When the caretaker needs care

Many of my blog articles talk about our dad’s progress since his stroke. However, today, I’m coming to you with a simple request not for our dad, but for our mom.…

Several weeks ago, my mom learned that she has breast cancer. It started out as quite a blow, but we have since learned that the type she has should be treatable and she, thankfully, is not going to need chemotherapy. That said, “cancer” is still a scary word, and we could definitely use your prayers.

She has just left for the hospital where she will have a lumpectomy. (Another praise that it won’t have to be a full mastectomy!) However, she has an ongoing condition, A-fib, where going under the anesthesia and the cut-back of her medication is somewhat of a risk. So, even though the surgery is straightforward, it is still a little concerning for all of us.

So, our simple request is that you would lift our mom up in prayer. That you would ask God to guide the doctor’s hands with perfect, precise accuracy. That the pathology report will come back and show us that radiation isn’t even necessary and that all the cancer cells will have been removed from her body.

Her faith is strong. She has complete trust in the Lord. But, she knows there is power in prayer, so will you join us? As always, thank you for your ongoing love and concern for the Horan Clan. What an amazing community my parents have built!

Greater Later

Tonight is the last night of my fifties. I still can’t believe it. I don’t say that because I feel young. Lord knows, between arthritis, my autoimmune disease, a fairly recent broken ankle and foot, and my new ridiculous ‘trigger thumb’ (what the heck?!), I’m definitely feeling my physical age! What makes it so hard to believe that I’ll be sixty tomorrow is merely knowing where I now fall on the life expectancy continuum. It seems impossible because there is still so much to do! And, yes, I’m blessed to be here. And, yes, I know not many are afforded the years I’ve been able to enjoy thus far. And, yes, I know it is just a number…. Still…. I’ve been feeling the presence and pressure of “time” in a way I never have before with this milestone birthday. And, today, I’ve come to realize that, just maybe, that is actually a good thing.

I was listening to Hoda Kotb’s podcast on the way home from my parents’ house this afternoon. It was an episode where she was celebrating her turning 60. She shared the mantra of “greater later.” She stole it from Bevy Smith, and now I’m stealing it from the two of them. I’m enjoying settling into that notion. — My life will be even greater later. I know this because I will be intentional to make it so. I’ve decided. I’ll do the things. I’ll make the effort. I’ll continue to choose joy. (Incidentally, JOY just happens to be my 2025 Word of the Year.)

Only God knows the numbers of our days, and He has a plan for each of us. He has a plan for me. I’d say that becoming a little more laser focused on what that plan may be is a good thing. It’s healthy. And, after a month or so of feeling pressure about it, I’ve finally turned a corner. Now, I’m just feel motivated about it. Curious, open, and very willing to follow.

So, here’s to this new and wonderful decade! Here’s to living with intention and prayerfully asking God regularly, “What do you have for me today, Lord?” Here’s to listening to His answer and taking action. Here’s to being grateful for the first half of my life, and excited about the second half! (I’m optimistic; my great grandmother lived to be 102!) I don’t know if sixty is the new forty, but I do know that turning sixty doesn’t feel as heavy as it used to. Life is good, and I am so very, very blessed. And the best part? I just know it’s going to be even greater later!

Birthday Celebration Reflections

The end of August is a special time for our family. We celebrate the births of both Dad and Mom. This year, Dad turned 83 and Mom enjoyed her milestone 80th. They didn’t want a lot of fanfare, so we elected to have a simple, family gathering with all their kids, most of their grandkids and their two great grandkids. The celebration was fun and loud and full of love.

Recently, my husband, Howard, shared how odd it is to think about the fact that we get to be a part of our grandchildren’s stories, but we won’t get to be here for their whole story. Their endings will, most likely, be written without us. Howard’s comment made me pause. Have we truly considered that the chapters we write while we’re here are not just our own, but they are also part of other people’s stories?

“When I was a kid, our family…”
“My wife always…”
“One of my fondest memories of my Aunt is…”
“My dad was at every….”
“Remember that time we were in the kitchen …”
“My Grandma’s love was…”
“I can still hear my Grandpa saying …”
“I always called my Mom when…”
“My husband’s greatest passion was…”
“I once had a boss who…”
“I had a very dear friend who told me…”
“I could always count on my sister for…”
“That time we celebrated Mom and Dad’s birthday was so…

Core memories. We’re helping build them for those around us. We’re creating today what we will be remembered for long after we’re gone. There are no do-overs. We’re not only the main character in our own story, but we’ve got a supporting cast role in others’ stories. What kind of role are we playing? If there was a summary of their life’s book, what would be said about our part in it?

Big questions to think about, for sure, and I’m not certain I know the answers. But, as is often the theme in my blog, it makes me more and more determined to live more thoughtfully – with my family, my friends, my co-workers, even strangers I meet along the way. If I’m going to be a character in someone’s book, I want to be a good one!

So back to the birthday celebration – How truly blessed are we that Dad and Mom are still here and adding to the chapters of our stories? I am well aware that many haven’t been given that gift of time with their parents and grandparents, and I’m so very grateful we have. I don’t take it for granted at all. So, as I get ready for bed after celebrating Mom and Dad with the family I love so dearly, I just want to say, “Thank you, Lord. Thank you for my parents and the blessing they are to me and their grandchildren. Thank you for the story we are still writing together. You, Lord, are the most incredible master author. Amen.”

Learning to Be Intentional

My parents moved across country when they were a young married couple and raised us girls without the blessing of having family close by. The friends they made through our church community were the people with whom we celebrated holidays, went camping, and shared memories. The families in this group of friends became part of the foundation that supported us as we grew up. Last week, we learned the sad news of the passing of two of the men from this foundational friend group. It’s hard to grow older and lose friends and loved ones. No one really prepares you for the harsh reality of the stage of life my folks are in. Someday, I’ll probably write about that. We have plenty of books like, “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” but few answer the question, “What to Expect When You’re Aging.” That’s a topic for another day. Today, I want to share about one of these men, Bob.

I just found out that Bob actually passed away back in December. Ugh. The thought that he had been suffering with a serious illness, and I had not reached out to offer my support because I was unaware, is crushing me. One of the main reasons I feel so badly about this, is that this man, whom I hadn’t seen in person in many, many years, has been one of my biggest supporters since my Dad’s stroke. Despite all the years that had passed since our families were last together, Bob reached out and continued to do so for years. It was as if he understood that I was missing my Dad’s voice, so he made the effort to be there for me to cheer me on since Dad couldn’t. He didn’t try to be him or take his place, but he offered that fatherly type of support that only a Dad can give, and that every kid needs to feel (even those kids who are getting up there in age with grandkids of our own!) After hearing of his death, I re-read the countless emails we exchanged. I now count them as treasured gifts. These were emails where he regularly encouraged me to write a book, or shared his thoughts about God and love, or spoke of how we deal with suffering. I take solace in knowing (because he told me so many times) that the Holy Spirit somehow used my posts to draw him closer to God. In simply sharing about his own aging process, he said he felt renewed comfort in what was in store for him someday. He was confident in all the glory that awaited when it was his time to go. He never shared that was likely right around the corner; I had no idea. But, I have no doubt where he is now. Praise God for that sweet assurance.

At the same time, as I read all those emails to and from Bob, I have to take pause for some serious self-reflection. How had I let a year go by since I wrote him last? Why didn’t I think to check-in and make sure he was doing ok? What on earth was I so busy doing that I couldn’t take a few minutes to drop a line to someone who had been so incredibly supportive of me in my darkest days? It’s a vaguely familiar feeling of the words I shared at my Grandma’s funeral when she passed away. Gram wasn’t always easy. Sometimes it was hard to be patient. When she passed, I spoke at her funeral about how her death taught me what was important. It taught me to prioritize. Well, apparently, this student still has a lot to learn. Because, once again, I’m feeling like I fell short of being the kind of person I know God calls me to be – of the kind of person I want to be.

I don’t want to use this blog to be preachy to anyone else, but I do want to use it to explore what is important to me. I want to use it to challenge me to be intentional with my thoughts, words, and actions. Am I telling the people important to me that they are, indeed, important? If I see something beautiful or a gift in someone, do I freely share that compliment with them? Am I being fully present to others? Am I consistently practicing gratitude? Am I using my time wisely? Am I prioritizing my health, my relationships, my growth, my God? At the end of my life, will the deep sigh I let out be one of pleasure and satisfaction with how I showed up to others, or one of regret for all the missed opportunities to be who I was made to be?

Bob’s passing has brought all these and many more questions to light for me. It’s been a couple very deep days of reflection and tears and heartwarming, thought-provoking conversation with my incredible sister, Traci. (How blessed am I to have someone so dear to process all these emotions with!) I definitely don’t have all the answers, but I think I’m asking the right questions. And, for that, I am very thankful.

I’ll leave you with this – It’s the closing of the last email Bob ever wrote to me. I had shared with him that I was feeling sad about my Dad’s inability to converse and the void that absence caused in my heart. But at the same time, I felt silly complaining because so many people had it worse than we did. He wrote to me, “You feeling pain now at the loss of relationship is very understandable, regardless of the problems of others. We are, after all, feeling beings. Just know that in the real world, many are able to see you, and share your feelings with you, especially in your posts. You never know whom you may touch.” And, as always, he signed off with his well known sentiment, “Every day is an adventure.”

Bob, I’m eternally grateful that you chose to see me. That you gave me permission to feel all the feels. That you so often shared with me that my words touched you. And that you always reminded me that every day – every single day – is an adventure. I was blessed by your love and support and hope to become a better person by the lessons your passing has taught me. Until I see you again…

Sisters by birth, friends by choice

My sister, Traci, is celebrating her birthday today. My little sister, Lori, celebrates hers at the end of the month. In honor of these two incredible humans, I thought I’d share a bit about what it means to me to have these amazing sisters.

Let me start by saying that we are all very different. I’m the oldest. Probably the most serious. Certainly the most pragmatic. Traci, two years behind me, is waaay nicer than me. She never says a bad word about anyone. She is loyal and kind and passionate. Lori, nine years my junior, is totally different than both of us. Her bold, hip fashion sense, zest for life and listening ear to everyone she meets is unparalleled. Everywhere we go someone knows and loves Lori. These two women are beautiful inside and out, and I am so very thankful I get to call them mine.

Different as we may be, the things that bind us together, the things that make us family are rock solid and foundational to who we are. My sisters are my biggest fans – absolute, always supportive, raving fans. When I decided to start this blog, both excitedly exclaimed how proud they were of me. I think they are proud because they know me. They know my heart. They know what makes me tick. They know my desires and my fears and insecurities. So, they understood what taking this leap of faith meant to me, and they supported me with an enthusiasm that only my sisters would have. I can’t even begin to express how much their support means.

What I’ve learned as I have gotten older is that not all families work like ours. We are so close and care about each other dearly. But, we are also blunt and opinionated with each other. We tell each other what we think and get into each other’s business if we think it’s warranted. We often give unsolicited advice, step on each others’ toes occasionally, and probably drive each other nuts from time-to-time. It’s a level of “realness” that I’ve found not all sisters share. But this realness, this ability to be honest and open with each other, is what makes our bond so special. It is a bond built on mutual trust and respect and honest-to-goodness unconditional love.

So, when Dad suffered his strokes three and a half years ago, when the rubber hit the road and it was time to show up or go home, we showed up. We showed up as a family, and our sisterly bond allowed us to face this huge challenge head-on, together. We’ve each provided support to Mom and Dad in our own, unique style and manner. We’ve depended on each other to pull the weight required to make a difference for our parents.

Traci, the patient teacher has focused on speech therapy and bringing Mom and Dad to church. Lori, the confident caretaker has handled trips to physical therapy and showering. I, the more business-minded one have helped with bills, insurance, trusts and banking. (I’m also pretty well-versed at calling DoorDash or picking up take-out – unlike Lori who actually cooks creative meals or Traci who brings “special treats” from her and Mom’s favorite store, Grocery Store Outlet.)

All this is to say that we’ve sort of found our rhythm of support, and it works because we can depend on each other. We know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we’ll be there for one another and for Mom and Dad. I understand that the confidence I have in my sisters, and that I hope they have in me, is not something that all siblings share. It is special. They are special. I know what a gift I’ve been given, and I thank God daily for that gift.

“But the love of sisters needs no words. It does not depend on memories, or mementos, or proof. It runs as deep as a heartbeat. It is as ever-present as a pulse.” — Lisa Wingate, author

Lori, me and Traci – sisters by birth, friends by choice

When the blogging really began

Three and a half years ago, on March 6, 2019, my dad suffered several embolic strokes. To say that this was life changing and a family crisis would be an understatement. Larger than life, a fantastic communicator and big presence in our family and his church and community, my dad was the ultimate patriarch. He was who we turned to for advice and strength and confidence; he was our rock.

In the days following Dad’s strokes I began to keep the the community who cared so much about him updated on his progress by writing journal entries on CaringBridge. I found the practice of writing to be helpful for me to process my pain as well as a good way to share specific prayer requests. Friends near and far offered their love for dad, and our family has continued to be so very touched by their ongoing support.

For those that don’t know the story, Dad is still severely impacted by the strokes. He is paralyzed on his right side and has both apraxia and aphasia (which basically means he can’t really converse or find the words he wants to use). Nevertheless, we are so thankful to God for sparing his life, and we still have faith that he’ll improve. Every day we find things to be thankful for, but the journey hasn’t been an easy one.

What I learned through writing all the CaringBridge updates was that so many people are going through their own battles, and people seem to find comfort in knowing they are not alone in their struggle to find joy and keep the faith when things feel so grim. And, somehow, writing about my hurts and hopes just helped me. It was sort of like allowing myself to be known at a guttural level. It was often raw and always real.

So, while this blog isn’t just about Dad and his recovery, I posted some of those old CaringBridge updates (with the date they were written) to have them included in my journey of discovery. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since those early days post-stroke. But, it is a good reminder to be able to look back and recall how far God has brought Dad, our family, and my broken-daughter heart.

April 13, 2019 – The day Dad came home from rehab

Learning to change with the seasons

Today my youngest turns twenty-eight. I’m up early to start preparations for the brunch we’re going to have to celebrate him, and the stillness of the morning has me thinking. How is it possible that my baby is now a grown man?

When you are a young mom, everyone tells you to cherish the moments because they fly by. But, try as you may, you really just don’t understand. You’re busy figuring out sleep patterns and feedings and play dates and daycare. You’re focused on PTA meetings and weekend soccer and basketball games and planning fun birthday parties. You’re helping find the perfect outfit for Homecoming and Senior Ball and exploring college options. You’re packing them up and sending the off to college, crying because they are leaving but also because you are so darn proud of them.

And then one day, you wake up and realize that they, indeed, really have grown up, left the house and made their own way in the world. Your role has shifted and the ground you are standing on is unchartered and unfamiliar.

You’ve spent so many years in the hustle and bustle of being an active parent that when this transition first happens you kind of ignore the heaviness of its truth. Your purpose has changed and, frankly, it takes awhile to figure out how to change with it.

You’ve become more of an observer, an admirer a prayer warrior. You’re no longer the center of your kids’ worlds. No longer the booboo kisser, book reader, or taxi driver. No longer the sideline coach or physical shoulder to cry on. You’re part of what helped build them, mold them, make them – but make no mistake, they are their own grown adult selves. And, you, while still incredibly important in their lives, are more like the roots of their tree. You realize the tree has it’s own place in the forest, and you watch from a close distance as its’ branches grow and flower and reach for the beauty of all the world has to offer.

So, you pray. You pray that the roots that grew the tree are deep and strong. You pray the foundation you’ve provided is solid and the soil it’s planted in remains rich and nourishing. You pray that though they, most certainly, will face storms and be shaken, that your love and God’s great grace and strength will carry them through into a productive, happy, fulfilled adult life.

And you learn to accept the fact that the days of “molding and shaping” really flew by in the blink of an eye. You realize the people that told you to “cherish these moments” were 100% right, and “these moments” have passed by and there are no do-overs. There is a heaviness in that reality that is hard to describe, hard to accept.

The Book of Ecclesiastes says, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” I’m learning to get comfortable with this truth and figuring out how to gracefully embrace the change. For me, it is now time for the new season of embracing adult children, helping aging parents, enjoying grand-parenting, figuring out life post-menopause and planning for future retirement. This season is proving to bring its own weather – sometimes bright and sunny and sometimes stormy and uncertain. But, now, a little older and wiser, I will do everything I can to really cherish the moments, because I truly do understand how quickly the seasons change.

Post note – I had every intention to post the above article as soon as I got home from our family gathering. Can’t help but smile and share this… At the end of the day, as my husband and I drove along the beautiful river road with the late afternoon sun shining, I remarked to him how it seemed so unbelievable that Zack was twenty-eight. A few minutes later the song, “Sweet Baby James” came across the radio. Sure enough, that was the lullaby Howard used to sing to the kids when they were little. Together, we took a deep breath, shared a knowing smile and got lost in the tender memories of our beautiful now, grown-up children. We are truly blessed.

Happy birthday, son. I’m so proud to be your mom.

Sometimes the Spirit whispers LOUDLY

It’s time. I’ve been drowning out the whispers and ignoring the prodding, but I just can’t anymore. So, today, my blog FAITH-FAMILY-LIFE is born. I don’t really understand why I’m supposed to write it, but I just know that I am. God has made that much clear to me through a variety of subtle and not so subtle hints. Even the title is something I don’t fully understand. I’m not an expert on Faith, Family or Life, and I’m not sure what I have to share with the world that is worth reading. But, I am certain I’m supposed to write it, so I’m being obedient.

The last two weeks have been doozies for me on so many levels. I attended three different funerals, got a big promotion at work and was rocked to the point of sobbing from a movie I watched. I read a book cover-to-cover in one sitting about a life after death experience, and at the end of all that, I subscribed to WordPress and decided to officially blog. Emotional highs and lows and deep soul searching could have pointed me in many directions. But today, September 25th, 2022, they pointed me to writing.

So, thank you to those who decide to join me on this unknown venture and take the time to read what I have to say. I have no idea where it will lead. But, at the end of the day, when I’m no longer here, if nothing else, my grandkids will know a little more about what stirred my soul, brought me joy, caused me to question and ultimately found its’ way to my keyboard.

It’s a bit scary and overwhelming, but every act of obedience starts with a small step. I just took mine.

A year post-stroke and the lessons learned

A repost from CaringBridge, March 6, 2020

It’s been exactly a year since DadPapaRon’s first stroke. So much has happened over the past year. I went back to the beginning of our journey and re-read some of my first posts here on CaringBridge. Such daily change, fear and desperation back then. A year later, (aside from his recent seizure) we’re in more of a rhythm. A new normal has found its way into our lives, and we go through each day more accepting of what is. What he is. What that reality means for all of us.

It’s still hard for each of us to believe we’re here, though. We make a conscious effort to embrace him right where he is. We know he is enough – even if he doesn’t improve. But, part of the struggle is in the not knowing when and how much to push for more effort from him. He’s tired. His brain has been damaged. We believe he still doesn’t put it together that working hard outside of therapy is required for healing to happen more quickly. We know he doesn’t fully understand this concept, because the man we know wouldn’t accept his feeble walk, motionless arm and hand and unintelligible words; he just wouldn’t accept them. He’d push and push and push. But, the brain is complex. He’s suffering from both apraxia (he wants to talk and move but can’t) and aphasia (he doesn’t fully understand or process completely what’s being said). These conditions make it so challenging for him, and they make us realize that we just shouldn’t push too hard because it’s completely exhausting for him.

Regardless, as today marks the one-year anniversary of his stroke, we worry that steps toward improvement may not be as big now. The more time that passes, the harder it becomes for the brain to heal. At least that is what the medical professionals say. But, we also know that anything is possible because we love and worship a God of miracles; we’ve already seen so many. So, we continue to pray for improvement and healing. We know so many of you pray for the same thing. We are so grateful you’re helping lift his needs up and supporting us during this walk.

This past year has taught the Horan Clan many things. Among them:

If you’re building a family, be sure the structure is solid with Christ as the foundation and unconditional love as the walls. You never know when the earthquakes will come, and you’ll want that incredible structure to weather the storm. I’m convinced we could never have survived this emotional rollercoaster as well as we have without that family structure that Mom and Dad built for us.
Be thankful. Cherish the people in your life, and tell them regularly how much you love and appreciate them. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and you don’t want to live with regrets.
Instill confidence in your kids. There’s nothing like the confidence that comes from a parent’s belief in their child. When words are absent, you realize how much you long to hear them – how important they were to have in your head all along as you grew up.
Reach out to others. We were meant to live in community. The support, love, prayers and strength of others is so huge when you’re struggling. Being ok with vulnerability and asking others to come alongside you in a time of need is not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of how blessed you are that others care.
Be there for others. We have all been so totally humbled by your support. It has demonstrated for us the importance of us being there for others when they are going through difficult times. Even when we don’t know what to say or do, it’s still valuable and appreciated to show love and support and to pray.
In a moment’s notice everything really can change. We hear this all the time. Honestly, though, until you live it, you just don’t get it. I know so many reading this have learned this lesson the hard way – in a completely permanent way, with a loved one passing away. In our case, the moment’s notice changed our ordered reality drastically. Whether it’s a death or serious injury, everything really can change on a dime. So, the lesson here for all of us is to live each day fully, expressing our love to others, forgiving quickly, appreciating the gifts we’ve been given, growing closer to each other and to God.
Be prepared with logistics. Health screenings, consistent medications, advanced directives, wills and trusts and decisions about ongoing care.. Take care of business. Have the hard conversations. Plan when you’re healthy, able and not stressed. I’m not saying we’ve all done all this yet, but we sure understand the importance of it!
We are not in control – but God is. Faith that God has a plan. He loves us. He sees us. He wants what’s best for us — even when life doesn’t make sense — that kind of faith, breathes life into your weary soul. It gives strength when you’re tired and peace when your circumstances suggest that’s impossible. Faith gives purpose.
Introduce your kids to the One who loves them even more than you do. We learned from Mom and Dad that it’s our job to make the introduction, arrange time together, encourage interaction. But, we’ve also learned, at the end of the day, it’s up to our kids to decide who they build a relationship with. It’s up to them to engage, learn from and love who they choose. They must find their own faith. But, we are so aware that it was our parents that made the introduction to God for us, and no words can express how truly grateful we feel for that now as adults.

I could write a book about all these, and so many more, lessons we’ve learned over the last year. But, this post is getting long, and duty calls to get to work. So, I’ll simply end by saying thank you from all of us in the Horan Clan. Thank you for living this last year in the trenches with us. Thank you for your prayers and support. Thank you for caring enough to read these updates and loving us enough to show and tell us. It’s been one heck of a year.

If Dad could talk and use both his arms, we know he’d give you each a big giant hug and offer a deep sigh and a huge, “Thank you. I love you. It’s gonna be alright,” kind of encouragement. He used to always talk about “Christ among us.” You certainly have been that for him and his family.

Here’s to Year Two, Round Two- Lets go, God! We’re ready! 👍🏻❤️😊

Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad

A repost from CaringBridge, January 11, 2020

Today marks 56 years that Mom and Dad have been married. What an accomplishment. What a testament. What a commitment. They met as children in upstate New York. Dad robbed the cradle, and they married young. At nineteen and twenty-two its unlikely that when they promised ‘til death do us part’ and ‘in sickness and in health,’ that they fully understood what they were signing up for. Yet, here they are – 56 years later – showing their family, friends and community what those vows really mean.

This post is in honor of their grit. Their digging down deep and staying when it wasn’t easy. Their decision to put Christ in the middle of their marriage and lean on Him when feelings came and went and forgiveness was hard and the road wasn’t smooth (because we all know it is never always smooth for any married couple.)

This post is in honor of the family they built. The love and confidence they poured into their daughters and continue to pour into their grandchildren. Their legacy grows and becomes richer as the years pass.

This post is in honor of Mom. Mom – who used to let Dad take the lead in most things, but since the stroke, has had to step into that role and become the rock for him to stand on. She has truly amazed us. Her entire world turned upside down ten months ago. Her plans for what her future would look like completely imploded. It’s been so hard for the family, but I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for Mom. Still, her steadfast love hasn’t wavered. She serves tirelessly and has learned to accept this new normal. Together, they’ve learned a new “language.” They communicate now with knowing looks, giggles and funny gestures. Their eyes tell their love story. Her fierce protection of him shows the depth of her feelings. Sure, she has tough days and sad moments, but my God, she’s solid. She’s compassionate. She’s committed. Over the last ten months she has truly lived her marriage vows as an exceptional example to all who are watching. We’re blessed to have a front row seat.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad. We’re so honored to see the unconditional love you two share with each other. We’re thankful to God to have you both here with us to celebrate this milestone.❤️