Seriously, America...

Funny thing about criminals- they aren't born criminals, they become criminals after they commit a crime.

Recently, Santa Clara County Superior Court Judge Aaron Persky said that age and lack of criminal history of Brock Turner, the Stanford student who was convicted of three felonies for sexually assaulting an unconscious woman, played a factor in him sentencing Turner to six months in jail.

Six months. 180 days. Roughly one academic year.

"A prison sentence would have a severe impact on him," Persky said. "I think he will not be a danger to others."

Stop right there. It would have a severe impact on him, the rapist? Yes, as well it should- he raped an unconscious woman. His punishment should have as close to an impact on him as his actions did on her. A six month prison sentence? #isthistimeout?

We start teaching our kids at an early age that they have to be held accountable for their actions. If you are rude, you lose a privilege. If you lie, you are grounded. How do teach your kids that doing wrong is wrong when we have a Superior Court Judge saying "Lets not punish him...lets give him a second chance to rape someone- if he does it again- then we will punish him." Where is the motivation to make the right decision if there are no consequences for the wrong ones?

Don't get me started on the FBI and Hillary. #icanteven

Then the shooting in Orlando. Omar Mateen, who had been investigated in 2013 and 2014 by the FBI for suspicions of terrorist activity, legally purchased the handgun and assault rifle he used in to kill over 40 people in a gay nightclub a few days before the massacre.

Stop again. Let that sink in. Someone who was investigated by the FBI more than once had no trouble purchasing an assault rifle. And the folks who sold him the assault

I am all for the right to bear arms. However, if you've been investigated even once for terrorist activity, terrorist connections or even googling jihad- you absolutely should not be able to purchase an assault rifle. In fact, I think there are few circumstances where an assault rifle would be deemed necessary. If you are a gun enthusiast, you should be a sharp enough shot to not need to fire 180 rounds of ammunition per minute to take care of business. #unlessitsazombieapocalypse #thisargumentpissesmyhusbandoff #wecantdiscusspolitics #illendupinthedoghouseoverthis #loveyouboo

Our society is quick to blame religion, laws or race for the actions of one human being. I would like to blame the California Judge for not giving a stricter sentence to a rapist- but ultimately, the rapist is the one to blame. I would like to blame the person who didn't think Mateen should be kept under some sort of surveillance- but it's not that person's fault or the gun's fault- it's Omar Mateen's.

Our country is a scary place to me right now. Our Presidential candidates are in a political pissing match- spending more time trash talking than speaking actual plans. One has absolutely no filter and shouts the most extreme plan possible to get attention- the other points and says "Did you hear him?! He's irrational! Don't listen to him about my past." Our amazing country has turned into a bit of a shitshow...and our ringleaders are nothing short of circus freaks. 

Dream Date

Monday morning, coffee in hand on a seemingly gloomy, overcast morning, I walked from my car into my office. Just before placing my hand on the door, it hit me.

Two weeks ago today, this moment, I heard "I love you, bud" for the last time. 

I told myself to get it together. You say all the time to not dwell on sadness, listen to yourself.

My day moved on like any Monday. I blinked and the day was over and I was laying in my bed with my husband. The room was quiet, except for the thoughts that were knocking around in my head.

"I miss him," I said, telling my husband about my realization earlier in the day of the two-week marker.

"I know you do," he said, hugging me tighter.

We drifted off to sleep. 

My dreams have been vivid and colorful the last few weeks- but they haven't made any sense at all...until last night.

I was walking Little Miss into school, hand in hand, Mom by our side. As we opened the door, there he was- my daddy. He looked like he did when he would walk me into school when I was Little Miss's age- big broad shoulders, red beard, huge smile. He took my hand and squeezed it three times. {i love you}

"I love you, bud!" he said, smiling into my eyes.

"I love you, too!!" I said, as we walked on.

I woke up for the first time in weeks with a happy heart. He knew just what my heart needed to hear- and I'm so thankful!

Our Last Ride

"Go home and be with your family...enjoy your time with them," Daddy's doctor told him.

So that is what we did. 11 days after we were told the initial news about the cancer, we brought Daddy home.

Time stood still that Thursday evening. We soaked up each moment with each other. We overused I love you because we meant it, every time. We stared at each other. We hugged. We cried. We ate a lot...of any kind of food he wanted. We held each other tight. 

"Do you know what means the most in this world to me?" he asked me, as I was walking out of his bedroom.

"What, Daddy?"

"You," he said pointing at me.

I fought back the tears as I walked back over to hug him one more time. As I walked towards him, my mind traveled to when I was little- he would back into the driveway and I would run up to his dumptruck for a hug.

"You know what means the most to me?" I asked him, as he wiped my tears.

Neither of us could speak. We didn't have to. 

Friday night was restless. His breathing was progressively getting weaker and weaker. His pain levels were untouched by the pain medication- but he was still fighting to be himself.

"I want to take a shower...and then I want to go for a ride," he said.

My determination kicked into high gear. It was the first thing he had said he wanted to do, besides eat, since we got home. Come hell or high water we were going for a ride.

A friend was washing his truck- and all I could think about was how Daddy was going to rip me a new one, cancer or not, if that truck got scratched during the washing. I was as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof.

"Looks good, where are my keys?" he asked me, as we walked towards his truck.

My heart sunk. I knew I couldn't let him drive with all the medication he was on...but the thought of disappointing him tied my stomach into knots.

"I ain't stupid...I want to sit in my seat...start my truck," he said.

I passed him the keys. He sat down and started his truck. He laid his head back and closed his eyes as the motor purred and the radio played a song that fit way to well. {I Drive Your Truck, Lee Brice}

The moment flew by. He got up and moved to the passenger seat.

"Let's go somewhere, Bud," he said to me.

I was honored. No one has ever driven that truck but him. No one.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Doesn't matter...your house," he replied.

As we drove, just the two of us, I noticed he was drifting in and out of sleep. I held his hand tight and enjoyed our daddy-daughter time. I thought of all the times he would take me to ride- we would ride by every house that had horses in Dare County until we found someone who would let me pet them. Then, when we got our horse- we spent Sundays, just me and him, on our horse together. 

As we drove by Midway, his eyes popped open.

"You missed it- turn around," he snapped.

"What?" I asked.

"Midway...I want to see James. Turn around," he said.

James has been a friend of our family for as long as I can remember. When Daddy taught me how to change my oil, he told me the only other person who was allowed to touch my car was James Cahoon. 

"Daddy, I don't think James is there now...but we can go find him," I said.

"Let's go see your horses," he said, drifting back to sleep.

We pulled up to the front of my house and the horses were out front. 

"Hey Tristan!" Daddy hollered.

Tristan knickered back to him, the biggest, proudest knicker I have ever heard.

"Go feed him, I'll watch you from here," he told me.

In the moment, as special as it felt then, I never imagined how close I would hold that truck ride in my heart.

When we got back home, he slept for 5 hours. As I peeped into his bedroom, he motioned for me to come lay with him.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you soon," he said, staring into my eyes.

"It's going to be okay, Daddy. We will take care of Mom...it's going to be okay," I said.

"I know you will...I know."

"Will you promise me something?" I asked, squeezing his hand.

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"Promise me you'll visit me...us...in our dreams?"

He smiled.

"I promise. That sounds like fun," he said, and he drifted back to sleep.

Monday morning at 6:55am my mom called. Daddy had a really bad night. 

"He wants to go on a truck ride- he said something about James," she said.

I called James and he was on the way over immediately.

I dropped Little Miss off at school and went straight to my parents. James was sitting with Daddy, telling stories about wrecks they'd hauled together and races they'd attended.

Daddy's voice was weak. I hugged and kissed him.

"Do you want me to stay?" I asked.

"I'm okay, go on to work," he told me. 

So I did. He didn't ever want for me to see him in pain and I could see how much he was hurting.

"I love you, Daddy...don't forget about our dream-dates," I said.

Just a few short hours later, Mom called me at work to tell me to come back.

"This is it...hurry."

Those words rang in my head as I sat frozen at my desk. My body started shaking. I grabbed my purse and wondered how I would get the words out of my mouth to tell my boss where I was going.

I don't remember what I said or the drive to my parent's house. I walked into the front door and could see through the back door to the porch. My daddy was sitting down with his head resting on my mom's chest. The stress-lines on his forehead were relaxed- his body was no longer tense. He was gone. 

A wave of calmness washed over me as I kissed his forehead. I could feel his spirit holding me tight. 

As difficult as the last few days were, I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. We got to say goodbye- so many people never get that moment. I will cherish those last few days and I know I will see him again.

I'll see you in my dreams, Daddy.

The Post I Never Thought I'd Write

Something happened.

In the blink of an eye, I was partially transformed into a little girl again- but part of me remained a grown woman. Part of me was standing in a hospital room, hearing a stranger doctor tell me that they found spots on my daddy's liver and a mass in his pancreas that was cancerous- but the rest of me was 7 years old, pulling on Daddy's arm to climb onto the back of my horse. Part of me was holding his hand, trying to be strong...and the rest of me was crumbling.

The moment the words came out of the stranger's doctor's mouth- everything changed. Our entire world changed. I wanted to tell stories- and ask to hear everything he's ever told me over again. I wanted to make new memories without thinking this might be the last time we get to do this. I wanted to study my daddy's face and memorize every tiny wrinkle- and remember where it came from...this one from the sun on his face when he used to plow fields when he was a farmer, long before I was even thought of- this one from the sunburn he got when we stayed in the ocean all day, laughing and swimming together...the color of his red beard...and how it never matched the hair on his head- the way his hands always looked when I was little- stained with grease from the tractor or oil from the dump truck.

My body went numb. I couldn't show my heartbreak. I had to show strength. I had to show that I had faith that he was going to be okay. I tried to shut out the doctors words but they echoed over and over again as memories flashed through my mind like a slideshow of happier times.

Immediately I wanted to know why. I wanted to know why God chose us- why our family. I wanted to know why there isn't a cure- with all the technology and knowledge in the world. Our government can hack into a terrorist's locked iPhone but can't find even a hint of a cure for cancer. I was Sally Field in Steel Magnolias, yelling in the graveyard as she buried her daughter. My numbness was replaced with anger. I wouldn't accept this diagnosis. It has to be a nightmare. I just want to wake up, I thought over and over. I got angry when people asked me how I was doing or how I was handling the diagnosis in the first few hours and days of finding out. How am I?! How ridiculous- my health is fine, my heart is broken and a huge part of me wants to rip your face off. No, I'm not fine.

Pray about it...God will get you through this.

The first few days of trying to process that my daddy has cancer- hearing that God would help me made me angry too. When I get upset with someone, I have to take some time to myself before I can talk it out. God's plan had really upset me. I didn't understand, and still don't, why he chose this plan for our family. I couldn't pray. I tried to talk to him but I couldn't find the words. We just simply weren't on speaking terms. I knew He was there- I knew He probably understood my silence- but I wasn't ready to talk.

They transferred my daddy to a larger hospital in Virginia due to a blood clot in his heart. {Because cancer wasn't enough to worry about.} Sometime in the first few days of him settling in at the new hospital, mom and I both realized that we were mourning something that hadn't happened yet. The anger began to fade a little- and we were able to focus on the moments we were in with Daddy.

So...what's next? God and I are talking again...and I'm hoping his plan for my daddy has an extended edition. For now, we are thankful for each day we are given. We are praying for the doctors caring for my dad, that they may be blessed with the knowledge they need to treat him. We are praying for ourselves, that we have the strength to be helpful through this process- and to not get too ahead of ourselves and be able to focus on the day we are in and not so much on the future. We are praying that we are able to keep our faith strong- it is so easy to lose faith when faced with tough journeys, such as this one.

Thank you to those of you who have held me as I cried, listened to me as I was angry, and prayed for our family. Words can't describe our gratefulness.

Say 'I love you'

We live in a small, tight-knit community and I've said before, when one of us goes through something, we all do.

Recently, two special people were battling cancer. They were both diagnosed around the same time- and both ended their battle this week, but in two very different ways. One rang the bell, ending her last radiation treatment...and one went home to be with the Lord.

Our horse community lost a very special cowgirl last week, as well. With social media, news travels fast and kind words and photos get posted almost instantly for the world to see. Upon reading the many testimonies about how much this cowgirl meant to so many people, I wondered...did she realize she was this loved? I hope so. She was the kind of person who told you when she loved you- partly, I believe, because she knew tragedy all too well. She lost two children in a tragic accident 11 years ago. She knew that life was fragile. 

When tragic events strike close to home, it reminds us to tell each other how we feel. We say I love you. We make time for each other. We put other's needs in front of our own...but unfortunately, as quickly as we are reminded, life gets in the way and we forget.

I may tap-dance on the borderline of over-using I love you because it is my personal belief that you can't overuse I love you if you mean it every time you say it. Life is too short to not say it when you feel it. Life is too short to not make time for our loved ones. Life is too short to not stop and have that conversation in the grocery store with someone you don't see that often- because who is to say that it may not be the last time you have a conversation with that person?

Say I love you. Thank your friends for being good to you. Remind your loved ones that you're grateful they were put in your life. Life is a fragile gift that we all-to-often take for granted.