel close to your loved one again.

When my Dad died the cards flew in for weeks (we even just received one a few weeks ago) and it mattered. It mattered that hundreds of people reached out to us. It mattered that people loved my Dad and were grieving his loss. It mattered...a lot.

I remember how the mailman brought a large stack of cards to our door one afternoon shortly after Dad died so that he could also express his condolences for our lost. A few days later he left us a pine cone in our mailbox just to show us some beauty and to make us laugh; he collects the pine cones in front of our mailbox for art! Sympathy cards--and the expression of love within them-- make a difference to those in pain.

But, honestly, sympathy cards come in three choices; religious, spiritual, and basic. And picking out a sympathy card can be a difficult choice for the sender. Do I pick the option that best suits my beliefs? Theirs? And what do I write? What do I include? Should it be sentimental? Sappy? Glass half full? Or should I express how much this sucks? WHAT DO I DO?

So many people are unsure how to approach the grieving. People start to monitor what they say around you, how they act, and they look at you like you'll fall apart at any minute--some are even planning their escape route while talking to you! Grief makes people uncomfortable and, often times, those people sit safely in the background waiting for you to ask for help. Soon they start living on the peripheral of your life and then they don't recognize the person you've become through your grief. The loss a person experiences changes them in ways they can't imagine and they won't be able to cope with.

Well here is my advice, from a girl who has received every Hallmark sympathy card out there, send the card! Send the card because it matters but then show up because that matters more! Show up for walk, a glass of wine, to help garden! Show up to bring food, to replenish the water supply, to just sit! Show up 3 months later, 6 months later, 12 months later, show up 5 years later because loss never goes away. Send a random text, a beautiful picture, a quote, or anything to let the person know they aren't alone! Grief isn't comfortable-- It takes all of my energy and I have very little left over to help make YOU comfortable and, eventually, I will choose to move on without you.

So, please I am begging you, do more than send a generic sympathy card! Express your love by showing up and not asking the person what they need because that is a question I still can't answer! I need people who show up and are okay if I am raw, broken, and completely consumed by my grief! I need you to show up!

The World Spins Madly On

Jennifer turned 27 today without our Dad. This is another milestone that Jenn will celebrate without him and, in turn, it won't be nearly as sweet. It is a day for my Mom to celebrate her wonderful daughter who she wouldn't have had with out the love of her life.

It is bittersweet.

There have been countless other moments like this over the past 6.5 months. Moments where you want to be happy, to celebrate, but you feel that hole in your heart and you know it is in others as well. Those are the moments were you realize, with perfect clarity, that you will live the rest of your life without one of the most important people in your life.

It hurts.

Growing up, I knew my Dad had 2 big loves in his life; his family and law. I watched him painstakingly build his practice and talent a case at a time. I would mock him for his grumpiness before a trial but, secretly, I was amazed at his focus and work ethic. He died being one of the most highly respected lawyers in Denver and was at the top of his career. Our friends (and even some family) were surprised to realize how successful he was because they just knew him as Dan-- the man without the ego so many attorneys carry with them.

But, as a family, we knew how hard he worked and how much the people he worked with meant to him. He loved mentoring young attorneys and treated his staff like family. Whenever I spoke to my Dad when I was away I would ask about David, Lori, and Greg because they were the fabric of his professional life. Over the past 2 weeks David and Lori have decided to move forward with their careers and life at new law firms. I am happy for them and our family will always wish them the best! But it feels like I am loosing a part of my Dad all over again.

The law practice that he built is slowly dying. The cases he had are being handled by others and his people are leaving. I truly believe they should leave and that my Dad would want them to. They both have wonderful families and I can't imagine how difficult it was for them the past 6.5 months having to work without Dad.

It is impossible to comprehend how much has changed since his death in August. I see the effects his death has had on our family daily and, now, I see the second most important thing in his life falling to pieces. But the world spins madly on. People say the only constant in life is change, I just wish my world didn't have to change so much so quickly.

Perfectly Suited

For the past 3 years I have worked in highly challenging urban schools because I believe all students can learn! I have seen teachers who are doing the best they can, who are struggling to keep their head above water, who care about their students but don't know how to meet their needs. For the most part, the teachers I have worked with teach because they believe the same thing I do; that the achievement gap in unacceptable! Failing schools are stressful places and when you walk into a classroom you can immediately get a sense of how the teacher is performing.

I took my corps members to Jenn's school today to observe how an education reform model can work. We wanted to ensure that the group of corps members we are developing this year have a well rounded sense of what education reform is and the different models out there. I took 7 corps members and everyone of them told me my sister is amazing!

Jenn is a perfectly suited and immensely qualified teacher. Her classroom runs like clockwork, the students are kind and respectful, and her ability to lead a classroom remarkable! Jenn has an innate grace and empathy that attracts adults but makes her students feel safe and willing to take risks. She is at the top of her field!

I received my acceptance phone call from City Year Washington DC while I was volunteering in her classroom and then proceeded to spend 10 months in a horrible kindergarten classroom in Southeast Washington, D.C,. When I came home during a break I went to Jenn's classroom to observe and pick up best practices. Watching her communicate to her students and seeing their self-regulation was incredible. I ended up sitting in her circle crying out of sheer awe of the community she had created. I realized then that she was masterful!

It is incredibly rewarding to see your sibling perform at that level. I am so proud of the teacher she is and how many lives she is affecting. If I've learned anything in 3 years with City Year its= is that teaching highly impacted youth is one of the toughest jobs and in planet and today I watched my sister make it look easy! She humbled me and renewed my sense of purpose in providing every student a safe and positive learning environment! Happy Birthday (a little early) Jenn and we are all so fortunate that you go to work each morning and teach!

The Beauty of Team

During my corps year I witnessed two of my teammates go through the tragedy of loosing their Dad unexpectedly to cardiac issues. It was heart wrenching to watch their grief and it made me value my Dad so much more! I remember calling my Dad and saying, "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, I don't think I'd survive it." I couldn't imagine having to live with the pain I knew my beloved teammates were experiencing. I saw their continued strength and courage each day when they arrived at Malcolm X ready to serve in 2 of our most challenging classrooms. I saw them embrace the team and our students to make it through the day. Our team came together through these tragedies and became one of the strongest and most supportive groups I have ever been a part of! It has been almost 2 years since our graduation from City Year and I know that my X family will be there for anything I may ever need.

The night my Dad died I had a desperate need to let X know what had happened around 2:30 in the morning. I sat in my living room and sent the following e-mail:

Team,

I am sorry I am sending this by email but I needed to let our team know what happened tonight and it's super late on the east coast. My Dad died tonight while riding his bike home from work. The coroner and police officer who came to my front door this evening believe it may have been a heart attack. I can't believe this happening and I knew all of you would understand what this means and what's going on. I am sitting up with my family right now; so glad I moved home in July and I am here.I love you and would appreciate any thoughts and prayers for me and my family. I am so sorry I am having you all wake up to this. I just needed to know X was out there

The responses started flowing back to me immediately and I knew there were people out there who we embracing me and grieving with me. It was remarkable how quickly each of them came to my aid and how sincere they were in their grief for me. The morning before Dad's service I could not sleep so I called Shajena. I needed to have someone tell me how to find the strength to get through Dads service and how to speak during it. I don't remember what Shajena and I spoke about that morning but I felt peace. I knew she understood it, she loved me, and that she believed I was capable of doing this; it made all the difference to me.

When my corps member lost her Mom in November I was in shock. I was on my way to Lindsey's rehearsal dinner in Baltimore and the knowledge that my corps member was having to go through this was excruciating for me. How could this be happening twice in 3 years? How on earth had Shanon handle his TL year when 2 of his corps members lost parents?!?! How was I going to find the strength to help Nuni?

Nuni called me that evening during a layover in Dallas and asked me, "what I am suppose to do? what happens now?" The pure vulnerability and grief in her voice pulled me back in time to August 30, 2011 and I couldn't answer her. I didn't have any magic words to offer so I just stayed on the phone. I talked her through finding a place that sold tea, a place to sit, and listened to her trying to figure out the best way to tell her sister that their Mom died. I felt totally helpless and out of control again.

My team has rallied around both of us this year. They have been remarkable as individuals and as a group. They make me laugh every day! They are kind to each other, flexible, compassionate, and full of an optimistic energy that has impacted our school more than any PBIS initiative this year. They remind me of X.

City Year provides you the opportunity to serve on diverse teams and to learn from others around you. But it takes a special team to develop into a family; to laugh with each other, to respect each other, and to find genuine enjoyment from working with each other! I love walking into my team room every morning knowing I will be greeted by some of the best people I know. I love sending e-mails to X and knowing we are still a family. I love City Year for giving me the opportunity to be a part of these teams and to learn from each of them. And I will be forever grateful that these people surrounded me during my grief and that they have helped shape me into the woman I am.

Running on Empty

I take immense pride in being labeled a strong, independent, and capable woman and I work to cultivate that image with my friends and family. I am very hesitant to rely on anyone or to expose my true feelings to those around me. I have perfected the 'everything is fine' mantra and I have fooled everyone, including myself, into believing I can handle anything life throws at me while continuing to uphold all of my commitments. My greatest fears are being weak, dependent, and out of control--grief doesn't bode well for me does it?

For the past 6.5 months I have managed to keep moving ahead with life and to tackle whatever the day throws at me. I have built a partnership in a difficult and ever changing school, managed my team of corps members with a combination of empathy and high expectations, helped a corps member through the trauma of losing her Mom suddenly in November, participated in a youth development certification program in Boston, and I have helped to create and implement the necessary structures of a founding site. All the while, working with youth whose lives define trauma.

I have come home to a house that is sad. A house that doesn't feel whole. We have spent time just being a family as we try to process this devastating loss and figure out how to cope. I have witnessed the grief of my Mom, my sister, my brother, and the rest of our family up close and personal. I have helped make dinners and I have spent my evenings and weekends helping Mom run errands to keep a semblance of normalcy in this chaotic world. We entertain friends who stop by to check on us and we tell them that we're okay. We are learning to accept that our future plans and dreams have changed along with our way of life. I am so glad I was already back in Colorado and that I am in a position to help my family any way I can. I am humbled, every day, by the strength my Mom displays and her continued dedication to our family. I am also amazed at her acceptance of me when I need alone time after a long day even when she needs someone to talk with just as much.

I tell my friends that I am 'doing okay but it sucks'. I don't tell them about the crazy dreams and sleepless nights. How out of control I feel or how scared I am. I don't tell them about the piece of me that feels empty and alone or how much pressure I have put on myself to be the strong one. I don't want to be a burden to them when we only talk once a week; so I fake it. I want them to be happy and I want to protect them from grief that threatens to overwhelm me. It is stupid because I know my friends would listen to me deep into the night but I am too afraid to ask for that.

This past week I feel that I have hit a wall and my energy reserves are empty! My entire body aches with the heaviness of true exhaustion and my mind is only processing the essentials; except at night when I have dreams that ruin any chance of good nights rest. I know I can't keep up this pace and that I need to respect that I have reached my limit. But there is so much to do and everyone keeps moving forward while I am frantically trying to keep pace. Grief isn't kind and it is not logical-- grief kicks you in the ass and the world keeps running full speed ahead.

"That girl isn't going to fit in at Beloit." -Dan Hubbard

We were at the mail room of Beloit College searching for the 6 large boxes I had shipped over the summer and, yes, I had packed way too much for my tiny single room in the dorms! While searching my Dad spotted a girl who was wearing a short denim skirt, Ugg boots, a sparkly top, and had her hair in a messy style that had to have taken hours to perfect he told us, "that girl isn't going to fit in at Beloit." We looked at each other and smiled in perfect understanding; it was the first of many moments that grew the special bond Beloit College allowed us to share.

My Dad was a graduate of the class of '82. He was a football player, a political science major, President of Sigma Chi, and a well loved student by the faculty and administration. He even played basketball for a season before deciding he would rather coach the local high school team! Growing up my Dad would speak about Beloit fondly and tell me how tough it was but he would also tell me how much it taught him about writing and critical analysis; two skills that allowed him to become one of the most respected and successful trial attorneys in Denver.

When I was choosing colleges I had 2 requirements; it had to be out of state and it had to be small. You can only imagine how distraught my Grandma Sheliah and Mom were upon hearing that! However, my parents where incredibly generous and allowed me to hijack a week of our summer vacation to visit colleges in the Midwest. We toured several in Iowa and, though I liked them, when I walked onto Beloit College's campus with Dad I knew where I needed to go. We spent an afternoon walking around the campus and he told me stories about his college years and the memories he made.

Beloit was a shared experience for us. We had several of the same professors, our Dean of Students was the same, and we both knew that she would never fit in at Beloit and, sure enough, she transferred at the end of our freshman year! I could talk to my Dad about the rigor of my courses, how the weather drove me crazy, how sometimes I didn't understand my peers and their lack of showering, and he would get it. I could tell my Dad about my dreams and my need to discover the world and he would support it and find a way for me to achieve it.

My Dad gave me the courage to go to Beloit, to travel to Africa, and to live in DC. My Mom tells me that it was my independence and drive that he most admired. Dad was proud of who I had become and how I was living my life. Lately, I have been struggling a lot with the knowledge that I am only 24 (25 next month) and my Dad will miss out on most of my life. It brings me to tears, even writing this, to know he will never met my husband or my children, he will never see me enroll and graduate from a masters program, he will never see me purchase my first home, and he will never see me become the woman he helped to create.

Today I went to an admitted students event for the class of 2016- wow, I feel old! I met a girl who would fit in perfectly at Beloit and Mom who was panicked about her son considering schools so far away. But it made me happy! I thought about how much Dad would have loved hearing about these young people and how we would have spoken about Beloit and its oddities with fondness and love. I remembered his comment, from so many years ago, and I realized Dad knew who I was and that we had plenty of shared memories and laughter to last my lifetime. No, he wont meet my husband but he knows the kind of man I will be searching for and that just has to be enough.

Everything Is Fine!

"Life isn't measured by the number of breaths we take, but the moments that take our breath away."

When I hung up the phone I felt my stomach cave in and I forgot how to breathe. My Mom's screaming echoed throughout the house and down the street. I walked to the front door and saw that the sun was setting and it was slowly fading from a beautiful summer day into what would become the longest night of my life. A few neighbors trickled out of their houses to see what the commotion was about and a part of my mind registered that I should take a moment to reassure them that everything was fine. It was the first of many moments I would pause in my grief to reassure a worried friend, colleague, neighbor, or acquaintance that, yes, everything is fine.

My next phone call to my Uncle Shane proved how NOT fine things were. I don't remember saying much more than, "The coroner called. They said they found my Dad dead on the bike path. Please come, I need you here". I hung up on him and called my Aunt Kristi and said something similar. I stared at the door waiting for someone to come through it; waiting for someone to tell me what to do. My Mom was still screaming and, at times, would pause to mumble 'its not true. its someone else. he'll walk in the door any minute.' I finally walked out of the house, noticed the neighbors still standing outside, and made the hardest phone call of my life. Ironically, as soon as Jennifer answered her phone my brother pulled up to the house with Chardae. So, I took a deep breath and told my siblings that our Dad had died.

Seeing Uncle Shane's red truck pull up was a huge relief! There was someone else there now, I could take a moment to pause. Was this real? Would they really tell us Dad had died over the PHONE? No, it couldn't be real. I had talked to Dad that morning before I left for work. He jokingly told me we would have to do something about my love for smoothies in the morning because it was disrupting his quite time. I told him "I love you! Good luck with your depo and I'll see you later" as I ran out the door with the smoothie in hand. I knew I needed to call my Aunt Coleen and Grandma De but I refused to do so until we knew, with absolute certainty, that Dad was dead. So we sat quietly and waited for the coroner and police officer to arrive at our house. I stood at the door and watched the night fall hoping they would never come but they did and they carried my Dad's bike up our steps and asked to speak to my Mom.

At this point, I still hadn't caught my breath and I still hadn't cried. But as I sat down next to my Mom, Grandpa, Jenn, and Brian to listen to the investigator describe what had transpired I began to believe it was true. When I saw the face of the Police Officer standing by our door I knew it was true. And when the investigator callously dumped an envelope of my Dad's belongings and I saw as his wedding ring roll across the coffee table and onto the floor I knew I had entered a nightmare. I got up, ran to the bathroom, and started throwing up.

There were things that needed to get done and people we needed to call. Once we got a hold of Aunt Coleen we started to focus on calling the New Years Crew and Dad's business partners. Brian and I went across our yard to the Keady's to tell Cathy and ask her to call my Mom's friends. I vividly remember talking to Steve and him asking me, "Kristin, why are you yelling?" I knew my next words would devastate him, "Steve, I am sorry, they found my Dad on the bike path and he is (long pause) dead." Those conversations continued for what seemed like hours and every time I thought I was finished I'd remember someone else who needed to be told by a family member.

Our house slowly started to fill up with people who stood in shock not knowing what to do or what to say. I finally went outside to make the only phone call of the night I made for myself and called Sarah. I stood in the rain and told her about my Dad. She booked a flight to Denver leaving Baltimore within 12 hours of my call and stood by my side for the next week. She also took the responsibility of calling Marice for me and when she called me that night we sobbed into the phone together and said almost nothing; there was nothing to say. But if felt good to finally cry and to know Marice was there.

That night took my breath away. I still have moments where the grief punches me in the stomach and I can't breathe. Moments where I go straight back to the horror of watching my Dad's ring fall to the floor. Moments where I hear my Mom screaming and moments where I feel lost, alone, and just need someone else to be there so I can take a moment to pause. But I also have moments of joy, of laughter, and of gratitude to be surrounded by such a fabulous family and community.

After careful consideration I have chosen to start this blog because I will be more honest about the journey if I write it down because, after all, if you just ask me I'll tell you everything is fine.