Dear 2025,

Dear 2025, Thank you for the final lesson of your tenure,

the idea that some things need to break in order to heal.

As I contemplate tonight's calendar page turn, the bunion backstory:

It felt out of the blue that day, when my sister asked, "When are you getting those bunions removed?"

"Bunions? What bunions? I don't have bunions; I was just born with wide feet."

She'd gotten hers fixed, as did a few friends over the years, but I'd heard mixed reviews about the shaving option. If I didn't want to do it once, would I really want to do it twice?

Meanwhile, both of my rogue metatarsal bones were on the move, in the wrong direction. I tried toe separators, bunion guards, even sandals that would hold those feet into place, but nothing kept them from their wayward growth.

And even more compelling? Taking my mom to get fitted for diabetic shoes because she was in such profound pain from the bunions that deformed her feet and made them hardly recognizable as she aged.

2025 seemed like a good time for a consultation, hoping to be told that my sister was wrong, that my feet weren't really all that bad. They didn't hurt (much) after all, unless I had to walk for any distance. But he pretty much confirmed that I did, in fact, have bunions and that, because there’s a significant hereditary link, they'd likely continue down the path that my mom's feet took.

What's counterintuitive to me is that the doctor would break the bone that was going off the rails at its base and put it back where it belongs, then tack in a titanium plate, to keep it in its place. Break it to make it better?

Life is like that sometimes, where things have to break before they're beautiful again. Gamblers have been known to break the bank before they decide they can't afford that addiction any more. Alcoholics hit their breaking point when their addiction costs them more than they want to invest. And friendships often run their course before fracturing to make room for somebody new.

So thank you, dear 2025, for such a time as this You did not disappoint.

And by that, I don't mean I wasn't disappointed. I was. A lot!

But all of those hurdles simply brought me to today,

where I was meant to be all along.

We started the year by saying good-bye to Dad's wife, Flo, my stepmom for some 38 years, though does any twenty-something really feel like they want or need a stepmother? She was a wonderful companion to our Dad all of those years, so I was grateful to be there in that sacred moment, holding her hand and singing her into her heavenly rest. Gosh, how they loved one another; they were inseparable.

In the months following her passing, I felt the tug to continue her mail ministry by writing and sending a card to Dad so that he had something personal in the mailbox every single day. Mailing letters is pretty pricey these days, but the effect those notes had on Dad's grief journey made it well worth the cost.

It was on the evening of Flo's funeral that our daughter shared with her Grandpa Natzke that she and her husband were expecting their first child right around what would have been Flo's next birthday, so that also gave him hope in what felt like a full-circle moment.

Meanwhile, I was writing and rewriting my new picture book, Knit Back Together, and my illustrator was sending artwork to whet my appetite. Home again in June to celebrate Breakfast on the Farm on my birthday, I was able to share the story and a draft of the illustrations to a Young Minds Focus Group of fourth graders at Howard Elementary. I'm so grateful for their suggestions and feedback. The book released in early September and I'm thankful to Darrin and Jessica over at Road To Awesome LLC for their help in making that happen.

John retired from NASA in the middle of your 365 day stay. He loved that he got to work on sending a robotic mission to the moon, and his mug even made it to Times Square in NYC. What a time of celebration and reflection you brought his way after a 39-year career as a Planetary Scientist and NASA's dirt dude.

We foster failed in June when Everly secured her spot on our couch.

We kept saying that she'd be the perfect cat for someone,

then we decided to keep her for ourselves and we were right!

She's chaotic and cuddly, all at once, and we love her so much.

Then, in fairly quick succession, the passing of three treasures: Aunt Dorothy, Aunt Elaine, and Aunt Louise. And before December got here, we'd also lose John's step-dad of 40 years, Bobby Ward Jackson.

We visited Bob a week before his passing, 

this picture a stark reminder to take the shot

So we had a lot of loss; in the mix, Gary and Kaitlyn's dog, Samantha, also left us. I was blessed to be able to video chat with her as she drank in the admiration of her family and friends before crossing over. Sam truly was the epitome of the reputation that dogs get as man's best friend. 

It broke our hearts to let her go, and we are forever

grateful for the beauty that she brought into our lives.

And at the same time we really wish that

Andy could have had a few years with her.

His smile truly lights up this Grammy's heart.

So off we roll into 2026, better because of everything that you threw our way, even the stuff that could have broken us. Joy always comes in the morning. 

And healing continues on the calendar page ahead. 

I can feel it.

Thank you for all of it, 

the moments, the memories,

the sorrows and the celebrations.

Look out 2026; we are bringing our truest, wholehearted selves your way, eager to see what lies ahead as we use what we've learned in 2025 to influence and inform our choices and connections. Happy new year, dear reader! 💜