An Open Letter to My Grandma

To my dearest Grandma in Heaven:

It has been three whole years.  Can you believe it?  Because I can’t.

I feel like it was just yesterday that you were still alive.  I feel like we were just in your car on the way to the park, making a pit stop to eat McDonald’s breakfast together.  The hotcakes were (and still are) my favorite.

I feel like it was just yesterday that we drove from Latrobe to Indiana to visit Kelly.  I feel like you just introduced me to my twin cousin Jessica.  Don’t worry, I do stay in touch with both of them.

I feel like it was just yesterday that we were sitting in the church pews together with you holding my hand.  You always had Winterfresh gum for me because I was always hungry before the church service was over.  I feel like it was just yesterday when I would fall asleep on your lap in the church pews.  And after church, we’d always go to Shop N’ Save to get foot-long hot dogs for lunch.

It feels like just yesterday that we were making homemade ham pot pie together in the kitchen.  You always let me help with the dough noodles.  That was (and still is) my favorite part.

I feel like I was just participating in the 4th of July Parade for the church with you and pappy watching proudly from the crowd.  Mom and dad have the picture you took with the polaroid hanging up on their fridge.

Weren’t we just on the way to Ohio to meet my cousin who I never knew I had?  Or wasn’t I just sitting in the backseat singing along to Christian songs with you on my way to Vacation Bible School?

Wasn’t it just yesterday when we watched game shows together in the living room, and always talked about how someday we’d go on The Price is Right or Wheel of Fortune as a duo?  The Price is Right toured near Harrisburg and Kyle and I were going to go, but it wasn’t going to be the same since you weren’t with me.

Wasn’t it just yesterday when you taught me how to play a form of Gin Rummy, and I was asking you to play anytime we weren’t doing anything?  And those time when you played with Uncle Bum and Aunt Carrie and never let me play with the grown-ups so I was forced to watch The Sandlot in the living room for the millionth time?  Trust me, I have no complaints because The Sandlot is still one of my all-time favorites.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that we went to Idlewild Park, where we took train rides through Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood?  Or when we rode the Tilt-A-Whirl together and I was mystified about how gravity forces you against the ride?

Wasn’t it just yesterday when you encouraged me to play basketball with your neighbor’s son or when you asked the neighbor if I could ride her horses?  I have a picture of those somewhere but they’re probably still in WV.

Wasn’t it just yesterday when we would play Bingo together, I won $500, and you would tease me about marrying the kid who brought me my french fries?

And yet, none of that happened yesterday.  I’m not a child anymore.  And you left this Earth to be with pappy, Uncle Rick and Angie three years ago today.

Just over three years ago was the last time that I talked to you, that I gave you a hug, that I held your hand, that I brought you flowers for your birthday.  I didn’t know at that time that that would be the last time I ever saw you.  

You were so concerned about me having to drive all the way back to Harrisburg by myself, when in reality there was nowhere else I would have rather been.  I knew you weren’t feeling one hundred percent, and I knew it had been quite some time since you felt that well.  I knew that the one place I had to be at that moment was by your side.

I didn’t know at that time about the dreams you were having, where you saw pappy and Uncle Rick again.  I didn’t know that only a few days later, you’d be lying in a hospital bed with tubes and machines surrounding you.  I didn’t know that I’d be driving out to Latrobe on Good Friday to say my goodbyes.  I didn’t know that I’d be the one to have to tell you that it was OK for you to go- that even though we needed you here on Earth, pappy, Uncle Rick, and Angie needed you more.  I had to tell you that even though we would be in pain because we missed you, that we would get through it together.

I went to the church after leaving the hospital to pray for you.  Pastor Ralph’s wife magically recognized me after not seeing me for at least 15 years.  I had been pacing around the church for at least ten minutes until they saw me.  The doors of the church were locked, but they let me in to pray for you.  Pastor Ralph stayed and prayed with me and held my hand at the same altar where I’d go up with pappy as a kid to pray.

Mom and I ate McDonald’s breakfast on the morning of your funeral at the top of the parking garage that I thought was so cool when I was younger- the same one you and pappy always drove me to after getting McDonald’s.  It was a cloudy morning and rain was in the forecast, but while we were at the top of the parking garage, the sun broke through.  Mom and I knew you were there.

I know you’ll never physically see this letter, but I hope and pray you somehow know it exists.  I need you to know how much I love and miss you.  I need you to know how sorry I am that I wasn’t around more often as I grew older.  I stopped coming up for the summers when I became a teenager, and even though I enjoyed those summers with my friends, I wish we could’ve spent more time together.

I long for one more card game, one more conversation, one more hug, one more laugh, one more adventure at Bingo, one more church service, one more smile.  However, I know these wishes aren’t feasible, at least not anytime in the near future.

So today I write to you in hopes that you’re proud of me.  In the years that you’ve been gone, I got engaged (to Kyle- I hope you remember him), we moved into two different apartments and just recently a house, Kyle and I got married, I started another new job, I received a few promotions/raises, we adopted a cute little pup named Oakley and I leased my first car.

Kyle is doing really well for himself, too.  He has a reliable car and a good job that he loves.  For only being 25, we’re both doing really well for ourselves.

Whenever I think of love, I think of you and pappy.  You were married for 60 years before pappy passed away.  I knew that whenever I said yes to Kyle’s proposal, we would have a love like yours and pappy’s.  I want you to know that I’m so truly happy, but I wish that you could have been at our wedding, to see our house, and to meet our puppy.

I’m sorry I don’t get to visit your last Earthly resting place as much as I’d like to.  But I did bury those bright blue flowers with you.  They survived through your funeral, which I never thought would happen in a million years.  They looked just as fresh as the day that I bought them for you.  I hope you liked them as much as I did.

And this is where I leave you.  It took me days to write this letter, years to even have the strength to write it to you.  So I’ll leave you with this- I love you so much, grandma.  I miss you dearly.  I hope I’ve made you proud.  Rest peacefully.

Love,

Emily

My Ideal Fall Weekend Getaway

Fall is my absolute favorite time of year.  The leaves changing, the various fall-scented candles, football, and cooler weather are all so appealing to me.  So what would be a better time of year to get away for the weekend to really enjoy the season?

If I had a chance to go on a weekend getaway this season with my husband, I would undoubtedly choose a small cabin in the woods (but not entirely secluded- I’ve seen too many Criminal Minds episodes).  Ideally, it would have a little fireplace, a cozy living room, one bedroom, and an eat-in kitchen.  It would be cozy but quaint, and it would have just enough room for two of us.

The cabin would be surrounded by beautiful red and orange leaves.  We would have the opportunity to go hiking one morning and see the foliage.  We’d spend the afternoon pumpkin or apple picking nearby.  We would eat a romantic, candle-lit dinner at the cabin.  We’d end the night by watching a rom-com while sipping on wine.  We’d talk about life, love, family, our hopes and dreams, where we want to be in 5 years, houses, kids, etc.  Maybe we’d even have enough time to sneak in a nap!

The weekend would end by cuddling and watching football together at home with my favorite pumpkin spice candle burning.

With that being said, what’s your ideal weekend getaway?  Is it similar to mine or do you prefer doing something different?  Let me know in the comments below!

Writing Prompt Wednesday: Perspective at a Funeral

**Disclaimer: This is a writing prompt I found off of Pinterest.  This is all original work, so please do not alter or copy any of the details included.  Thanks!

I never thought I’d be dead at the age of 23.  I guess that’s what texting and driving gets you.  My guess is I look pretty bad considering I’m in a closed coffin.

I looked to my left at what my hand was touching.  Someone must have seen me at some point because my older sister’s college graduation photo is beside me.  And beautiful flowers are lying to my right.  Lilies.  White lilies, my absolute favorite.  I wonder who gave me these?  It’s nice of them to put me six feet under with my favorite flowers to keep me company.

Wait, what was I texting about anyway?  What was so important that I couldn’t wait?  What was so important that it landed me here, in my very own coffin?  My eyes diverted to the top of the coffin and I realized- James.  A picture of James was taped to the top of my coffin immediately in my eyesight.  I was texting James, letting him know I was five minutes from the flower shop and- oh no!!  I was only a few months away from getting married.  No, God no…poor James!  He must have waited for me for hours before realizing that I was never showing up- I can’t believe I did this to him.

I heard a sniffle immediately outside my coffin as a voice drenched in sadness whispered into the dark walnut, “I will always love you.”  It was James.

“I love you too, James, and I’m so sorry!  Please forgive me!”  No matter how much I yelled or screamed, he was never going to hear me.  I wanted nothing more than to hold him, but no matter how much I wanted that to be true, I was never going to be able to hold him again.

It was then that I looked down at my clothing and saw they (James, my parents, Hallie?) had buried me in my wedding dress…the one that I wasn’t supposed to wear for another two months.

“Casey,” a gentle voice outside my coffin said.  “Why did you have to do this?  James needed you, your father needed you, I needed you?  Why couldn’t you just wait five more minutes?”  My heart shattered- well, figuratively, because I’m not even sure I have a heart anymore, and if I do, it sure as hell isn’t working.

It was my mom’s voice I was hearing now.  Her small, disappointed and heartbroken speech was interrupted by hysterical crying.  It’s my assumption that my dad came and got her and took her to her seat.

My assumption was confirmed as only a few minutes (were they minutes? hours?) later, I heard a rough, deep voice talking to me.

“Casey, what were you thinking?  Why couldn’t you just wait?  Your mom- well she’s drinking again and your sister won’t even return our calls.  She’s too upset to even-.  You were only-well, James is a mess.  I’ve never seen him look more thin.  I don’t think he’ll ever love- well, I love you, Case…Heaven better be good to you.”

Heaven.  Wait.  Why wasn’t I in heaven?  Did I do something wrong?  Did I sin too often and not ask for forgiveness enough?  Why am I still here?

Minutes passed as I heard voices I could barely recognize, voices of my best friends, and those of people I had fallings out with, talking to me about how they’ll miss me, how I impacted their lives, how sorry they were that we had fallen apart.

Now the preacher was going on how it was my time, how God had a plan for me, and that no one should worry as I was in God’s kingdom now.  Little do they know that I’m here, trapped in this box, listening to every word they say.

After an hour (or was it minutes?) of the preacher talking, the crowd singing hymnals and speeches of those individuals closest to me (except James who I can only assume is so heartbroken he couldn’t bear to talk to me), I felt the coffin lift up.  I must be getting carried to the neighboring cemetery.  I guess it’s time for them to lower me into the ground.

James decided to speak at the cemetery.  He went on about how I was his better half and how I truly cared about the people in my life and how I always made him laugh and how I was his soulmate….and lastly, how broken-hearted he was because I will never share his last name.  A dream cut short by merely two months.

It was truly beautiful.  I wish I could cry.

I guess the speeches are over because an obnoxious hum filled my ears, one that could only be the machine that the church has to lower the deceased six feet under.

Suddenly, I heard a feint “Wait!  Wait!  Don’t lower her yet!” off in the distance, somehow over the loud machine that had begun lowering me into my final physical resting place.

The yells got louder and finally the machine turned off.  My sister’s voice was clear to me now.  Hallie- she came!  After everything- our constant bickering, her silent treatment of mom and dad, her never having the chance to stand next to me on my wedding day as my Maid of Honor.

And it was then that I realized I was waiting for closure from her- my best friend and oldest confidant, Hallie- before I could make way to Heaven.  She was the person who had been missing, since I heard from everyone else.

She said a few words on her journey to even get to the cemetery (losing her keys, missing the turn, traffic- ironically caused by a car accident)  but also how she couldn’t let me go before saying goodbye.

“Goodbye, Casey,” she said as I heard dirt fall onto my coffin.

“Goodbye, Hallie,” I wanted to whisper but nothing came out.  Instead, the coffin disappeared and everything went silent.  Finally, I saw a light in front of me with hundreds of individuals ushering me towards them.

I walked into the white light and was greeted and embraced by deceased grandparents and those family members I never had a chance to meet.

I was home.

Starting a New Chapter

The trouble is, you think you have time.” – Buddha

A few weeks ago on a lonely Friday night I spent by myself in mine and my fiance’s apartment (readers-we have a lot of catching up to do!), I was suddenly inspired to start writing on this blog again and telling the story of what happened to my grandma.  Only a few days ago did I realize that it’s not necessarily what happened to her that matters with regard to my lack of writing (nor is it anything that you necessarily want to hear- there were some pretty gruesome aspects); it’s what she meant to me and how that turned into inspiration for writing.

My grandma passed away on April 4, 2015.  If you look at when my last post was published, it was only a week or so prior to that date, and in short that explains my lack of writing, and I do apologize for my absence since that time.

At that time, I was temporarily staying with my fiance’s (at this time he was still my boyfriend) Aunt and his grandma (which is a long story in itself of how we got to living there), and it was so nice because it felt like even if I wasn’t around my grandma as much as I would like, I still had Grandma Vera to help me along, although she wasn’t in the best of conditions, either.  It was so nice to have a grandma figure around, who could give wise advice and tell stories of when she was young.

We had been living there for less than two months when I got the phone call late Saturday night that awoke me from my place on the couch.  The world was suddenly less beautiful when I realized my Grandma was no longer around.  If I had been by myself at that time that I got the call, I don’t know what I would have done, and I am so so thankful that Daria and Grandma Vera were in the house (and shortly thereafter, Kyle).  My grandma was my world, and it kills me that she might not have known that.  Not only was she my world, but she was my inspiration.

I remember visiting her in the hospital with my aunt and uncle and even my Sunday School teacher from when I went to church with my grandparents twice a week during my summers growing up.  I had woken up early that Friday morning and drove three and a half hours just to see her, and even if I didn’t want to admit it at that time, I knew it would be the last time I’d see her in her body on this Earth.  After spending a few hours there, my aunt and uncle left the room so I could say everything that I wanted and needed to at that moment- just between the two of us.

I remember seeing her with a breathing tube from her mouth and her muscles twitching, but I knew she wasn’t there, and I knew she hadn’t been in her body for a few days.  I remember holding her hand and wishing she would just open her eyes, just like she did the Sunday prior when I woke her up from her nap on her notorious recliner.  But I knew this time she wasn’t going to open her eyes, no matter how much I wished for that to happen.

I remember saying how much I loved her, how much I needed her here, and how much everyone else needed her, especially my mom who was still heartbroken after losing both my uncle and my grandpa so close together.

People have often told me that I was her favorite, even out of her own children.  I spent every summer with her and my grandpa and she and I would always go to bingo, get our hair done together, go to the mall, go to the park, etc.  You name it, we probably did it.  With us being so close, everyone secretly hoped that once I came into the room and said hello and told her I missed her and loved her and needed her, she would open her eyes.  A part of me feels like I let them down when that didn’t happen.  But I think the reason she didn’t open her eyes again was because of what I had to tell her- the one thing she needed to hear, and how she needed to hear it from me.  At first I joked with her and told her she couldn’t leave until I started working for a newspaper in Pittsburgh so I could get her inside the Steelers locker room.  That had always been the joke between us- but I had every intention on making it happen.

But then I did the bravest thing I think I’ve ever done thus far in my lifetime.  While I stood there beside her, holding her clammy hand with one hand and pushing her matted hair back with my other, I said the one thing that needed to be said; the one thing that I think she needed to hear.  I told her I was selfish for wanting her to stay, because she wasn’t really living.  I told her that she was in so much pain, and she would continue to be for as long as she held on.  Then I told her that my Pappy, her sweetheart who she had been married to for sixty wonderful years, needed her too, probably more than we needed her here.  And that my uncle Rick, one of the sweetest and kindest men to walk this Earth, the youngest of her children, needed his mom.

The truth is, my grandma started going downhill when she lost her baby- my uncle was only 50 when he passed.  My grandpa passed in October of 2013, about a year and half after my uncle, and my grandma continuously started getting worse.  I never really knew how bad she had gotten until a few days ago when I looked back at my Facebook messages between my mom, my siblings and me and I saw that she was in and out of the hospital an outrageous amount over the last year she was alive.  It was clear to me then that she hadn’t really been living for quite some time- simply going through life day by day, always in pain and her heart always aching.  I know now that she is in the best place she can be.

The past few months that I’ve been silent, I’ve been grieving.  After she passed (and a week after, sweet Grandma Vera passed as well), I just couldn’t find the words to write.  Everything was so overwhelming and it felt like I had no time to process it.  In those two weeks, I lost all of my inspiration, because one of the few people who kept me inspired had left this Earth.

I may still be sad that my best friend isn’t here anymore, but I knew she would want me to stop being so sad and work toward fulfilling my dreams.  I hope to do that with her help even though she isn’t here anymore.  My Grandma was always my number one fan when it came to writing (and being a journalist in general), and even though I know she was proud of me, I hope to make her even more proud by following my dreams.  Not only am I going to use this inspiration to write random thoughts about every day life on this blog (and hopefully create a career out of blogging/writing); I’m also going to use her inspiration to create a story in her, Grandma Vera’s, and my Grandma King’s memory.  Whether it takes me five, ten or twenty years to finish, I promise there will be a novel in bookstores across the country that on the very first page leaves a dedication to my Grandma Haase, Grandma Vera, and my sweet sweet Grandma King who passed years ago but that I don’t go a day without thinking about, either.

So here’s to starting a new chapter, here’s to doing what I love most without holding myself back any longer, and here’s to the women who have been/will be my biggest inspirations.

Friendly Friday: The light at the end of a tunnel

I have some wonderful people in my life.  I’ve always known that, but recent events have really brought this to my attention.

These past couple of weeks have been hard on me, my boyfriend and his family for various reasons, but every time something bad happens, someone steps up and we get some good news.

Out of respect and courtesy to my boyfriend and his family, I won’t get into exact specifics of what is going on, but one of the great things that some friends of the family are doing for us as a present and not as a loan is getting us a storage unit, which is helping lift some weight off of my boyfriend’s shoulders.  We never approached them for help.  They came to us.

He also had the rough responsibility of giving his dog away.  He tried everything in his power to keep her, obviously, but the odds were unfortunately against him and that was the best thing for his dog.  But the people who took her today are amazing.  They’re a laid back married couple with five kids who are looking to move into a big house with a fenced in yard (aka they already looked at 3 houses and are looking at more).  They recently fell into some money somehow and had some extra cash and so it was perfect timing for the dog to fall into their hands.  They’re already taking her on walks and runs (because she’s overweight, to be completely honest) and playing with her and getting her hair cut.  She gets along with the cats they have and with their five kids which is perfect.  And the husband works third shift while the wife works first so someone will always be there and taking care of her.  So it’s honestly an ideal place for her to be in, since she can’t stay in the family.  What’s even better is that they were friendly enough to invite us into their home today to show their kindness and prove that they’re going to take the best care of our family member that they can.  All of that meant the world to my boyfriend, and it was finally something positive to take out of this very negative situation.

Props to them for being the bright light at the end of a dark tunnel.  They were exactly what we needed, and what my boyfriend needed, to make things easier.  And that’s why they’re the subject of my friendly Friday today.

Throwback Thursday: My childhood love

“To practice any art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow.  So do it.”

-Kurt Vonnegut

It was a very chilly Tuesday or Thursday in October 12 years ago when I received an interesting phone call from my best friend, Heather.  She called to see if I would be interested in going to a karate class with her just to watch and to see if I would be interested in joining if I liked it enough.  She said she had gone for the past week and a half and loved it, and she thought I would like it, too.  That was the beginning of it all.

At that time, I was a very shy girl.  I was only 10, I only had a few close friends who I hung out with, and I mainly kept to myself unless someone spoke to me, in which case I answered in a mousy voice.  I looked down when I walked because I wasn’t confident enough to look at people who passed me by.  I didn’t know how I would like being surrounded by complete strangers, but I thought I’d give it a chance because I always thought karate sounded cool.

I got the OK from my parents, even though I was supposed to stay home and help unpack since we recently moved into another house.  Heather picked me up on her way to the dojo (place of practice; gym or school) and we were on our way!

When we got there, I was a little confused.  We showed up to a house in my development and I didn’t quite understand how there was a karate gym in the house.  But sure enough, there was a small one in the basement, and the house was actually owned by a married couple who also participated in karate.  When you entered the basement, there was an area for shoes over to the right and a line of chairs for parents and smaller children to the left.  I took my seat and mainly sat quietly with Heather’s mom Donna while Heather participated.  I immediately fell in love with the style.  I loved everything they did, from their katas (free forms) to their kicks and punches.  I knew that I had to participate.  This was also the first night that I spoke with my Sensei (teacher).

Sensei Donna walked up to me after class and asked if I felt like this would be something I would want to do, and explained the cost and everything with the style.  She also explained everything that makes this style of karate and the school itself unique.  I barely responded to her honestly because I was so shy, but I believed everything she was saying.  I went home that night to speak to my parents and they agreed to let me join temporarily to see if I liked it.  But I fell even more in love once I started, and the rest I suppose is history.

I went through a lot of ups and downs during my 11 years of practice.  They saw me in the most awkward time of my life and still treated me the same.  They became family.  It soon became my outlet whenever I was upset with family issues or stressed over schoolwork.  I somehow managed to do both karate and track/cross-country for a few years, because I refused to give up two things that I loved so much.  I worked my ass off and helped one of my friends get her black belt at 16, the youngest my school would allow students to test for black belt.  When she took her test, she was tested in our dojo here and we had to film it to send it to the head of the style who is located in Nevada.  At the time I was only a yellow belt, and he complimented my style, technique, precision, strength, hard work and discipline, all of which he saw from the video, and I still see that as one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received.

A lot changed during those 11 years.  I saw many faces come and go, as many students either gave up or couldn’t afford to spend the time or money with the style.  We moved from the small basement to a renovated community building.  I saw many people push through the pain of breaking wood.  I saw several of my friends get over their mind block and pass their tests to get the next belt.  I helped many people advance by helping teach, something that was relatively new to me and completely different to who I used to be.

Truth is, I completely changed during my time practicing karate.  I’m no longer that small, scared little girl who looked down when walking/spoken to/or when speaking to someone.  My confidence grew because of karate.  When other people, especially my Sensei, believed in me, I began to believe in myself.  Some of the younger students even began looking up to me, and that brought so much joy to my heart.  I’m so happy that my love and passion for this sport showed through my performance so that those younger kids felt they could look up to me and want to be like me.  And I feel like this is one of my greatest accomplishments.

In my post from Tuesday, you learned that I’m no longer in West Virginia where my karate school is.  One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do was to tell them that I was leaving, and I didn’t know when I would be back.  It was different when I went to college; I had breaks throughout the year and summer to count on to work my butt off for 3 1/2 hours every Tuesday and Thursday.  This time I would try to come back as often as I could, but I couldn’t guarantee many visits.  I cried when I told them I was leaving, and I completely lost it when I told my Sensei, who has done more for me in my life than a lot of people have.

As of two or so weeks ago, I found out that my Sensei was closing the dojo.  Things are getting pretty tight with money, and there are some personal things going on in her life that she has to focus on.  I can’t blame her.  I really can’t.  And I don’t.  But seeing that status right before I went to bed broke my heart.  I couldn’t believe that something that meant so much to me and that changed my life so much for the better was suddenly disappearing.  Whenever I come home, it won’t be there.  If I feel like stopping by to work out (I have the code for the building), I won’t be able to anymore.  But I was kindly reminded by my wonderful boyfriend while I was hysterically crying, it’s just a building.  Sure, it holds a lot of precious memories and was basically a place where I grew up, but it’s just that; a place.  I still hold all of those memories within my heart.  The people will be around.  I have most of their numbers or are at least friends with them on Facebook so I can keep in touch.  Whenever I go back to West Virginia, I’ll can always make plans to meet up with them.  So the dojo is gone, but the people aren’t.

I am so completely blessed to have known so many wonderful people during my time practicing karate, and I’ll always hold them close to my heart.  I’m incredibly blessed to have such an amazing family.

The featured image is an old picture that was taken of the adult class the last night before I went to college for my freshman year.  I’m the fourth girl from the left.  The girl not in uniform is my best friend, Heather.  She had some health issues and stopped participating, but I wouldn’t have become who I am today without her calling me up that night and asking me if I wanted to go watch.  The girl directly beside me to the right is the girl who I helped test for her black belt.  The woman at the end on the left is my wonderful Sensei, my second mom, my friend, my mentor, my hero.  I’ll never forget what she taught me, both in karate and in life.

After I learned the news about my dojo closing down, I obviously texted Donna to see how she was holding up and I asked her if there was anything else I could do for her, considering everything she had done for me over the past 12 years.  Her response brought tears to my eyes.  It’s always nice knowing how much you mean to someone and that you’re the reason why they feel successful.

Here are some pictures from my last class before my freshman year of college.  I wish I had more recent pictures for you, but sadly I can’t find any.

My best friend Heather and I. My two friends Lindsey (left) and Vikki (right).Mr. Dave, who always brightened my days with his smile.

Boz (middle), who was like my brother.  Funnily enough, he knows both of my brothers and worked with my mom, so I’ve actually known him since I was about 7 or 8.  Adrian (right) is Mr. Dave’s (above) son, and he grew up to be so well disciplined from karate.  I’m happy to say he’s like the little brother I never had.  I always loved sparring him!

Last but not least, Donna.  My Sensei.  One of the most wonderful and kind people I have ever met, and did anything and everything she could to help me out as best as she could.

Because Donna is having such a rough time, one of the more recent additions to my dojo family, Sarah, created this page to donate money to help her out during this rough period of her life, and to say thank you for everything she has done for us.  If you even have just a dollar, every donation would help.  Don’t feel like you have to donate anything.  I don’t want to pressure you.  But I do hope you understand how important karate is to me, and how Donna has changed me and my life for the better.  The link is here for you to look at.  If you don’t want to donate or don’t have the money, don’t feel like you have to.  I won’t be upset if you don’t donate.

If you read all the way through this, thank you.  I hope that you’ll share a story about something that you love as much as I love karate, or a sport that you were as passionate about, or even just about a family that you gained that has improved your life for the better.