DAYS 1-2

I saw a Facebook post that recommended giving our kids a notebook and having them journal their thoughts each day during the shut down, the quarantine, the virus that rocked the world. I thought I should do the same. One day, we’ll look back and ask, “How did we ever get through this?” (Maybe we’re asking this now: How are we going to get through this?) As they say in Tanzania: Pole Pole; slowly, slowly, one step at a time.

We knew last week the shut down was coming, that our school was heading to online learning, and that we needed to prepare for long stretches of time at home. Thankfully, my husband is proactive (over-reactive?) and we had already stocked up on many items (yes, including toilet paper), so we didn’t have a mad rush to the grocery store. Just to catch up on what we’ve been doing:

Saturday (3/14): We reached out to friends and family who are physicians to get their opinion on the virus: how much do we really need to quarantine ourselves? And the answers varied from “just wash your hands,” to “stick to small gatherings (3-5 people).” My girlfriends and I texted back and forth with updates on our information gathering.

Sunday (3/15): My husband I am ran to Home Depot to pick up the salt we ordered for our water softener (without it, our well-water turns everything in our house orange), and cleaning supplies. We sat down with our boys and came up with a chore chart for the coming week. My husband told me “don’t over do it, they are going to hate being home enough…” So they just had to sign up for laundry duty and bathroom duty. And I “signed up” for a room a day to clean out and scrub…not because of the virus, but because my baseboards need it!
My boys also each had a friend over; throwing the football outside and practicing social distancing. This is going to be hard for them.

Day One: (Monday 3/16) First day of distance learning! My boys’ school, Mount Saint Joseph High School in Baltimore, has been preparing for distance learning for a few weeks. Before the school officially announced a shut down, our academic VP sent out the distance learning plan and schedule. It was well-thought out, well-planned, and reasonable (classes don’t start until 10am so the teenagers can sleep in). “Class” was the highlight of my sons’ day. It made me so happy to hear them engaging in a class discussion, laughing with their classmates and teachers, and just enjoying themselves during this time of isolation. It was a bit of normalcy during a very abnormal time.
We began a family game of Monopoly (my youngest’s favorite; good thing I love him!), and I began my springtime purge - one room at a time. Today’s room was the laundry room.
Cases in the US: 3815

Day Two: (Tuesday 3/17) Today’s room was the Mud Room. Restaurant, did that need a good clean out! Each of us have a cubby with shoes and hats and “stuff” from years past. Well, not anymore. I started my day with a long text exchange in my survival moms’ group chat, in which one of them suggested a Purple Heart pick up soon. Good idea! That gives motivation to clean out.
It’s St. Patrick’s Day, and my thoughts were with good friends who own an Irish Bar/Restaurant. This is their biggest day of the year, but yesterday the Governor of Maryland closed down all bars, restaurants, movie theaters, and gatherings over 50 people. By today, they were recommending gatherings of no more than 10 people. Things are changing quickly. For our friends, it meant no St. Patrick’s Day party. This is tough, folks. And this is just the beginning.
My husband is winning our Monopoly game, which is highly annoying to my oldest son.
Cases in the US: 6362

MARCH MADNESS

This might be the most Madness we’ve seen in March in a long time. Who would have thought the biggest news in NCAA basketball tournament history would not be #16 UMBC beating #1 UVA in the first round?! As a former student-athlete, my heart aches. As the mother of a high school senior whose (final) spring sports season is up in the air, I have a pit in my stomach. As an American, I get it. It’s the right thing to do. But that doesn’t make the heartache and heart break any easier.

At each talk I give, I share the following:
I learned at 18 years old that sometimes bad things happen. I learned at 18 years old, that sometimes life isn’t fair. And I think that’s a tough lesson to learn whether you are 8, 18, or 80. Sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes life isn’t fair.

A bad thing has happened: Coronavirus has ended games, seasons, and for many, careers. And that’s not fair. Is it as bad as losing a neighbor or a loved one to the virus? No, of course not. But that doesn’t make it any easier, and it doesn’t make it fair. And, as adults, we might have a greater perspective or see the bigger picture. But to these athletes, this is their world, their life, their friends, their identity, their self-worth, and their future potential. Disrupted. Gone. Right now, in their lives, this is their everything. And that’s not fair.

It is our job to help them through this, whatever “this” is. Let them be angry, let them mourn the loss of “what if,” and what might have been. But as a parent, a coach, a teacher, a citizen, let’s guide them through a really tough life lesson. Let’s guide them first with understanding, then compassion and patience.

For most of us, this will be the year ‘March Madness was cancelled.” For our student-athletes, and those who are seniors, this will be the season they never had.
But sometimes bad things happen. And sometimes life isn’t fair.

ASH WEDNESDAY

Today is my favorite Gospel of the year.

From Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18
Jesus said to his disciples: “Take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them…
…when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right is doing…
…when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret…
When you fast, do not look gloomy…anoint your head and wash your face…”

For many years, I loved the message: do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing…
It seems simple, right? We are taught not to be boastful. We believe that true charity comes from selflessness and a grateful heart; not done for our own glory or attention. I still believe this, but some of my perspective has changed.

As Christians, we go to mass/church today to receive the blessing of ashes. We walk around with a very visible sign of our commitment to almsgiving, praying, and fasting. We listen to the above Gospel and then show the world, by the ashes on our forehead, our intent to perform “righteous deeds.” The blessing of ashes seems to contradict the commands of the Gospel. We can’t see our own ashes, so they aren’t a reminder to ourselves; they are an outward sign to others. To Others.

How often have you heard of someone doing a good dead and been inspired to do a good deed yourself? I have. I am inspired often by others’ goodness: pay it forward, pass it along. Perhaps this is our charge during Lent: to commit ourselves to almsgiving (good works) as a means to inspire others; to be a visible example of Jesus’ command, just as our ashes are.

Jesus lived his life performing righteous deeds. He did this humbly, quietly, “in secret” as the Gospel states, and well-groomed. And yet, his deeds have been known throughout the world for 2000 years.

Ours don’t need to be that grand. Our righteous, but humble, deeds can be simple. They can inspire the world, a classroom, or just one person. And all will be celebrated.

JANUARY, part two

I know it is February, but as I mentioned before, the bug knocked me out and set me back a bit.

While January is the month we remember and honor the anniversary of the bus accident, it is also a time to celebrate hope, healing, and moving forward. For me, this came in the form of a 7lb, 8oz, baby boy born on January, 23, 2002. Yes, my oldest son was born on the day before the 10-year anniversary of our bus accident. Which means, as we honored 28 years of healing this January, we also celebrated my son turning 18. He’s an adult. And, he is the same age I was when the bus accident occurred.

Right now, I am sitting at my kitchen table, and he is sitting across from me doing homework. He has no idea I am staring at him and thinking about what my life was like at 18. I was young, but thought I was old. I was naive, but thought I could do anything. I was excited to leave home, but had no idea how much I would miss my family. I was ready to go to college, but was clueless as to how much my life was about to change.

And with his upcoming departure for college, I am still clueless as to how my life is about to change. But that’s okay. At 18 years old, my son is so much like I was at his age: thinks he’s old, believes he can do anything, is excited to leave home, and is ready to go to college. Which means, no matter how smooth, or bumpy (or snowy) the path ahead, he will be fine.

(And I think he too will miss his family…)

JANUARY

Phew. January came and went, and normally I would say “I don’t know where the time went,” but in this case I do: it went between my couch and my bed.

I so rarely get sick (my non-medically-degreed opinion is I have built up an insane immune system from my many months in the hospital), so when I do it’s an event. An event that requires my husband and children to cook, grocery shop, do the laundry, drive carpool, feed the dogs… and continually hope I get better soon.

But there were other events in January that, as I slumbered in and out of sleepiness, I kept thinking “I need to write about that…”

Every January has a January 24th. This year we honored the 28th anniversary of our bus accident, which just sounds crazy. 28 years. I was only 18 when the accident happened, and I have lived with its effects for a decade longer than I have not. At a recent doctor’s appointment, I was asked about a pre-accident condition, and I could only answer, “I have no idea.” I can’t remember, it was so long ago. I am the definition of a pre-existing condition. I feel like I have lived with this my entire life.

This 24th was particularly meaningful, as I was in South Bend with a teammate and our coach. I was able to visit Meghan’s gravesite, Colleen’s tree, and their lockers at the pool that have been locked since January 1992. The current team had a swim meet, which was fun to watch; and as they do every year, the team gathered afterwards for a quick prayer service led by the seniors. This may not sound like much, but it is everything we love about Notre Dame: the community of faith, honoring our history, celebrating athletics beyond the sport, bridging the past and the present.

I am always grateful to those who remember the anniversary of the bus accident. Because we never forget, not on the 24th, nor any other day for 28 years.

THE COLLEGE OF HOLY CROSS

Yesterday afternoon, I received a text message from a friend that read, “Oh gosh....just seeing the news about Holy Cross and of course, thinking of you.  Prayers to those women and their families.”

I hadn’t seen the news, so I googled “Holy Cross accident.” Before I finished typing “Cross,” the search engine self-populated to read “Holy Cross rower killed.” And I felt a pit in my stomach.

I knew from my friend’s text that something had happened. There isn’t a bus accident or team accident that occurs that I don’t hear from someone. And as word spread through the news and across the country, I continued to receive texts, some with just a ❤️

But of course this isn’t about me. Right now all thoughts and prayers are for The College of Holy Cross, their athletics department, their rowing program, and the student-athletes whose lives were forever altered yesterday.

The pit in my stomach has not subsided. As I look at the picture of Grace Rett, I am heart broken for her family and friends. And as I read every article I can find about the survivors, I am grateful to know they are all expected to live.

The survivors. Some suffered serious and critical injuries, and their injuries devastate me. These are the lives to which I can relate. These are the lives that will never be the same. These are the women who - in 30 years - will read about an accident and be as crushed as though it happened to them. Because it did. And it does. Over and over, every time it happens.

The College of Holy Cross is in shock and mourning. In time, there will be healing, although that’s hard to imagine right now when the chaos and horror is still unfolding. And while I have never visited their campus, there is comfort in knowing it is a community of faith. And there is no better place to live through a tragedy than in the heart of a community of faith.

God Bless the Crusaders.

EPIPHANY

One year ago today, I landed in Tanzania. We spent our first day in the city of Arusha, before traveling to the foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro to stay with the Franciscan Capuchin Sisters. We spent two days with the Sisters recovering from jet-lag, taking day hikes, and acclimatizing to the higher elevation. The Sisters are originally from Switzerland, so the landscape at their convent is stunning, with views of Kilimanjaro and pathways lined with flowers transplanted from the Alps.

Before I left for Tanzania, a friend from Notre Dame (who has summited the mountain) told me that the trip would change my life. I was curious how; and even when I first returned, I wasn’t sure I was “changed.” But I should have known I was, because for a long time I wasn’t able to write (or even talk) about my trip. In fact, it has taken me a year to be able to sit down and share my thoughts on my Kilimanjaro adventure. I’ll start with Epiphany.

The day after we arrived, we celebrated Epiphany with the Franciscan Capuchin Sisters. The first thing I noticed when I entered their chapel were the Christmas decorations. Far from the red poinsettias and the evergreen wreaths we have in the United States, we were surrounded by simple yet charming, multi-colored homemade decorations; clearly ones of celebration. While I noted their difference, I smiled at their joy and genuineness; themes I would find throughout Tanzania.

We celebrated mass in Swahili (doing our best to follow along), and my overwhelming memory is that of the Sisters clapping and singing. I tried to learn the words, but the best I could do was clap and smile, soaking in their joy and genuineness. It was one of the most spiritual experiences and masses I have attended.

This weekend when I sat in our poinsettia- and evergreen-filled church, listening to the congregation quietly sing - if not just mouthing - the songs, I was transported back to the foothills of Kilimanjaro. I smiled thinking of the Sisters singing out loud, clapping and truly worshiping and celebrating Epiphany. So I sang a little louder, garnering a few looks, but I didn’t care because the joy of the adventure returned to my heart.

"DO THEY KNOW IT'S CHRISTMASTIME?"

I don’t think I am alone when I say: there are very few Christmas songs that I sing as loudly as I do when Band Aid’s “Do They Know It’s Christmastime?” plays on the radio. I may have also been known to shed a tear when I am singing it (I don’t think I am alone here either). But why?

I recently saw a Facebook post about this being the 35th anniversary of “Do They Know It’s Christmastime?” And I started thinking about my 1984 view of the world, versus my 2019 view of the world, and in particular, my view of Africa.

Like many of us who grew up in the 70s and 80s, my first visual and awareness of Africa came from this song: AIDS, famine, the very real and stark photographs of young children with distended stomachs. These were all very powerful images to my pre-teen, sheltered self.

Over the past 35 years, I’d like to believe I grew up a bit; matured, learned, and have a better understanding of the world. But nothing replaces an actual visit.

At the beginning of the year I made my first trip to Africa: through Ethiopia, but manly in Tanzania. I had to pinch myself a bit to remind me where I was, as my first impression of the country looked like a cross between Arizona (the dry landscape) and a Caribbean island (the infrastructure). But there was no mistaking where I was once I met the people.

So when “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” played most recently on the radio, it took me right back to January, when I saw the “world outside your window,” and saw that it’s filled with beautiful, joyful, and faith-filled people. While in Tanzania, we attended mass in Swahili at a convent in the foothills of Kilimanjaro; toured Parish houses off the beaten path in Arusha, and smaller towns rarely visited by tourists; and marveled at a way of life much different than our own, including their Christmas decorations, which are less commercial than ours.
And while Bono’s iconic line: “Well tonight thank God it’s them, instead of you!” is one of the most powerful (and most loudly sung); tonight, I am thanking God for them. For the Tanzanians. For Father David, who took us to the remote corners of his homeland (and up the mountain), for my friends who hiked, toured, sang, and prayed with me. And mostly, I am thankful for opening up my eyes and awareness to an Africa that is very different from the images I saw as an 11-year-old girl.

Krismasi Njema!

WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WASN'T LOOKING

This morning I will attend the fourth (& last) Mother/Son Mass and Breakfast with my oldest son. Events like this are the reason we send our boys to Mount Saint Joseph (although, my youngest and his MSJ water polo teammates are undefeated so far playing at the Eastern Prep tournament right now; these too are the experiences we are glad they have).

At the first Mass & Breakfast we attended, I was surprised to hear the poem, “When You Thought I Wasn’t Looking” read at the end of Mass. This poem, originally labeled “Anonymous” in the book Chicken Soup for the Soul, was actually written by an amazing woman who has become a special friend, Mary Rita Schilke Sill. In fact, Mary was the first person who invited me to speak after my book came out. Her belief in sharing my story, helped me believe it was a story worth sharing. Thank you Mary!
(For more on Mary’s story and her poem: https://www.whenyouthoughtiwasntlooking.com/ )

As I attend the Mass & Breakfast this morning, I will smile when Mary’s poem is read, grateful that she – and her poem – hold such a special place in my heart. And I will think of my own mother, who holds her own special place in my heart. Once again, Mary has inspired me to pen my own words, based on hers, for my mom:

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
You burnt a quesadilla, and I knew that I didn’t have to be a good cook to be a good mom

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
You insisted dad coach my softball team, and not just my brother’s baseball team, and I knew girls’ sports mattered as much as boys’

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
You drove us to California each summer, and I knew it was important to visit family

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
You took us to church when no one wanted to go, and I knew it was important to pray

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
You cared for your staff and teachers, and I learned that sometimes family includes those we aren’t actually related to

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
You followed a nurse out of ICU, and I knew you believed in me no matter what

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
You bought me stationary (every year), and I learned the value of a handwritten note

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
I saw you tending to your rose bushes, and I knew a daughter’s love for her mother never ends

When you thought I wasn’t looking, I looked, and I wanted to thank you for all the things you did when you thought I wasn’t looking.

WELCOME!

Welcome to my new (and hopefully improved) website! I have been working on this for about a year and I am REALLY excited for it to finally launch. I am forever grateful to our friends who designed, set up, and hosted the old HaleyBook site, but after 11 years it was time for a facelift. It was also time I learned how to run my site myself.

While you will see most of the same features, this site will also allow me to add photos, connect links to different events and books, and continue to update information on a more timely manner. My old site probably allowed for me to do this, but I was not as up-to-speed with the technology.

So, here we go!

NATIONAL COACHES DAY

Earlier this week it was National Coaches Day. This was news to me when I read it on social media, so I did a Google search to make sure it was correct. Not that Google is any more accurate than Twitter...

So I tweeted out a picture of Tim Welsh and I. Tim was my coach at Notre Dame. And as you know - or might guess - he is much more to me than "just" a coach. But isn't that what coaches should be: more than a coach? Not really...what they should be is more than "just" a coach of their sport. They should be a coach in all areas of their athletes' lives.

I heard this best stated by Tim Welsh just a few weeks ago. He shared the following sentiments during an interview at the American Swimming Coaches Association annual convention:

Coaching is teaching; coaching is teaching at a very high level. And I don’t mean "high level" because the performance level is high. I mean a high level because when you coach, everything about your athlete matters. Their health matters, their attitude matters, their school work matters, their friends matter. Everything matters. So what you wind up coaching…you coach swimming, but you teach life.

And life is beautiful, and it’s hard as can be, and it’s challenging, and it’s rewarding. And it’s just like practice. If practice isn’t hard, it doesn’t work. If it’s not beautiful, we don’t stay with it. If we don’t love it, we get out of the game. But when you coach, you love the people who are on your team, you love the people who are in your sport, you love the colleagues who are in your sport. It’s life at a very high level.

When you coach, all of life is relevant to what happens. Because the whole person steps up to race. It’s not just your bones, the whole person steps up to race.

I don’t think you put anything “into” the athlete. I think the athlete is receptive. And I think you offer ideas, you offer love, you offer hope, you offer challenge, you offer respect, you offer support. You offer everything you’ve got. But it’s the athlete who has to be receptive.

We need more coaches like Tim Welsh. We need more coaches who offer love, hope, respect, and support to their athletes. We need more coaches who care about everything in their athletes' lives, because those athletes bring everything in their lives to practice, and to competition.

Tim, you gave your swimmers everything you've got. And we are better people because of it.

X BREAKFAST

Last week I attended the 12th Annual X Breakfast at my high school alma mater, Xavier College Preparatory. What an amazing event!

It doesn't take much to get me back to Arizona, so when Xavier's Director of Advancement called to invite me, I immediately said YES.

Coupled with her kind invitation was the news that all Xavier students would be reading my book over the summer. Each year, Xavier has an all-school shared read, with an all-school discussion to follow. This past summer it was What Though the Odds. Amazing!

Even more amazing was an email I received the night before the X Breakfast. A friend who teaches senior English at Xavier shared with me four padlet links. Padlet? I had no idea what that was (I clearly have been out of the classroom for a long time). But these padlet links were, ARE, incredible! Each one was filled with quotes, photographs, and video clips that answered questions based on my book. I was blown away.

First of all, they READ my book. Not only did they read it, but they GOT it. They highlighted and acted out meaningful quotes; and their interpretation of events and themes were so creatively shared through this visual platform. I saw my story through their eyes and their emotions, and I was moved to emotion myself.

And what made me smile the most was they knew Meghan and Colleen. Many of the posts mentioned their names. It was the first time in almost 28 years, and in 11 years since my book was published, that I was fully aware and present in knowing that sharing my story has resulted in my teammates being remembered and honored. It is the one thing I have striven to do, and there it was: their memory shared through the thoughtfulness and creativity of these amazing students.

Thank you Xavier Girls!