Sitting in My Boat

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I’ve been hesitant to blog about real things this week for a couple reasons. Mostly, it’s because my mom and sister read my blog and I don’t want to write anything that upsets them. But it’s also because I don’t really know what to say. My mom and I were having a low little moment yesterday afternoon together on the phone, and we both agreed that it’s hard to talk to people because what exactly do you say? There are only so many times you can say that you’re sad or missing someone before you start to feel like a broken record. I don’t know how many different ways I can say that my heart is broken, and so I’ve just avoided having to say it to people.

The strange thing about grief that my family is finding is that, sometimes, we are able to talk about my dad and his passing and be completely fine. There will be times when I can tell people about what happened, how I feel, how my family is coping, how much I miss him, and not shed a single tear. Occasionally, I’ll even catch myself thinking that I bet I won’t cry again until a major holiday or life event happens without my dad. “I bet I won’t even cry until Thanksgiving,” I’ll think. And then, as quick as that thought enters my mind, the sadness washes over me and with it comes the tears.

The crying of grief is so different than any other kind of crying. They say that mourning hits you in waves, and that could not be a more accurate description. I think of it like sitting in a boat in the middle of the ocean. When a big, giant, rolling wave of sadness comes, you just hunker down and wait until the boat is in smooth waters again before you begin rowing. Fortunately for me, there are a lot of really strong family and friends sitting in my boat with me. And that helps ride those waves more than anything.

The strangest part is when the wave of grief washes past. I will go from being completely calm, even happy, and then all of a sudden I am crying out of nowhere. But the crying only lasts for a few minutes. It is heavy, deep crying that comes from a place in my heart that I’ve never felt before. But as quickly as it begins, the tears stop. They just stop. And I’m fine again. No huffing and puffing, no hiccuping, no sniffling, none of the things I normally do when I’m tapering off tears. With this sadness, it just stops, and I am done. Then, I get up and move on with whatever I was doing before. I guess the sadness just needs to get out, and when it’s purged itself, it’s over. At least for a little while.

Being at work has helped. I am sad when I wake up, always. In fact, as I write this it is 2:30 in the morning, and I woke up thinking about my dad. My first thought is always, “Another day without him.” But my kids bombard me with breakfast requests and morning snuggles, and though I carry that emptiness of my dad with me no matter what I am doing, the kids and Chris give me a reason to pull myself together and move forward. My dad would love that. He hated wallowing. School gives me another reason to keep myself going. Middle school children are unsympathetic (though, in their defense, none of my students know that anything has happened). And so I go through my day talking about my class syllabus and giving writing prompts and getting to know each of them, as you do in the first week of classes. But after I get home and Bean and Gracie are sleeping and the world slows for a bit, the sadness creeps back in for spells. And when that happens, Chris is always right there, holding my hand, reminding me that my dad will always be there with us, and just letting me cry until the wave passes me by.

I’m so grateful that Chris sits in my boat with me.

The hardest part of grief is how real my dad’s memory feels. Sometimes, out of the clear blue, I can hear my dad talking to me. Usually, I hear him say my name. And sometimes I hear him laugh. Or, sometimes, I will stop in my tracks and I can just see him standing there in front of me. And those memories are so vivid. So painfully, wonderfully vivid. My heart aches, and my mind thinks, “Why can’t I see him? Just one more time? Why can’t I talk to him? Just this once?”

As at peace as I am with the timing of his passing (we all keep reminding ourselves that Dad would have made a terrible old man!), the shock of his passing is hard to reconcile yet in my heart. I am not angry at all, I’m just surprised. Still. It’s been over a week. I’ve helped make funeral arrangements. I’ve edited obituaries. I’ve spoken with countless people about his passing. And yet it still shocks me. I must say to Chris a thousand times a day, “I cannot believe my dad died.” I don’t say it through sadness or tears, but in complete shock. How could that be? If my dad isn’t here anymore, then why is the world going on like nothing has happened? With his passing, my entire universe became unbalanced, so how is it possible that people are still walking upright around me, talking about politics and the price of gas and football season?

I cannot believe that my dad died.

And, yet, at the same time, seeing all these people around me walking upright and living happy, normal lives doesn’t mean some of them haven’t experienced loss like mine before. So many friends – real and imaginary – have come forward to share their own stories of grief and loss, and I am finding that I have joined a very private club. And each member of that club has learned to live with that grief in their lives. It doesn’t lessen or go away, but, rather, it seems to become a part of you. And they have all learned to carry that part of them throughout their lives, just as I will learn to do, too.

But until then, I will sit here in my boat, and hold on to my family. I will be thankful for the life that my dad lived, for the love that poured out of him, and for the happiness that he brought to me. I will sit here in my boat and wait patiently while the waves roll, and then I’ll sit in the sunshine when those storms pass and I’ll feel the glow of my dad from above. I’ll sit here in my boat and remind myself that grief is beautiful in its depth, and perfect in its timing. Mostly, though, I’ll sit here in my boat and think about my dad and how much I miss having him here with me.

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56 Thoughts to “Sitting in My Boat”

  1. Jamie

    oh my goodness. your words are so beautiful and honest. i am sure we all agree that we will always be here to listen to you and your words will never bore us. you can tell us one hundred million thousand times how much you miss your dad and we will cry and our hearts will ache {and we will say a quick prayer} right along with you. you are so loved in this little space of yours.

  2. Chloe

    Just beautiful and sad Katie, I will pray for you and know it won’t make you miss him any less. I cannot believe how shocking death comes, even as we know it is coming one day. Until you meet again in heaven, I hope you will treasure the good times you had with your daddy. X

  3. Miriam

    Hi Katie – I’m another long-time reader, rare commenter. Ever since your Dad died, I’ve thought about commenting, but I couldn’t find any words that didn’t sound contrived…so I’ll just say a simple “I’m so sorry.”
    I’ve been so impressed with your posts over the past week. You seem to be doing an amazing job of finding the balance between going about your days, keeping yourself occupied and continuing to *live*, and at the same time, letting yourself grieve. Allowing yourself to feel the sadness when it washes over you, just like you allow yourself to feel happiness and gratitude when it’s their time. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Stay strong, and know that all of us imaginary friends are just one boat over from yours, ready to listen and help where we can.

  4. Claire H.

    Beautiful, beautiful post.

  5. What a beautiful post. I have no doubt that your mom and sister will wake up today and think the same thing as they read it, too. You are three strong women! We are thinking and praying about you all. XOXO

  6. I really appreciate you writing about what’s been going on. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if you’d chosen not to, and i wouldn’t have judged you for a minute. But the fact that you have has really touched me. Like many others, I can relate to your grief. I’m thinking of you and your family as you go through this process together, and praying for you to have continued peace in those low moments.

  7. This is really beautiful. I’m glad you and your family are able to talk to each other about your dad. My dad died 13 years ago (I was 15), we really didn’t talk about him, and I think that made it so much harder. The way you describe grief is exactly how I felt.

  8. julia

    Hi, Ii am so sorry for your loss, I just caught up on all that’s happened. Congrats to Ginny, and my sympathies to you and your family.

  9. This is such a beautiful post. The way you describe your grief is so identical to the way I felt when my brother died, I feel like we must have spoken about it. The shock, the waves of emotion, the private club… All of it.

    I remember turning on the news and hearing that there were 22 shopping days left until Christmas, and feeling so utterly confused – didn’t the rest of the world stop, when mine did? My world was just turned upside down… How was anyone thinking about Christmas? This phrase always tugged at my heart, but in a new way after losing my brother: ‘be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle’. So true.

    I am so happy school is helping – going back helped me, too. It was my safe space, and knew I wouldn’t have to talk about it. But bottling those feelings meant I lost it the second I walked through the door at night. Please know all of us – your imaginary friends – are pulling and praying for you. Thank you for opening your heart to us.

  10. Christy

    I’m so sorry for the loss you all have experienced. When my grandfather passed away a few years ago, it completely rocked my world. I still miss him so much, and catch myself thinking, “I need to call Grandpa and ask him about XYZ. He’ll know what to do.” Then I realize I can’t. It used to make me really sad. Now, I find myself feeling grateful for the times I could ask him for advice.

    My family keeps my grandpa’s memory alive by talking about him and reminding each other of fun times together. We’ve been helping my grandmother pack up her house, in preparation of her move next week to a retirement community (totally her decision – she’s tired of taking care of her yard). I went through photos on Saturday. It was painful, but we ended up laughing at just how many photos we have of grandpa holding a fish (he was an avid fisherman).

    Sorry to ramble… I just want you to know that you’re not alone. Grief sucks, but it’s a necessary part of life. I’m glad that you had such a great dad. Sounds like he was one in a million!

  11. What a beautiful post. And so true. I went through a family death last year and it was so similar. Waves of sadness would wash over me and then I’d be fine. I thought planning a funeral and even going to the funeral would be the worst thing, but actually being around family and having a “goal” to achieve made it easier. The worst sadness would hit me when I didn’t expect it – like shopping at the grocery store or hearing a song on the radio. And at times I wished that it was somehow visible to strangers that I had had a serious loss in my life and other times I craved that normalcy that came from people interacting with me and not knowing how much I was suffering on the inside. A year later the grief is still real but so are the memories. Stick to your family and love them with all your heart, it’s the only thing to get you through this difficult time. And soak that new nephew of yours with all the love in your heart.

  12. Peggy

    Thanks for sharing your feelings. My father died 20 yers ago this summer and I still miss him very much. I thought of my grieving as a ride on a roller coaster – ups, downs, turns, twists. I really like your analogy of the waves and sitting in a boat. Grief is an individual emotion with no timetable to say it is over. Allow yourself all the time you need and know that your father will always be with you in all that you do.

  13. Regina

    Those of us who can see thestrals understand.

  14. Melissa in RI

    What a beautiful post. Thinking of you and your family.

  15. Katie, I am so, so sorry for your loss. Your writing about it is beautiful and brings me to tears, especially because it feels so sadly familiar.

    My dad died ten years ago, one month before my 20th birthday. Like yours, he died of a heart attack. It was heartbreaking – and still is.

    I don’t know if you ever watched Grey’s Anatomy, but in a season shortly after my own dad died, one of its characters, George, lost his father. Afterwards, another character, Cristina, goes up to him and tells him that he’s just joined the club that no one wants to be in – the dead dad club – the club no one wants to join and you don’t get it until you get in. For me, despite kind and well-meaning loved ones, that has been so true. It’s unfathomable, and I wouldn’t wish understanding on anyone else because it’s too hard.

    All that to say, you’re not alone. Lots of us are part of the club, and though we’d rather not be, it means that we can hold those up who are new to the experience.

    You will never stop grieving for your father, but you will notice that moments of celebration – of his life and legacy – will slowly start to outweigh the grief. It never goes away, but it does get easier. I promise.

  16. This post just breaks my heart. I couldn’t imagine losing a parent, and my heart just aches for you. Hold onto those memories. And lean on Chris when you need to, let him be your rock. I’m praying for you and your family for peace through this difficult time.

  17. Trish D

    Katie, I am so sorry for your loss. In times like this we never know what to say…all I can say is I am so sorry. I know how hard it is..my dad has been gone almost 20 years and I still have my moments. There are times that I can talk about him and tell all of the funny stories…then there are those moments that the emotions are just as raw as they were the night he passed on. We’re from Kentucky and rabid University of Kentucky basketball fans…I live in New Orleans now..this past year during the final four tournaments…all I could think of was how I knew my dad would have been right down here with us among all of the other crazy Kentucky fans.

    I can’t promise you that it will go away…but, it does get easier. You’ll start to see that you’ll begin to celebrate his life more than mourning his passing. I dream about Dad occasionally and it’s like a visit. Even in my dreams, I usually keep telling myself that it’s a dream and he really isn’t here…but, when I wake up I feel like I’ve had a nice visit with my dad.

    Keep doing whatever it takes to make you feel better. Enjoy that new nephew and just remember how proud your dad would have been of him…I’m sure he would be like my dad was…full of smiles and telling that boy how he was going to teach him to golf and love SEC sports.

    Hugs you tight..take care, my imaginary internet friend 🙂

  18. Christina

    So perfectly said. You put into words the crazy roller coaster ride of losing a loved one, especially a father. Thank you for sharing your journey. And as a fun note, my dad smoked a pipe and every now and then I’ll smell his pipe and I think of it as him stopping by to say “Hi!” or “I’m still here”. So enjoy the real memories… thankfully some of them never fade.

  19. Sherie

    Hi again – I wrote once before about losing my dad the same way 5 years ago and I am struck again by this post and the similarity of our experience. I don’t know if reading this will give you any comfort at all, but I felt compelled to let you know I, too, woke up every morning thinking of my dad, I cried in the shower for a very long time, and I, too, was taken aback by how strangely my heart and mind reacted to this shocking event. Truly, your life is changed forever. You will eventually develop a “new normal”. This will likely take much longer than you think so try not think too much about how long it is taking – you will get there in YOUR time and God and your family will take every step with you – one day at a time. I am praying for all of you and I hope my dad and your dad are great friends on the other side.

  20. Amy

    Beautifully said, Katie. I continue to keep you and your family in my heart & prayers <3

  21. Rheannon Walls

    The beautiful words and the love in your posts say so much about the man who raised you. I wish I had anything I could say that would help you in the least. I am so sorry for your loss, and so amazed by the faith and strength you and your family have even through this hardest of times. I know you really don’t know me (I rarely comment), but I’ll be keeping my boat close to yours, along with all the other people you’ve touched with your words. I wish I could take at least some of your grief and bear the burden for you.

  22. The first death that really affected me was that of a friend. He drowned in a tragic flash flood. He was 12. I remember thinking so clearly, it can’t be. It’s just impossible. I think I was in shock for ages.
    There’s a poem by W.H. Auden called “Stop all the clocks” that really helped me verbalise what I was feeling.
    Your whole family has been very much in my thoughts and I wish you more and more peaceful stretches of calm water in which to row.
    xx

  23. Emily

    I’ll keep praying for you and your family… a beautiful example of strength and faith through difficult times. I do have to say that this photo of your dad is awesome. I hope you frame it and keep it near. I do not know him, (or you ) personally, but that photo says everything you’d need to know. What a treasure.

  24. Jen

    I’ll keep my boat close to yours along with Rheannon.

  25. Donna

    That is the way my Brother-in-law and sister-in-law describe the pain and greif from their youngest child passing last year. There are times they are fine when they fill “like they are not forcing themselves to smile” and then out of nowhere it hits and they cry and it feels like it happened just yesterday.
    I don’t know if this will help you, but I always like to think of family and friends who pass as my guardian angles who are in heaven smiling down on me in the good times and helping me through the tough times.

  26. Shelley

    I’m sorry for your Dad’s passing, Katie. My Dad died a little over 6 years ago and my boat is still rocking. It does’t ever go away, but does get manageable. I miss him terribly.

  27. Allison

    Katie……I’m so sorry for your loss and wishing you lots of comfort in your times of sadness. I am sure that your beautiful way of writing is helping in some way to deal. Know that many are saying extra prayers for you:)

  28. Gosh Katie, I just don’t even have the words to say… I have been reading since you let us know that your dad passed away and I just can’t believe it. This post nearly brought me to tears because I know that’s exacly how I’ll feel when my parents/friends/grandparents pass away. Just in total and complete shock.. with waves of extreme sadness. I’m so sorry you and your family are going through this and I hope you will find comfort in God, as that’s the only thing that can really give us peach and comfort. I’ll continue to pray for you and your whole family (including Ginny & new baby boy! Congrats)

  29. Kate I sit here at my desk with tears in my eyes. Since hearing of your father’s death it has terrified me that one day I will get that phone call you received and my world will be rocked. I’m praying for your family and know many people love you. Thank you for sharing such raw emotions you are feeling!

  30. Tiffany

    Beautiful post! I’m so sorry you are having to go thru this. Prayers for you and your family.

  31. shawny

    I am so sorry you had to lose your Daddy.I cant evenimagine the pain it brings. I was very close with my Gramps and he died 18 years ago this next week.It still feels like it happened just a moment ago.The pain is still strong and deep.My heart is very broken.Time does ease it a bit but I want my Grampy back.sometimes its sooo overwhelming.He visits me in my dreams and every now and again I feel him near me.I have not truly been happy since he left me and it has changed me forever.I wish everyday he could have seen my kids grow up and now my kids are just about grown it makes me even more sad because my children will start to fly the nest and the feeling of loss is creeping fast and in full force as this change is happening.On the outside you wouldnt really know but inside im in a ball in the corner crying my eyes out and I feel as if im dying.I remember the very first christmas without him ..I could not bring myself to decorate or celebrate..I wanted nothing to do with Christmas.Of course I have moved on and try to make my families world happy but Its always the scary ghost under the bed.Now Im getting older so the more death with come around my life with friends,family etc.. and I think how it sucks to get old and to know I will be loosing the people I love and how all the feelings of sadness will come again fresh and sharp.Anyways…I pray you and your family will have happiness and love and joy .You seem to handle this so well and hope I will do better the next time death comes knocking.

  32. corinn

    katie, your words are beautiful. please know all of us are sitting in your boat with you & prayinf for you and your sweet family every step of the way. HUGS.

  33. I remember the day we buried my beloved grandmother. It was sunny and bright and beautiful and I remember being so angry that people were smiling and laughing. Didn’t they know what happened? Couldn’t they see the world was just a little less bright without her in it? But there are still times when I can hear her voice or feel her around. It’s a feeling of peace and love and I hope you get to feel that as well. Your post is so beautiful and so true. Wishing you calm waters and a fruity drink with an umbrella.

  34. Kari

    Katie, I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. You are so right that grief comes in waves. One minute you think you’re fine and all is well, and then the wave overcomes you out of nowhere and almost feels like too much to endure. I am 5 months into dealing with a grief like I have never known before. It is not grief related to a death of a person, but death of a life I thought I had due to betrayal. The shock, sadness, and disbelief hit me hard and often for those first 6-8 weeks, but the waves are subsiding a bit, but they are still there and come out of nowhere. I think they will always be there. But the waves are not as strong or often as they were for those first weeks. It is, as you said, just something that I’ll have to learn to live with and ride the boat. And when it just seems like too much sometimes, I remind myself that I will be okay, no matter what. What I am feeling is normal. Grief is such a hard feeling to endure. Big hugs to you and your family!

  35. JoDee

    Hi Kate – I lost my dad unexpectedly in Jan 2009 and you perfectly summed up what it feels like. It gets much easier to cope with but the feeling of loss will never go away. I still find myself brought to tears sometimes about not being able to share something with him or ask for advice. Your dad knew you loved him and it is great that you recognize that.

  36. My heart and prayers are with you. My loss was of a child in miscarriage earlier this year, but I absolutely relate to both the shock of reality and the disbelief that other people are still moving on. Hold tight to the people around you, and let them hold on to you.

  37. Kris J

    After my grandma passed away a few years ago, the following lines from Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden seemed so true.

    Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
    Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
    Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
    Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

    He was my North, my South, my East and West,
    My working week and my Sunday rest,
    My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
    I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

  38. Paulette

    Katie, Reading all you say about your Dad just makes me want to cry. I have felt so sad since this has happened and think of all of you guys.But one thing for sure he loved his family and was so proud of you and Jen and the grand kids. You have great memories that no one can ever take away.My prayers are with all your family.

  39. Aileen

    Katie, that was so beautifully expressed…thank you, it must have been hard to write that. I’ve been thinking of and praying for you guys lately…don’t really know what to say either though. Thanks for letting us sit in your boat and thanks for sharing your awesome dad with us.

  40. Suzanne

    Your words ring true for me 4 years after my Mom’s sudden passing. You just learn to live with it. I smile every time I hear her call my name or see her in my dreams. Someday I will touch her again and I will be whole once again. Stay strong but let the grief come and go in peace.

  41. Good job. Done with grace as always.

  42. What a beautiful post. I am very sorry for your loss. 🙁

  43. Beautiful post. Katie, it hurts my heart that you have to go through this… wish that I could give you a hug. Praying for you and your family.

  44. I’ve cried at each of your posts recently. Your description of the boat reminds me of Ecclesiastes….”a time to mourn and a time to laugh”. It’s odd how in grief we can do both. Thank you for sharing.

  45. I’ve been fighting through a different kind of grief all summer and the coming in waves analogy is right on. And SO many times I’m thankful for my kids. They give me a reason to get of bed and fight. Hang in there Katie. Praying for you and yours.

  46. suburbanmom2

    Beautiful post Katie. My Dad died 21yrs ago and your words brought all the feelings back for me; not in a bad way. It’s just that I could so empathize with what you are feeling now. Two months pregnant I took to my bed for a week after he died, I could just not get up and go to work and face the world. Your strength amazes me. He died Nov 7th and that 1st Christmas without him was difficault. I remember driving to my sisters on Christmas Day and the song Silent Night came on the radio and big silent tears steamed down my face as my husband drove. The waves of overwhelming grief will come and go blended in with all the happy memories. I wish you and your family continued strength.

  47. Chris S.

    Hi Katie – I lost my dad on July 30th, completely unexpectedly. My wife reads your blog, and will sometimes read entries to me. She told me that I should go read this one myself. I am experiencing the exact same feelings – I will some days be ok, then crying, and then ok again. I described it in those first few days as if I were in a small rowboat, and waves kept crashing over the side, filling me up with sadness. Sometimes it overwhelmed me, threatening to sink me and other times I was able bail it out. To see you arrive at the same metaphor makes me realize how apropos it is. Likewise with people talking with you about it – I always answer honestly – “you know it just sucks and things are really rough right now”.

    This past Sunday, three weeks after it happened, I was an emotional wreck. I miss my dad so much it just hurts constantly. I too have these vivid memories of him just sitting in his car, waiting for me to get there to have lunch (we did this every Friday), and any other number of things.

    Grief is just so painful and personal – and until you experience it in your life, you just have utterly no idea how much it sucks, and how much it changes your outlook on life in general – everyone, friends and especially family, becomes even more important to you because you now know how easily they can no longer be there.

    I wish you the best, and just wanted you to know that another perfect stranger shares your pain, and knows exactly how you feel.

    Chris

  48. ann

    Your description is spot on. That is often how I’ve described grief, like a wave that hits you out of nowhere. It’s been 5years since my Father in Law passed, and they still come. I will continue to hold you in my prayers.

  49. Soo Jin

    Hi Katie, I’ve been reading your blog for a long time now and have to apologize for my rare comments. For some reason, I’m always shy about doing so, which I know is unfair since you are willing to open so much of yourself to your readers. I am always writing comments in my head, but then talk myself out of actually posting them which I realize is completely silly. I am so sorry to hear of your Dad’s passing. Please know that even from above, his spirit is touching many lives. Reading your posts about your father has been such an inspiration to what is really important in life. I read them aloud to my husband tonight, and we both sat quietly for a while. And then agreed that this is the type of parent we hope to be to our child and (hopefully) future children some day. I can’t imagine a greater legacy. I have a pretty good relationship with my parents, but we’ve never been very close. There is definitely more of a parent-child divide between us, and I think that has a lot to do with our culture. But I can see that you and your parents share such a deep relationship that includes, yes, a parent-child aspect, but also expands so far beyond that. I can see how much your family enjoys each others’ company and how you are every bit as much friends as you are family. What an inspiration. Thank you for having the courage and the sensitivity to share these beautiful stories with us. You are such a talented writer and I am always eager to read more of you. I pray for continued peace for your family and many more moments of peaceful waters.

  50. SM

    Katie – Thinking of you and your family as you sit in your boat. I took some comfort in this poem when my grandfather died, so I wanted to share it with you. It’s an excerpt from Auguries of Innocence by William Blake: It is right it should be so:
    Man was made for joy and woe;
    And when this we rightly know Through the world we safely go.
    Joy and woe are woven fine,
    A clothing for the soul divine.
    Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine.

  51. Many hugs from our home to yours.

  52. Laura

    Katie-I’ve yet to comment but have had you and your family in my prayers since first learning of your father’s passing. I lost my best friend almost 2 years ago and she was like a sister to me. Reading about your grieving takes me right back to how I felt those first few weeks, especially walking around saying “I can’t believe Mallory is dead” and puzzling at how the world continues to spin when she is gone. Why hasn’t everyone recognized the gravity of what has happened, how everything for me has stopped. I’m so glad you have Chris and your family in the boat with you; they can make a world of difference. I love your blog and learning from you and just wanted you to know, that like countless others who have shared in the comments, there is one more reader that knows what you’re going through and is lifting you and your family up in prayer.

  53. John

    Love you Katie. I will forever miss Tillman. I’m so thankful hes was was my friend for 29 years. Such memories I shall never forget.

  54. Dessi

    I’ve been out of town this past week and a fellow reader actually left me a voicemail that I needed to visit you. I am so very sorry for your loss! Each day is so precious and your recent journey reminds me of just that! My family is praying for yours *hugs*.

  55. […] night as I held on tightly to my little boat while the waves rolled around me, I kept thinking to myself, (So, this is it.  This is just […]

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