FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT: HOPE

Yesterday was the first Sunday in Advent. This is a unique year, as Advent began ten days after Thanksgiving. Most years, Advent begins the Sunday (three days) after Thanksgiving. One way to look at this: we have an extra long “Advent Season,” lasting 32 days. And as Advent is a season of preparation, this extra time to prepare for the holiday is most likely welcomed.

To further play on the Advent theme, the extra long season provides HOPE that parents will have time to get everything done: make lists, shop, wrap, and ship gifts; order and send Christmas cards; plan menus.

One of my favorite Advent traditions is the University of Notre Dame’s Sacred Stories series. It started out as Sacred Spaces (meaningful and special places on campus) and evolved into Sacred Stories. This year, the Alumni Association put out a call for Sacred Conversations. And for the first time in the ten year history of the series, I felt called to share a Sacred Conversation I had with Father Edward “Monk” Malloy, President-Emeritus of Notre Dame. It was an honor to be selected by the Alumni Association to participate in this special Advent series.

During this Advent season, my HOPE for you is that the extra time will provide less stress and more time to enjoy the real meaning of the Christmas season; time to be present in the ways that really matter; and sharing the gift of our presence with those most in need of love and the assurance that everything will be okay.

Sacred Stories, Haley Scott DeMaria

TO FEEL OR NOT TO FEEL...

My goal this college football season was to “not have a physical reaction to the games.” It’s just a game, I told myself repeatedly, played by college kids. I shouldn’t be so invested that I physically get nervous, upset, and exhausted.

Here’s the thing about being a Notre Dame fan: you never know. Before each game, you never know: Are we going to get blown out? Are we going to blow out the opponent? Will it be a close game? It could be any of the three…and before the game, you never know.

At the start of the season, I had the great privilege of traveling to Dublin to watch my two favorite teams play: a heavily-favored Notre Dame against Navy (who ended up having a rough season.) And while everyone (including most Navy fans) believed Notre Dame would win, I spent the week leading up to the game reminding myself to not have a physical reaction to the game. And yet, as soon as I sat down in my seat in Aviva Stadium, a rush of nausea came over me. Seriously? I tried so hard to stay relaxed, to remember it’s just a game…played by kids.

I worked through my reactions and emotions this season, with some blowout wins and some close losses (and some not-so-close losses) and I made progress in relaxing a bit and remembering it’s just a game. Not perfect, but progress.

And then college basketball season started. And as I sit here watching the Xavier Musketeers come back from being down by nine points, only to have the other team go on an 11-2 run to retake the lead, I once again find my stomach in knots…a physical reaction to a game. It’s not just college football…now it’s college basketball too?!? I’m exhausted, and I don’t even have a child on the team.

What is it about college sports that illicit such a reaction? I know for some it’s professional sports (namely the NFL), but for many it’s a college team, a team of kids. A team of kids who are playing their hearts out 100% of the game. Sometimes they win, sometimes they lose, sometimes they make mistakes; but they are always giving their best effort. If they are doing the very best they can, what is there to be nervous about?

Ha. A lot. Because…they are kids.

GRATITUDE and LOSS

It’s Thanksgiving week and I am preparing to welcome home my boys for a few days. As any college mom (or any mom) knows, we are filled with gratitude when our children are home, safe, happy, and healthy.

My children know these last three are my daily prayer for them; I am grateful for each day they are safe, happy, and healthy. So this week my heart is with moms who aren’t feeling this blessing right now.

Every talk I give includes a quick background on my family: how competitive we are and the fundamental (sometimes dysfunctional) role sports played in our childhood. I always share how there are 12 cousins on my mom’s side (the Vandeweghes), and all 12 of us played a sport in college. Nothing remarkable, just the genes we were born with. It was an inspiring family to grow up in (Olympians, NBA all-stars, professional athletes), but a high-pressure family as well (winning was expected, not celebrated).

Last week during this part of my presentation, I had to pause; one of the 12 cousins recently passed away. Two weekends ago, the cousins (and other family members, including the next generation of second-cousins) gathered to say goodbye. There was no gathering where the words, “Funerals are for the living,” rang more true. While there were tears and hugs and broken hearts, there was also so much love and gratitude for our family, my cousins.

While Thanksgiving is a time of gratitude, not everyone feels this as deeply as I do as my boys journey home. Some moms are missing their children and I will be holding these moms in my heart, especially my Aunt. And I will remain grateful for the inspiring and dysfunctional family to which I belong.

November 12, 1993

One of the ways we heal from trauma is to find the goodness in the sadness. This is easier to do with the perspective of time.

30 years ago today, Notre Dame swam Florida State in South Bend the day before “the Game of the Century.” For Notre Dame fans, you know the game. FSU’s swim team travelled with the football team, and we housed them in our dorms (can you imagine D1 athletes today staying in the dorm rooms of the opposing team? We did it all the time…)
Pep rallies back then (ha ha - “back then” - I’m old) were in the Joyce Center, they were unscripted, and they were packed. It was “the” place to be on the Friday Night of a football weekend. Especially that football weekend.

True college football (or College GameDay) fans will know that this weekend was the first time ESPN’s College GameDay went on the road. Lee Corso and crew set up in Heritage Hall, just a few steps from the pool, next to the basketball arena. It’s all connected. And after the swim meet, I used the hand dryers in the locker room to blow dry my hair, got dressed, and nervously navigated the back hallways from the pool to the basketball arena, until I ran into the entire football team waiting for the Pep Rally to begin. I stopped and waited with them.

This was 1993, so there was no social media; news wasn’t leaked ahead of time and surprises were surprises. Standing with the football team, there was a lot of chatter among the players about “who the pep rally speaker is going to be?” “Rudy?” “Joe Montana?” “It better be someone awesome, this is a big game.”

OMG I thought (before OMG was a thing). I wanted to shrink into the wall. And then they noticed me: the only girl in a group of (much larger than me) guys.
”It’s just me,” I said, holding a piece of paper with the speech I had written less than an hour before in my coach’s office.
And a player responded, “It IS someone awesome.”

I don’t know who that player was, and if you read this and remember: THANK YOU. As nervous as I was to speak in front of 13,000 people that evening, I was no longer nervous about speaking in front of the team. What a night that was for me. And what a game the next day.

Last year I sent a several VHS tapes to be digitalized. One of them included video of my pep rally speech. Watching it made me smile. The memory of this extraordinary opportunity was healing. The memory is still healing.

If I can figure out how to post it, I will. But remember my husband’s words from last blog: my message is fantastic, but my delivery needs a lot of work.

SAYING YES

Last week I was invited to speak at a women’s group at my church. I have been invited - and spoken - before (twice before actually…I’ve lived here a long time!) As the guests gathered and I was setting up my computer (not my forte), the woman who invited me gave me a hug and said, “Thank you for saying yes.” It was a warm and welcoming gesture, but I was a bit taken aback. Of course I would say ‘yes,’ I thought.

I begin most of my talks with a similar sentiment: It’s always a privilege to share my story… And I mean it. It IS always a privilege to share it, but that doesn’t mean it’s always easy to share. When I first started speaking, it was a privilege to share my story, but it was also difficult because I was so nervous! Speaking did not come naturally to me then, and I’m sure (in fact, I know) I wasn’t very good at it. As my husband once commented, “Your message is fantastic, but your delivery needs a lot of work.” He was right.

But I kept being invited, and I got better as I became more comfortable, because I kept saying yes.

Yes got harder as my family’s life got busier. My husband was frequently traveling for work, I was in graduate school, and I had two busy, active, activity-laden boys. So saying yes meant juggling schedules, asking for help, relying on friends, and a supportive spouse who always encouraged me to say yes, even when I left him with two young kids for a week in a hurricane. Saying yes wasn’t easy, but it was important.

Sharing my story can be exhausting, but it reinvigorates me and feeds my soul. I leave each talk with a renewed heart to continue sharing, giving, doing more; and with each talk, I discover a reason why I am there. This past week was no different. I have continued conversations with women I met that night; conversations on how to help a loved one who is struggling, a family member who was injured and is hurting. Each talk provides the opportunity to help someone.

How could I say anything but yes.

October 29, 1993

There is a picture from October 29, 1993, that makes me smile whenever I see it (or even think of it). It might be because the smiles in the photo are so genuine; smiles that didn’t have too many opportunities to shine over the previous 20 months. Or perhaps it’s because the photo includes one of my favorite people: my coach, Tim, on his 49th birthday…a fact I didn’t realize until many years later. But that was Tim: it was never about him.

I am writing this post on October 29, 2023; what would have been Tim’s 79th birthday. Unfortunately, he is no longer with us, but I know he is smiling today, remembering this day 30 years ago.

I recently closed out my own 49th year, having turned 50 in August, and my goal was to begin blogging again as I entered this new decade. Life got in the way however - in good ways (vacation with my family, dropping off my kids at college) and hard (the death of a friend’s child, the loss of a family member). So here I am on this 30th anniversary, and Tim’s birthday, to celebrate an event worthy of starting my blog again.

During the 12 years between my book’s publication in 2008, and the world shutdown in 2020, I was busy raising my children, going to graduate school, traveling, speaking, serving on the ND Monogram Club board, and embracing a life I enjoyed hiding for many years. In 2008, I hadn’t much shared my story. I wanted to put it behind me; I didn’t want to talk about it; I tried to ignore the nerve damage and chronic complications that come with a spinal injury. Sharing my story allowed me to embrace the reality in which I lived; not only embrace it, but learn to use it to empower me. Sharing my story allowed me to control - and eventually celebrate - life’s tragic beauty.

I spent this weekend in South Bend, with friends who celebrated with me 30 years ago, and who made an astute observation: Your four years of college really weren’t that great. Ha. No, they weren’t. As much as I love Notre Dame, my time here as a student was brutal, hard, painful, and unhappy. Yes, there were happy moments; but overall, it was an unhappy time in my life.

Except for October 29, 1993.

30 years ago today, I competed for the first time since the bus accident. 30 years ago today, I thought the story was “over,” that I was healed and the accident would “go away.” 30 years ago today, I had no idea my real journey was just beginning. Sure, I was walking and swimming again, but I was about to embark on a journey down a path where I would grow into the person the accident tragically and beautifully created.

CHRISTY'S CREW

It has been a difficult week in Annapolis. I write with a heavy heart, as my St. Anne’s School colleague, and long-time friend/mom, took her own life last week. Her family asked that we share the cause of her death, so I am not speaking without permission.

I have felt many emotions over the last several days: shock, sadness, confusion, and gratitude. Yes, gratitude.

When someone takes their own life, it is devastating; there is sadness, confusion, and shock. There are questions: What did I miss? What could I have done? And many unanswered questions for which we might never have answers. I have felt all of this over the past seven days. But I have also felt gratitude; gratitude for the community of faith that is St. Anne’s School… the students, my colleagues, and our families.

During my own tragedy as a student at Notre Dame, I was embraced by a community of faith that carried me through my darkest time. I have said many times, and it is even more true today, 30 years later: I would not have healed as well as I have - physically, spiritually, and emotionally - had I not been at Notre Dame.

When I graduated from Notre Dame, I returned to my high school alma mater, Xavier College Preparatory, to teach, coach, and serve as assistant dean of students. On Prom Night 1999, we lost a senior, Emily Ell, in a drunk driving accident. Emily and her date had not been drinking; but they were hit by a drunk 55-year-old man. Our school community was devastated: her friends, her family, my colleagues. But what I witnessed was a community of faith come together to take care of those who grieved Emily’s death. What I experienced at Xavier was the same spirit I had experienced at Notre Dame.

And I feel that same spirit of community now. Last year, when I returned to St. Anne’s (no longer a parent, now a staff member), I wanted more than a job, I wanted a community of faith. Because life is hard. Life is beautiful and joyful, but it is not without sadness.
And right now, our community is sad. As we say goodbye to our friend and colleague, we are deeply grieving. But there is still so much joy and beauty in our students and in our classrooms…because that’s what a community of faith allows us to see. And for that, I am grateful. Grateful for my colleagues who, even while they grieve, continue to love, care for, and educate our students. Grateful for our parents, many of whom donated their time in the classroom today, so teachers could mourn and say goodbye to our friend and colleague. Grateful for the children, who bring joy to our school each day. And grateful that I have the opportunity to be a part of this wonderful, grieving, mourning, beautiful community of faith.

Please, please pray for Dean and Sophia, as they begin to navigate life without their beloved spouse and mother, Christy.

LOVE FOR ONE ANOTHER

The purpose of Notre Dame Swimming is pursue athletic excellence, with self-discipline, and love for one another.

Tim Welsh spoke these words, in various forms, over his 29 year coaching career at Notre Dame. He coined this “mission statement for Notre Dame Swimming” and lived these words every day of his life, the most important being, Love for One Another.

This weekend I am making one of the hardest journeys of my life. I am going to say goodbye. Even writing those words required a few deep breaths and tissues. We knew this time was coming; pancreatic cancer is a nasty beast, and he fought it valiantly over the last nearly-two-years. I am grateful, through COVID, that I was still able so see him, to cook for him, to clean for him, to pray with him, to love him.

I have reflected over the past few days, privately and in talking with teammates, what Tim has meant to me. To all of us. He taught us so many lessons - beyond the pool - and the greatest lesson was to love. He loved coaching. He loved his swimmers. He loves his family. He loves Notre Dame, his faith, and God. Tim is the definition of a Life of Love.

When Jesus asked us to “love one another as I have loved you,” Tim said, “Yes.” Tim loved. Tim served. And Tim always put others first.
These are the lessons I will carry in my heart. These are the lessons I have learned from him. To love and to serve.

I will have more to share. But right now I’m just trying to figure out how to say goodbye to someone who taught me how to live.

VESPERS REFLECTION

I recently started attending a zoom vespers service on Sunday evenings. I’ll share more about this in a future blog, but last night I lead the service and wanted to share the Psalm, followed by my reflection.

Psalm 109 (110)
The Lord has said to my lord:
“Sit at my right hand
while I make your enemies your footstool.
From Zion the Lord will give you a sceptre,
and you will rule in the midst of your foes.
Royal power is yours in the day of your strength,
among the sacred splendours.
Before the dawn, I begot you from the womb.
The Lord has sworn, and he will not repent:
“You are a priest for ever,
a priest of the priesthood of Melchisedech.”
The Lord is at your right hand,
and on the day of his anger he will shatter kings.
He will drink from the stream as he goes –
he will hold his head high.

Reflection (in part):
The bus accident was a physical and an emotional challenge, and I am often asked if my faith helped me through it. No, it did not. It was the faith of the community around me, who prayed for me, and lifted me up when I – literally – could not walk, that got me through it. And I knew, for the rest of my life, that I wanted to be part of this beautiful community of faith. And I went through RCIA after I graduated from Notre Dame and joined the Catholic Church.

But the lasting effects of the bus accident continued to be a challenge for me; how do you live with a tragic event and be happy? How do you find the blessings in tragedy? How do you accept that tragedy has changed your life, and be okay with it?.

In the Psalm 109, we hear the passage: “Sit at my right hand while I make your enemies your footstool.”

What does God mean when he says this? Well, first of all, putting our feet on a footstool is to declare dominance. But is God really going to turn our enemies into footstools? And who is our enemy anyway? I think what God is referring to in Psalm 109 is not our enemies as a person, but the enemy of evil and sin. Our “enemies” are anything that come between us and our relationship with God…maybe it’s greed, pride, or envy. Or maybe it’s a tragedy that hardens our heart and our relationship with God.

Through my faith, with the example of the community of faith I found at Notre Dame, and also found at Xavier – where I taught after I graduated from college – I have felt the presence of God. I’m not sure I am sitting at His right hand, but the enemy of a hardened heart is my footstool, and with God’s love and presence in my life, I have my feet on the footstool of my tragedy.

PANDEMIC, YEAR ONE

If you have read my blog over the years, you know there are gaps in my writing, but never more so than now! With my last post being in October 2020, a lot has changed.

First of all, I DID start a podcast! My good friend and fellow blogger, Anne Stricherz and I talk weekly about a multitude of topics, guided by our faith. The fondue pot is like a melting pot: throw it in, heat it up, and see what emerges; our podcast is the same. And just like Switzerland, home of the fondue pot, we are neutral when it comes to politics. FAITH FONDUE is currently housed on YouTube.

I also started a guest spot on a radio show. The co-author of Advice From a Patient and I were invited to be guests on The Charlie Adams radio show in December. This led to a (return) segment to discuss my book, What Though the Odds. This, in turn, led to an invitation to appear bi-weekly to discuss my view on world (or sometimes local) events. It runs the first and third Tuesday of the month, around 7:07am.

I went back to work - in person - at my boys’ elementary school. It is SO nice to be back in a school environment; and it is an extraordinary time to be working in education.
Thankfully, I still have the flexibility to keep my night job: in-person/live talks are starting to pick up as life slowly moves forward after a year of standing still.

So much of what Anne and I talk about on Faith Fondue would make a great blog post. No promises, but I need to start writing again.

BOOK CLUBS & PODCASTS

Earlier this week, I hosted a Zoom book club for a group that read “What Though the Odds - Haley Scott’s Journey of Faith and Triumph.” Shortly after, a friend who was in attendance texted me: Haley, I say this with all sincerity after listening to you tonight.  Have you ever considered doing a podcast?  You must be full of so many stories that should be shared. I still need to respond to her text, but the answer is Yes!

I recently recorded a podcast for season four of the Notre Dame Alumni Association’s Everyday Holiness series. It is an hour-long discussion of my Journey of Faith; not so much the story of the bus accident (although that is briefly included), but the journey afterwards. The podcast runs 60 minutes, which I thought was long, but just like my friend, I felt like I had so much more to share. (I am also amazed at how many people listened to it...thank you!)

Both of these experiences have encouraged me to continue to explore the idea of a podcast. My son has one (geared towards teenagers and sports), so I know I have the technical help. And I recently attended a webinar with a good friend from California who I immediately knew would be a great co-host. So I reached out, and she reached out back…and so it begins.

We are in the early stages of planning, but we hope to launch during Advent. Until then, enjoy my Journey of Faith as shared on the Everyday Holiness Podcast.

NATIONAL COACHES DAY

It’s National Coaches Day. I’m not sure who makes up these days, but I’ll celebrate this one (I didn’t post last week on National Sons Day…don’t tell my boys…although, I like to think every day is National Sons Day in my house.)

I have had many coaches in my life, most of them swim coaches, some of them better than others, all of them contributing to the person I have become (or who I am striving to be).

My first coach, Joe, taught me the importance of loving what you do. Joe wanted us to love swimming. It didn’t matter how fast we swam (although, I enjoyed swimming more when I was swimming fast); Joe knew we’d only swim our best times if we truly loved the sport: practicing, racing, being with our teammates. We spent a lot of time swimming; we had to love it to get the most out of it.
This is true today. Whether it is work, staying-at-home, volunteering; however we choose to spend our time, we have to love what we do, or we won’t give it the energy and passion it deserves to do it well.

My high school coaches, Jeff and Gerry, taught me the importance of being part of a team. No longer was I able to swim the events I wanted to swim; as a member of the Xavier College Prep high school team, I was assigned to swim the events that would best contribute to the team’s goals: a dual meet win streak, a state championship. Even in an individual sport, I learned that my gifts and talents were not to be used for myself; they were to be used to help the common good (in this case, my high school team).
This is true today. We all have gifts and talents to be used, not for our own glory, but for the greater good.

My club coach during high school, Pierre, taught me the value of wanting to work hard. Not just working hard because I was asked to work hard, but showing up every day with the desire to do the work hard.
This too is true today. It is important to work hard. But the desire to want to work hard will carry you further.

And then there is Tim. Tim was my swim coach at Notre Dame. He coached me in the pool, but his greatest lessons were shared outside of the pool. And he’s still teaching me today…to live, to learn, to pray, to believe, to be good and to do good, and to receive love. Sending you so much love, Tim.

Good coaches coach; great coaches teach. The best coaches stay with you forever. Thank you coaches!

NINE ELEVEN

Like all Americans, I will never forget where I was and what I was doing on the morning of September 11, 2001. We were living about 25 miles outside of Philadelphia, and my husband worked in the city. The city issued a mandatory evacuation order, but shut down all public transportation. My husband and many of his colleagues had to walk home, or at least walk until I could pick him up on the road. Of the many images scarred in my mind from that day, one is of the flood of people walking towards me as I carefully drove towards the city. Like most Americans, we sat and watched the news for the rest of the day and late into the night. We called our families. We cried. We stared in disbelief at live newscasts with pictures and videos that didn’t look like something that could happen in the United States. We received a phone call that a college friend’s fiancé had not yet been heard from. And we wondered, “What was life going to be like for our child?”

Like many of my friends, I was pregnant on September 11, 2001.

And like many of my friends, I just sent that child off to college. In a pandemic. In the midst of a different type of fear, with a different uncertainty for the future.

When the pandemic first hit, there were posts about the Class of 2020 being born in the aftermath of 9/11, and graduating during a pandemic. But for some reason, this was more poignant to me today: on September 11th. We launched them into the world during the unrest of 9/11, and we have re-launched them into the world during even more unrest. We could protect them 19 years ago; we can not protect them now.

But they are ready. We raised them to be ready. Because they were born when they were, we raised them the way we did – with all the love and fierceness and bold determination it took to find the goodness in a world that seemed so dark. They were our light. They are still our light. Now it is their turn to share their light with a world that is still dark. But it will be a better, brighter world with them launched in it.

NO APOLOGIES NECESSARY

A couple of weeks ago, I woke up to a text from a friend I have known for ten years. He has had a copy of my book for about that long, but he wrote to let me know that he had just started to read it.

I have heard this before, often times apologetically: “I am so sorry I haven’t read your book before this, but…” and they usually feel compelled to offer an explanation. But there is no need to explain, nor to apologize. I have learned that we are all on a different journey. We are all at different stages of our lives. And even for those who are at a similar stage as I, our life circumstances and experiences are so varied.

Books I read in my 20s have a much different meaning when I read them in my 40s. Even when I give a talk to an audience who has heard me speak before; I will begin with, “You are at a different stage in your life, with new experiences since we were last together. You will find new meaning in my words.” And it’s true. We all read books, and listen to speakers, through the lens of where we are in life.

So when my friend apologized for just starting to read my book, I knew - as I told him - that he picked it up because he was called to pick it up at this time in his life. I am just grateful that he picked it up at all!

SWIMMING

I swam this morning for for the first time in… years. My youngest son plays water polo, but his team has been on involuntary hiatus for the past three months. With pools beginning to open again, we took to the water to begin to train. It wasn’t pretty, but there was so much I loved about it.

First of all, I love that my son loves the water as much as I do. He’s always been a water rat. With a December birthday, I had him in the pool his first summer. At 18 months, it was hard to keep him out of the water (that was a challenging summer!) And by 2 1/2 he was swimming. He could and would spend hours in the pool, playing with toys, making up stories, and just relaxing. He has a true love of the water.

Around age three, I saw him flutter kick across the pool, and I thought to myself, “THAT’S what a ‘natural kick’ looks like.” He swam effortlessly, and I knew if he wanted to be a swimmer, he had the talent.

Well, he also likes to talk. And he prefers team sports to individual ones; so swimming was never in the cards. But a team sport in the water, where he can talk? Water Polo is right up his alley (or lane).

He would much rather train with his teammates and friends (and he’s done that this week too), but today it was just mom. On the way to the pool, he explained with enthusiasm the sets we’d be swimming. On our way to the locker room, he explained in detail how to alternate my breathing 3-5-7-9 (this of course cracked me up, as though I didn’t know how to breathe when I swim…but I just listened). Then we got in the water and he continued to encourage me, “You got this mom! 7s are the hardest.” Um, it was all hard for me! But I was so, so happy to be swimming again, and I was even happier to be swimming with him.

In a few short weeks, fingers crossed, he will get his drivers license. I know that will limit the time I spend with him; he won’t need me as much any more, and I might not get the invitations to swim with him, because he won’t need a ride. I know from my oldest son, that a drivers license is the first step to the independence that eventually leads to leaving for college.

But today I got to do what I love, with someone I love, who loves it as much as I do. That’s a gift I will treasure.

28 YEARS

When I was younger, I used to think that I would be old when I could say, “that happened 20 years ago.” As if, remembering something from 20 years ago would mean I was old. Ha ha

Well, 28 years ago today, I had surgery #5. June 9th will always be a day to celebrate. I had two surgeries in January 1992, and then my spine re-collapsed. I had two additional surgeries in May/June 1992, where the doctors were not able to straighten my spine. But today, 28 years ago, after several complications from prior surgeries (fun stuff like heart failure and my lungs collapsing), Dr. Garfin straightened my spine. Amazing.

Today, I live a pain-free life. I think that might be the most miraculous part of my story. I can swim, ski, run (although, I don’t), hike mountains, and whatever else sounds fun, with no pain. As I age, my back might ache when I carry something too heavy (I can be stubborn like that), but whose back doesn’t?

While January 24th is the day I honor my teammates; June 9th is the day I honor my medical team. I survived the accident on January 24th, but I was given the gift of an active life on June 9th. And that’s something to jump up and down to celebrate.

NOTRE DAME vs NAVY

This week it was announced that the Notre Dame - Navy football game will not be played in Ireland this year as planned. I don’t think this was a surprise to most people, given the state of the world. And I am disappointed for the players and fans who were looking forward to an amazing weekend in Dublin. However, I personally was thrilled to hear the news.

Living in Annapolis, MD, for the past 16 years, the United States Naval Academy holds a special place in our heart. While neither my husband nor I served in the military, we have “served” the Navy in a different capacity: as a Sponsor Family. We have welcomed Midshipmen into our home for 16 years, and many have become close friends as we follow their lives as Naval officers, husbands, and fathers.
We have also been Navy Football season ticket holders and attended many games at Navy Marine Corps Stadium, and it is an amazing place to watch a football game.

The annual Navy vs Notre Dame football game is my favorite game of the year. I have always said, “I am a Navy fan 364 days year, and on the 365th day, I cheer for the blue and gold.” I love the respect between the two institutions. But what I think I love the most is no matter where they are, around the world, on a sub or an aircraft carrier, I always hear from our Mids on that day: “Go Navy.”
Several times over the past 16 years, my husband and I have said, “Notre Dame needs to play at Navy Marine Corps Stadium.” It has been a dream of ours to see our two teams, both blue & gold, play in our hometown; to see the Fighting Irish warming up (and scoring) in the Navy checkerboard end zones; and to have the players experience a visit to the Naval Academy. And while we’ll most likely be watching from home, we couldn’t be more thrilled. I’m only sorry it took a pandemic for it to happen.

Go Irish. Welcome to Annapolis!

GRADUATION WEEK

No more counting days of the Quarantine. Maryland’s shelter-in-place order has been lifted, and life is slowly - slowly - reopening. Plus, this week is Graduation Week. Tomorrow, my oldest graduates from high school.

When he was born, I knew he would graduate in 2020 - a date that seemed so far away as I watched the Olympics in Salt Lake City late at night when I fed him. But here we are.

He and I both had a moment over the weekend when we allowed ourselves to reflect on what he is - and what we as a family are - missing out on. But that’s all it was: a moment to acknowledge and reflect on what should have been. But if there is one lesson I know I have passed along to my children, it is not to wallow. It is what it is. Or as I say at every talk I give: There are events in our lives over which we have no control, but what we can control is how we respond to them.

So, my son and I had our moment, and we moved on. How do you do that? With help. With our community. With knowing we are not alone.
On Monday afternoon, I received a text from a friend that read, “Knock, Knock.” I didn’t respond, I just went outside as her truck pulled down our drive way. This is a friend I used to see every day, a friend with whom I still text every day, but who haven’t seen since the world shut down. But on graduation week, she showed up. I didn’t even know how much I needed to see her, until she was in my driveway. She doesn’t have a child graduating this year, but her heart has ached with mine. And while we both at times - from a safe 6 feet apart - choked back a few tears, I felt so much better, so much stronger, because I knew she was there. Together, as a community, knowing I am not alone, I could move on.

This pandemic is an event over which we have no control; but we can control how we respond to it. And I am very proud of how my son has chosen to respond to it. It’s a nice glimpse of the lessons I have tried to impart; a comfort to know he listened as I prepare to launch him into adulthood.

DAY 67

Day 67 - ACROSS THE DECADES AND AROUND THE WORLD

Yesterday I logged on to Zoom and learned how to work a new feature “share my screen.” Like most of us, I have been using Zoom for meetings and happy hours (okay, mostly happy hours, and meetings that turned into happy hours), but tonight I am taking it international.

In the Fall of 2018, I was invited to speak to the Notre Dame Club of Guatemala. It was an amazing trip, with a fascinating tour of the countryside and local history, culminating with a roof-top event (over looking the lights of Guatemala City) where I spoke to a group of Notre Dame alumni, friends, and families. My hosts for the trip included an alumna who is (much) younger than I am, and an alumnus who graduated a few years before me. I had never met them, and yet they welcomed me into their homes, their workplace, and their lives as though I was family. Of course they did; we are Notre Dame alumni, and this is the Notre Dame Family.

One of the things I love most about Notre Dame are the people I meet across the decades and around the world. There is a joke: How do you know someone went to Notre Dame? Answer: They will tell you. That’s true. We are loud and proud. But we are also quiet and humble. We are taught to reach out and embrace, to be welcoming and inclusive. And one of the many, many things I enjoy about my “job,” my calling or my vocation as a speaker, is being welcomed into the lives of different Notre Dame alumni.

Tonight I return to Guatemala and all Notre Dame Clubs in Latin America to share my story once again. We will connect as a family the way all of us are connecting with family, online. And while this pandemic has little to do with my accident and injury, one overarching theme remains the same: the importance of community, family, and faith.

I look forward to the time when I can travel again and speak in person. But until then, I am grateful for technology that allows me to connect with my (ND) family.

DAY 61

Day 61: PRAYER

This morning, my prayers are being sent to a hospital in Indianapolis where my coach is undergoing surgery for pancreatic cancer. He has been battling it - through six rounds of chemo and four rounds of radiation - since last August. Not everyone with his diagnosis makes it to surgery, and I am praying for a successful result: for comfort; for steady hands; and for his family (his wife and sons, and his extended ND family) who are anxiously waiting the results.

Today is also a tough day in our house, as my senior son is not preparing for the prom he was supposed to attend this weekend; and for my younger son, who just learned that his summer camp (where he was supposed to work as a CIT) was cancelled. These might not seem like monumental events, but they are to them.

Since the day my boys were born, I have only had one prayer for them: God, Please keep them safe, healthy, and happy. I have never prayed for a specific outcome; I have never prayed for a base hit, a good grade, a successful achievement. I have only ever prayed for their safety, their good health, and their happiness.

This is hard right now. There were times I wanted to pray that camp would open; that graduation would happen, that baseball season wouldn’t be over, and - my most tempting - that colleges will open in the Fall. But I remain steadfast, as hard as it is; I will only continue to pray that my boys are safe, healthy, and happy. And right now, that meant cancelling baseball, school, prom, graduation, and camp. That doesn’t make this any easier, at all. But I have to trust that my prayer is being answered, even if it’s being answered in a way that I don’t want to hear.

Safe. Healthy. Happy.
Prayer. Trust. Love.