Day Eighteen Hundred and Seventy-Six

The Force

Halloween 2016 with Mimi's Star Wars cousins in Washington! She had no idea what was happening, but she couldn't have been any cuter. Vader, Leia, Luke, and Chewbacca - we win, we know!

I know nothing about Star Wars other than to say: "May the force be with you." Whatever that means. Our Halloween was happy and though October 31st is always a hard day for my family, we do our best to celebrate our Dad's life with plenty of treats and smiles. We miss you, Dad. It's been 4 years too long, but because our hope lies in your eternity with Christ, it's easy to find joy in the memories we shared and the love we felt as we delight in your unity with the Father. I think it's fair though that at some point, we cheers a Reese's in your honor. Love you forever, Daddy. 

Day One Thousand One Hundred and Forty-Six

The Second Year

Two years have passed, and yet, I still don't think I've fully comprehended that truth. Yesterday was hard. It was sweet. It was a mix of emotions that even your granddaughter felt from deep inside my womb. We miss you dearly, Daddy. More than you could ever realize. But the hope of your eternity after receiving Christ as your Savior keeps us going. Most times, it's easy for me to find words to explain how I feel, but yesterday, baby sissy Morgan said it beautifully:

"I contemplated if I should write anything at all today. I wasn't sure how I would feel waking up today, it's only 11:23 and I've cried three times already. I turned on the radio and Crash Into Me by Dave Matthews came on and I completely lost it. I remember this day two years ago excited that it was Halloween and that my dad and I were going to have dinner and I was going to tell him that he was going to be a grandpa again. He passed away before we were able to have dinner that day, driving to his house with all the ingredients for the dinner I never made. I am glad that one of the last things that I told him was "I love you" but regardless I still felt like I didn't get to say goodbye.

I am happy that Jake and you could play your weird online games together. I am grateful that you got to walk Kendall down the isle at her wedding. I'm glad that you got to see and hold your first grandchild thanks to Ellie. I'm glad to see that you got autographs for Shelby from diabetic singers when she found out she was diabetic. I'm glad to see you at my graduation. With all the little things in between I know you are missed more than ever.

Today will be a hard day as I think about the two years of things that you have missed, another grandson, another child getting married, and a new granddaughter on the way. I know you would be proud of us and where we are at in our lives but regardless it's hard that you aren't physically apart of it. You are missed and you are loved. I hope you are resting easy and am thankful you give us little signs to know you're still around. I love you dad.

To anyone still reading this be safe today and keep your loved ones close to your heart."

Raw emotion is the most beautiful form. Thank you for your vulnerability, Morgan. Dad would be so proud of the woman you've become, the mother that you are, and the friend that you strive to be. 

And although yesterday was met with some tears and deep grief, it was also met with big smiles and great wishes. As we remembered the life of my Daddy, we celebrated the life of our roomie. It was the extra joy in birthday festivities that helped keep my mind settled on Bigger, Beautiful, more Hopeful things. Happy 25th Birthday, Scott. 

We miss you Dad.

And something worth mentioning:

The last time my dad dressed up for Halloween, he costumed himself as a member of the Blue Man Group. His head was already bald - a side effect of chemo, radiation, and the razor blade - so the outfit was an obvious choice. He painted his entire head blue (hands too), dressed in all black, and celebrated the night while cancer coursed through his body. I didn't remember that memory of him until yesterday, when Scott walked into our home dressed as a Blue Man. It was the most bittersweet moment of the day, but now that I reflect back on it, it only brings a smile to my face. Little signs. Just like Morgan said.

Day One Thousand and Fifteen

The Seventh Start

&

Dad's 48th Birthday

After SIX weeks on the Disabled List, Adam is officially back!!!

Party in the 70001! <--- That's Zephyr zip code.

I can't tell you how good it feels to sit in a stadium again. Even in 90 degrees at 1 PM. Truth: hot and sweaty and sun burn-y is better than, well, no baseball at all! Adam would - guaranteed - echo the same sentiment. 

In his first game since May 2 - May Second, my gosh! - Adam threw well. He was excited and ready and anxious to get back on the mound, and he didn't disappoint (me). Ha! Well, actually, he walked two hitters, so I was sorta mad at him for that…buuuuuut…I'll let it slide this time ;)

He left the game in the sixth, up 2-0. With a quality start under his belt:

5.2 IP, 4H, 0R, 2BB, 2K

Nice work, Adam. I'm so proud of you!

Aaaaaand the day just kept getting better! Wouldya look at that?! How did the Zephyrs know it was Bearett's birthday?! They brought me cake to celebrate him…all the way from 3-something-thousand miles away!! Rock on Zephyrs!

(Truth: our team mascot - a nutria rat named Boudreaux - also had a birthday yesterday…they told me the cake was in celebration of him. I happily ignored that fact and celebrated Little Bear instead. Good Auntie)

________________________________________________

If Dad was good at anything, it was grabbing you up in a big giant hug and making you feel like the only person in the world. They were laced with love, sincerity, strength, and warmth. So warm. Puts a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes just thinking about those hugs and what they meant to me. 

If you've ever been enveloped in my notoriously strong bear hugs, know that I learned them from my dad. And that it's my way of giving you a little of what he gave me. I hope they make you feel special. Loved. Important. Treasured. Because you are.

Today would have been my daddy's 48th birthday. 

And though this is only the second June 23rd without him, today's been a good day. A day for me to reflect on his young life and reminisce in so many good memories. A day for me to listen to his music and sing along with joy. A day for me to remember the glory of the Lord and His perfect, sovereign timing. The tears come and go. But they're mostly happy tears now. And that's a huge step for me.

Happy birthday Daddy. 

I miss you.

I love you.

Every day.

Day One Thousand and Eight

The Dad

A few years ago, Adam and I released balloons at the beach as a kind of present to Johnie, and a way for us to finally say, "we know you're here with us." We found our way back to the same beach a few miles north and wrote Johnie a note to let him know we're thinking about him. The tide rose and the wave quickly washed away our letter in the sand, but our hope in God's saving grace won't be shaken. Our faith is that God is unchanging, completely perfect, and everlasting. Our message to Johnie was washed away, but God's love endures forever, and thats all Johnie needs anymore.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

And to all the men in my life - Papa, Larry, Dan, and Mel - who are loved and cherished beyond words, Happy Father's Day to you too. 

Day Nine Hundred and Six

The Three Little Birds

There's a song called "Three Little Birds," by Bob Marley. 

You've probably heard it. It goes like this:

…"Singin' don't worry…about a thing…cause every little thing gonna be alright…"

When my dad left the house thirteen Decembers ago for San Francisco to remove a malignant, golfball-sized tumor out of his head - after saying goodbye and before shutting the front door - he sung to me, "Don't worry 'bout a thing." Then he left and I sat at the front door crying…wondering if I'd ever see him again. The next few days, I played that song on repeat.

It's a memory so deeply engraved into my heart that when I see things like the photo above, I can't help but think of my Daddy telling me, stop worrying Kendall, everything will work out as it should. With all the anxieties and unknowns surrounding baseball right now, it was quite the welcomed and appreciated reminder. Thank you, Daddy. I miss you.

______________________

Adam found out this afternoon that he's not throwing Friday, but instead on Sunday at home against the Tigers at 1:05 PM.

Day Seven Hundred and Eighty-One

The First Year Without Daddy

When my dad was alive, he'd tell you just how much a sunrise meant to him. Rising from the East, in all it's glory, the sunrise meant another day. Another chance. Another treasure. Another memory. Hope. And victory. And courage. And life.

When my dad was diagnosed with brain cancer 13 years ago, he was given a 50% chance of living the first year. And a 20% chance of living the second. He lived twelve. 

Two things:

1) I believe - with every piece of my heart - in the perfect timing and sovereignty of the Lord. I believe that my Father in Heaven knew that my father on Earth needed twelve more years of life. He needed time to reconcile his family. He needed time to meet his grandson. He needed time to walk me down the aisle. To love on my sisters and take care of my grandmother. But most of all, he needed time to meet the Lord. And to accept him as his Savior. The day before he died, I believe that that's exactly what happened. Read it here, if you'd like. It still gives me goosebumps to reflect on the timing of his salvation. To know just how close the Lord always is. Always. And I believe that it took every single one of those "extra" twelve years for dad to say, "Yes." 

2) I believe a defeatist attitude breeds defeat. And that a confident attitude breeds confidence. If there's one thing I remember most about my dad, it's that he never gave in. He never gave up. And never once did I hear him complain. He never asked the question, "Why me?" But instead, "Why not me?" It's with that attitude that I pray to live my life. That when faced with unimaginable hardship, I can say no to defeat and say yes to another day. Yes to twelve more years of another day.

John Mays III

June 23, 1966 - October 31, 2012

Yesterday was hard.

Yesterday was a year.

And what a year it was.

I can't count how many times I screamed and cried and pleaded with the Lord to bring him back. For just one more kiss. Just one more goodbye. To make sure that he knew just how much I loved him. And how much he'd be missed. But more than that, I can't count how many times I rejoiced and praised and cried to the Lord for His faithfulness in loving my father back to Him. For bringing my family back together. For showing His goodness, joy, peace, and hope to a family of unbelievers. 

God, you are so good.

Yesterday, Adam and I - with heavy but joyful hearts - sent my daddy a gift in the sky.

It was our way of saying hi...

And telling him just how much he's missed.

I love you, Daddy. I love you with all my heart. And I miss you.

Day Seven Hundred and Seventy-Two

The Baseball Baking Housewife

I spent most of my time in the kitchen yesterday. Look at me go, little baseball housewifey! Wahoo! I prepared Adam some spicy chicken enchiladas for dinner. I'd never made them before and they were just ok. Turns out, I'm not quite the Pioneer Woman I dreamt I might be. She's much better at this than me. Sigh. Maybe it just takes a lot of time. Yeah, I'll go with that. My cheesecake turned out much better though. At least as far as taste goes. An A+, actually! That's because I used Daddy's recipe...and it's the greatest and most special recipe I own. Gosh, I miss him. So much. Deep breath. Anyways, as for presentation goes, I got an F. For sure. I made the cheesecake for a friend of mine, who's favorite color is purple. So, I dyed it purple. Duh! Darn cute! But when I placed it in the fridge to cool, I totally dented the cake on accident. It went from oh so cute...to oh so ugly. A purple massacre! My dad would be frowning, horrified! Haha ;) But after tasting it, he'd hug me again and tell me how great of a cheesecake-baking team we make. Love you Daddy. And I think about you all the time.

Day Six Hundred and Fifty-One

The First Birthday Without Him

My Daddy.

You would have been 47 yesterday.

It was the first June 23rd I've ever spent not hearing my Dad's voice. And though there's so much life to celebrate in little Bearett, my heart was heavier yesterday than it's been in a very long time. Oh, what I wouldn't give to hold you in my arms...and to feel the prickle of your whiskers on my cheek just one last time. One more Dave Matthews song. One more baseball game. Just one more, "I love you, Baby."   

Number 77, we love you. We miss you.

And we hope you knew how much you mean to us. 

Praise God for your 46 beautiful and miracle-rich years.

Day Five Hundred and Sixteen

The Best News

If you would, go back and read:

Day 371

If you know my family a little bit better, you'll understand the depth of this news a little bit better too! (I hope!)

Three months ago, my dad passed away. It was difficult. Very difficult. And things only got harder when my youngest sister found out she was pregnant...two days before he died...and only a month after the family had finally been reunited. It seemed like everything was falling apart. Life changed so radically in just a few days. But when my baby sister made the most beautiful and brave decision to keep her baby, pure joy showered the Mays family. In one of the darkest months of our lives, a light was shining bright. We may have lost our daddy, but in his death, we saw life. My dad didn't know about the little bundle in Morgan's tummy. The day he died, she was supposed to cook dinner for him. At dinner, her plans were to tell him all about the baby. But she never got the chance - he passed away that morning. It devastated her completely. She was torn to pieces over his passing - as we all were - but especially her. Morgan finally had her daddy back, and too soon, he was taken from her. Again. But then yesterday happened...and I cried like a child when I found out.

IT'S A BOY!

OH MY WORD, IT'S A BOY!

 Praise God! Praise the Lord! That's all I could do when I found out. I just praised Him...and thanked Him...and cried and cried...and then cried some more. It's just so beautiful. And so perfect. My nephew already holds a very deep spot in my heart. He's an answered prayer in so many different ways and I can't wait to meet him. A true blessing to this family. His birthday is set for June 27th. Four days after my Dad's birthday.

Morgan, you are wonderful. And so brave. I'm infinitely proud of you and I know your son will be too. Without a doubt, you'll make one incredible mother and forever, you'll share a bond with your sweet boy unlike any other. Dad will always be with you, Morgan. In your heart. But I truly believe, that a piece of Dad will squeeze back when you hold that baby's hand for the very first time. I love you, Morgan. You are a blessing to so many. And never forget that though he might not have showed it well, Dad always loved you.

Exhale! I'm crying again!

The joys of yesterday just kept on giving. Adam was invited (by the rehab-coordinator of the Marlins) to speak at a large elementary school in the area about the importance of school, hard work, and overcoming adversity. Among the population of students, 80% of them were Spanish-speaking, and to help communicate the message, Jose Ceballos "Cebi," another player, spoke to the children in Spanish. 

Adam was honored and humbled by his experiences yesterday. This school is located in a lower income neighborhood of West Palm Beach and he was especially touched by the excitement and sincerity these sweet children expressed about his job. They asked a lot of questions, and to one he answered, "When I was your age, I was told that I could never be a professional baseball player. They said it was against the odds. And I wasn't as good as everyone else. But I didn't listen to them. I used their words as motivation and worked as hard as I could. And now, 13 years later, I'm a professional baseball player. If you work hard for your goals - really really hard - you can achieve them, just like I did. Even if they tell you it's impossible."

Day Four Hundred and Eighty-Nine

The Bowlers

I can't remember the last time I bowled. Maybe senior year in college? Three years ago? I do remember one time I went bowling with my uncle Rick. I was twelve or so and we were at a Spokane alley around noonish. But inside, it looked more like midnight. All the black lights were on, and my freckles were popping. Our waitress was quite nice. She brought us coke and fries and made us laugh. And then, I noticed something on her nails. I asked to see them under the special light, but she shoved her hands in her pockets before I got a good look at them. She whispered something to my uncle and he looked at her in horror. And I was left to wonder. On the drive home, I asked him what happened. How do you tell a 12 year old that the bowling alley lady had various suggestive sexual positions on her nails? Uhhh? After that, we just referred to her as "Nasty Nails."

Last night, there were no such women. Just a sweet bunch of baseball friends looking for a good time. I managed a chuckle thinking about her - since I can't help but think of Nasty Nails every time I visit a bowling alley - and threw the ball down the lane.

Victory! I whooped up on Adam! Feel that shame Husband!

Buuuuut, he was bowling with his right hand.

So, I evened the playing field and bowled lefty. And yes, I felt the shame. Adam whooped me. Regardless, we both suck. #1 and #4 killed us.

I took my favorite shirt of Dad's when I left Washington.

Last night, I finally put it on. 

I really miss him.

When I got the news that Adam made Big League Spring Training, I cried happy tears. I cried sad tears too. Dad was supposed to come down in March to visit and watch him play. I was looking forward to those moments in the stadium with him. I wanted to see that look on his face when Adam took the mound for his very first big league pitch. Knowing Dad, he'd probably shed a tear or two and hug me big with a grin across his face.

Most days are good. Some days are not. I struggle at weird times and in different situations. But last night, when I saw his shirt in my drawer, I missed him in a good way. And wasn't afraid anymore of putting it on. I miss you so much, Dad. And hope - the greatest hope - that you're well.

Day Four Hundred and Twenty-Nine

The Hope of Forever

We honored my father's life yesterday. It was hard. Really hard. But it was happy too. Tears - so many tears - fell from our reddened faces, but after them, faint traces of smiles curved up from the sadness. We celebrated a good man. A strong man. A caring man who helped shape the lives of so many who knew him. I learned an incredible amount about the friend he was through the stories they shared.

It was probably the most bittersweet day of my entire life. I hold onto the hope that my father is with his Creator, but I also hold onto the longing of a dad who was taken away just as the family was getting used to "together" again.

_______________________________

I spoke about my dad yesterday. With half a voice and a broken heart, I managed these words:

"12 years ago, I was sitting in the parking lot of some restaurant dressed and ready to go to gymnastics practice. Dad was supposed to have dropped me off at the gym, but instead, he took a red faced, tear soaked, broken hearted little girl to talk. I told Dad how I didn’t want him to die. News of the brain tumor was completely unexpected. His likelihood of survival – only 20% after the first year – was devastating. I needed my daddy. And so did Jake and the girls and Mommy. What were we going to do without him? I told Dad, sitting in that sky blue caravan that it wasn’t fair. Why did this have to happen to him? He looked at me and said that it was ok. Mom would take care of us. But that I had to be brave for my little sisters. I said I would. He then asked a question of me that I’ve never since forgotten. One of our family’s favorite musicians was Sarah Mclachlan. On long road trips, I remember mom and dad laying down the back seats of the van, covering us with blankets, and playing her entire CD. One of our favorites was, “I Will Remember You.” We all knew it by heart. In the car that day, sitting alone with my Daddy, he requested that I sing that song at his funeral. I promised him I would – I would do anything for him. Later on that night, I remember practicing. I practiced and practiced. Because I thought that soon, I’d have to sing.

When Dad died 12 years later, the promise suddenly came back to my memory. And Ellie, the day that I got to Spokane, reminded me, “Kendall, you know you have to sing at Dad’s funeral, right?”

We looked at each other and laughed. Ok, with this voice, there’s no way I’ll be singing. We’re supposed to be celebrating, not suffering! And I think Dad would completely understand. But, Sarah Mclachlan, she can sing for us at the end of the service.

A week ago, when I went to see Dad for the very last time, it was hard. It was hard for all of us.  But in an uncomfortable funeral home, with all the weird smells and creepy cleanliness, he actually looked comfortable. Like he was ok. At peace. We stayed with him for a while, and with our last goodbyes, we exited the room into the foyer. And playing over the radio, right after we’d said goodbye, was that same song.

Losing our father so young comes with feelings that none of us can really fully comprehend at the moment. We’re all still waiting for him to just appear again, with a “haha, tricked ya!” grin spread across his face. Just like when he used to tell people that it was ok to touch the huge divot of a scar on his forehead, and when they did, he’d scream in pain, like they’d hurt him or something. The look on their faces was priceless. He was ornery. And it was funny. But this time, I know he’s not coming back. This isn’t a joke. It’s our new reality. But I think it’s a happy reality too. That day in the funeral home, maybe Dad was trying to tell us that he’s ok.

And I believe that. Completely. The last twelve years of our lives have been hard. After the divorce, our family was split across the state. For a large portion of their childhood, Ellie, Shelby, and Morgan didn’t see much of Dad. They lived with Mom in Seattle, and Jake and I lived with him in Spokane. This physical distance created an emotional distance in all of our hearts. There have been multiple nights each one of us fought back tears, and questions, and resentments. In some aspects, my sisters felt like they had lost their daddy a long time ago.  It wasn’t until this year that things really began to change. Even though it took ten years to get us all back on the same side of the state, all that pain was worth the peace and healing that was beginning to cover my family. In August, Dad suffered two strokes. One of them placed him in the hospital and impacted his ability to continue caring so faithfully for his mother and himself. At this time, he was living in the Seattle area. In a decision that would change the course of our family forever, he began packing his bags. He was ready and excited to move back to Spokane, where the rest of the family was. And a few weeks later, we packed two UHauls and drove our family back together. In only a month, my dad, grandmother, brother and sisters saw more of each other than they ever did in any given year.  Finally, my sisters could spend time with their dad, and my dad could spend time with his daughters. A true healing was beginning to comfort my family. Dad was home. And we were all together at last.

I think Dad was missing the peace he found after only a few days in Spokane. He got to see his grandson turn two. He got to cook dinner with his children. He got to see his baby girl in the hospital after she got hit by a car. He got to see old friends. He got to Hit golf balls and play catch with his son. He got to talk with his sweet Shelby the day before he passed.  Dad did so much this last month, and though he might have been tired and really sick, his effort to bring this family back together was undeniable.

Dad has always been a strong man. He’s a fighter. He fought for his life and got 12 years for it. He fought for another month and got his family back for it. His resilience courage, and positive attitude are characteristics that I’ve always admired and respected him for. In the midst of each diagnosis, with his life on the line, I only ever heard him doubt his comeback once.  He worked hard, both mentally and physically, to recover his health and live a life free from restraint. When most people would have just given up, he gritted his teeth and gave just a bit more. And that’s how I like to think he battled the last few months of his life too. After the stroke, maybe he could have just given up. But he knew he couldn’t. He had unfinished business to make right, and he wasn’t going to leave us until he did.

My dad was born on June 23, 1966. And in his 46 years of life, he’d seen a lot. From the very beginning, he was a sports freak. His passion for baseball would eventually get him a spot on the roster at Spokane Falls Community College. He was good and had a dream of one day playing professionally. But when the kids started popping out, he took a step back from the game he loved to play and began raising a beautiful family. He would never give up his passion though. All five of us kids were raised at the ballpark. Fond memories of slush puppies and licorice ropes bring us back to the days of fastpitch softball at Franklin Park. He wore a striped uniform sometimes and that one was our favorite. Growing up, we knew Dad to be a handyman too. He built all the cupboards in our home, the front porch, the balance beam and high bar, the fence, the bunny cage, and it makes sense that in all the time he spent sorting through the lumber section of Home Depot, he’d finally end up working for them years later. He loved working with his hands. My dad loved camping at Priest Lake in the summers and playing snowshoe softball there in the winters. He loved Dave Matthews Band and the Hard Rock Café. He loved his coffee, his candy, and his shiny white car. My dad loved Klondike bars, collecting pins, and Adam’s baseball cards. He loved t-shirts and blue jeans and completed his ensemble with Adidas shoes and a baseball hat. He hated when he forgot to take off his prescription sunglasses when he went inside and hated even more, the thought of eating anything green. Give my dad a piece of broccoli and he’d look at you like you’d lost your mind.

I remember crying one time because I actually thought my dad had lost his mind. I couldn’t have been more than 10 when I came downstairs and found my dad looking sharp and smelling great. “Uh, Dad,” I asked. “Where are you going?” In a completely straight face, he told me, “To see the Barenaked Ladies.” I immediately started balling. “Why would you ever want to go see naked ladies, Dad?” I later found out that the Barenaked Ladies was a band made up of men…and none of them were actually naked.

Another classic story: Out of Sunday School one day, a little boy at church was asked by his parents what he’d learned. He told them that he’d learned what the four gospels were. “Well, what are they?” They asked. He smiled and said, “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and Johnie Mays!”

My dad was loved by so many. He was a kind and gentle soul and one you could always count on for a gigantic hug. Unless you were one of his baseball players. Then he’d just yell at you and tell you to catch the ball. He’s touched countless lives and given so much hope to those who’ve heard his story. He battled courageously and gave it everything he had. My dad was a good man. He was a brave man. And he’s a man I’ll forever miss seeing. But I have the hope of a new life he’s living now. For me, that’s the best news that could ever come out of this."

 I love you Daddy. I miss you. And I'm sorry.

________________________________

Thank you, friends and family, for your continual support through this difficult time. Grieving the loss of my dad would've been impossible without your encouragement, kindness, and service to us kids. We are forever grateful for the people we have in our lives. And thank you, Josh and Amy, for pastoring my dad's celebration with words of truth, reality, boldness, and sincerity.

Day Four Hundred and Twenty-Eight

The Baby's 19th Birthday

This is my cousin Gina's car, parked outside of my Dad's home. Her bumper sticker says it all.

My baby sister turned 19 yesterday. One day before my dad's funeral. Because of the terrible timing, she was struggling with even wanting to celebrate the occasion. I can completely understand. She's been through so much this last month, but missing a birthday celebration was NOT something we were going to let happen. So, the family threw her a surprise dinner party! She was shocked when she walked into the room and that smile never left her pretty face. Adam and I wanted to do something extra special, so we put together a Box of Sunshine for her to enjoy! Oh my gosh! Soooo fun! In her box: candies, Sun Drop, panties, lip gloss, notepads, socks, stickers, a water bottle, and a delicious Victoria's Secret perfume set! I can't wait to make more sunshine boxes! So fun!

Happy 19th Birthday, Sweet Baby Sissy! 

We're so proud of the woman you are. You're the most courageous little girl I know and I feel so lucky to be called Big Sister. I love you, Morgan with all my heart, and I'd do anything anything for you. 

Day Four Hundred and Twenty-One

The Makers

It's surreal still. Planning a funeral while grieving our father's death has created a dimension that we've never seen before. For hours at a time, blocking it out is the easiest thing to do. But when you're blocking out the pain with the funeral card you're making, the lines begin to blur. At one point, the words are just that - words. 5 minutes later, when you begin really understanding the letters typed out across the page, you can't help but to break down. I thought I'd have 40 years to prepare for days like these. I don't. We don't. It's upon us now, and we're doing the very best we know how. Each of us are using our own specific talents to put together a service for my father that would make him so very proud. Yesterday, Adam began creating my dad's one-of-a-kind baseball card. It's romantic really. It's ironic. It's beautiful. Dad collected so many of Adam's cards. And now, Adam is making one for Dad.  

(See that book in the bottom right corner? That's Saturday Nothing. That's the last book my dad ever read. You should read it. Go to Amazon.com and purchase one. Pretty please?)

And talk about talents being used...Hunter made us all dinner last night! Well, ok, he just browned some of the meat and stirred some of the sour cream. Did I mention that he's only TWO?! What a stud! He loves cooking and "stir-stir-stirring!" In times of despair, it's beautiful little faces like his that bring about such an overwhelming amount of joy and hope. 

A much-needed laughing session took place last night in front of my tiny computer screen. When wobbly voices and tear-streaked faces are the norm, laughter is a welcomed friend. We laughed and laughed for hours together. And when I thought all the giggles had subsided, I took a look at Joey in this picture and couldn't help but to laugh again! :)

Day Four Hundred and Twenty

The Viewing

There's those certain days each year that scream at you to punch something. Yesterday was one of those days. Thankfully we had a gym to use instead of the backside of someone's head. The funeral home set up a final viewing of my father, so 8 of us decided to go and say one last goodbye. He looked incredible. So handsome. So peaceful. It was devastating more than ever though. I kept waiting for his chest to raise or his eyes to suddenly flicker open. For his leg to twitch and a snore to burst out of his nose. I waited and waited. But nothing happened. That's when it finally sunk in...this is real. My father is no longer here on the Earth with me. Or my family. And while I am at peace with where he is now, it still sucked more than ever.

To release some inner tension, we were able to get into my high school's gym and burn a few calories. That normally always makes me feel just a little bit better.

Our day never fully recovered after that. I cried every inch of my makeup off and wasn't up for much of anything. Adam was exhausted. We were sweaty, teary, and stinky. But we soon discovered that sitting in a pool of lame thoughts and emotions wasn't an option either. It was too hard. So, we changed our clothes and attitudes and went to a hockey game instead. And we won. So there. 

And then, to add a small (and frightened) smile to our face, this is what greeted us at a gas station door on the way back home. Ha! Good 'Ol Spokane.

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There was one other highlight to our day. And I couldn't leave it out. I also couldn't take a picture of it, so I'll explain:

12 years ago, when my dad was first diagnosed with cancer, I was devastated. Completely broken. And feeling horribly alone. At the time, I was a competitive gymnast and spent every weekday at the gym. I'll never forget the one afternoon that Dad drove me to practice. In a panic for my dad's life, I completely lost it. I broke down and just remember crying and crying. He pulled over and we talked for a couple hours. I told him how afraid I was and how I didn't want him to die...how it wasn't fair that he had to be the one suffering through this. He held me close and told me it would be ok. Even if he died. And then he said something to me that I'll never forget. "Kendall, at my funeral, I want you to do something for me. I want you to sing this song." On the radio, Sarah McLaughlin was singing "I Will Remember You." It's a song our whole family grew up singing together. On road trips, she was always in the car with us as we sung along to her songs. I promised him I would and started practicing soon after. 

When we exited the viewing room yesterday, after spending an hour with my dad, eyes red, heart aching, and emotions racing, "I Will Remember You" was playing in the lobby. And I couldn't help but think that that was Dad trying to tell us that he really is ok.

Day Four Hundred and Nineteen

The Reluctant Plans

We've all learned too much in the past two days. Before my dad, none of us 5 kids were ever involved in any type of funeral planning. Thankfully. Because it's not pretty. It's not fun. And it's definitely not easy on your emotions. Three of the five kids, along with my grandmother, aunt, and cousin, arrived at Spokane Cremation with a bit of reluctance and heavy, heavy hearts. Somewhere in that building, my dad was resting. And while we chose between urns and funeral plans, reality quickly escaped me. Certainly I'd wake up. Right? No. This is what life looks like now. This is my new reality. And with that comes so many decisions.

To honor my father's wishes, he will be cremated and placed in the perfect Johnie urn. It's blue and green and looks just like him. If we've agreed on anything unanimously thus far, that's been it. 

Fortunately, we'll only have to visit this funeral home a couple more times in the next week. I don't really like the "feel" of the place. It's cold, small, and reminds me of a dental office. To us, it just didn't seem like a place to celebrate someone we love deeply. So, we've decided to host his funeral at The Davenport Hotel. It's scheduled for 1:00 PM, Monday, November 12, 2012 in the Pennington Ballroom. And we'd love it if you'd come and celebrate his life with us. 

After such a rough day, Aunt Holly planned a family game night. And thank goodness she did. We all needed some good laughs, and Apples to Apples provided us plenty. They always say that the cards you end up with are supposed to define the person you are. This is Adam's hand. Sounds like a winner, right?! Ha!!

Day Four Hundred and Eighteen

The Blur

By: Adam

The last few days have been a challenge for the family. There is so much emotion, and things to do that a routine is essentially out of the question. We all have had moments of clarity, probably more of uncertainty and confusion the past few days, and moments of stand still. For most of us, this is a new experience, and we're doing our best to feel our way through it, together. Pictured above is a glipse of a standstill. Doing our best to relax and think things through. This past year has been so busy, and fast, that we're all exhausted at this point. One thing it has taught me is the beauty of a family, and relationship. Family isn't always picture perfect, and life is far from it. However, I think that reality makes relationship so much more significant, and love's endurance shines. When a conversation starts to become an argument, it just takes one look at Hunter's face, or one memory to remind everyone of that love thats so strong. 

We are hanging in there, I've heard a few people express that Johnie's passing doesn't feel real. I can relate to that feeling. 

Day Four Hundred and Seventeen

The king Meets His King

At the age of 25, I never thought I'd be writing anything like this.

We had plans. Big ones. Dad was going to begin throwing the ball again. He wanted to pitch for his old fast ball team. He was already hitting golf balls and considered possibly getting back in to bowling too. We had a Spring Training trip planned for March. He was going to come down and hang out for the week in Baseball heaven.

So many plans. 

So much to do.

Yesterday, my Daddy passed away.

I screamed. I cried. It wasn't real. It isn't real. He couldn't be gone. He can't be gone. 

It's only been a month since Dad moved back to Spokane to be with his family. Finally, together again. After so many years. It was a new start. An exciting start. And everything was going so well. 

My Dad was happy. Well, he was always happy. Ask anyone who knew him, and they'd tell you that that smile never left his face. Except when you tried to feed him vegetables. Or when the Mariners sucked. His last comment on my blog said that he was doing great. And I believed him. The next day, he died. Peacefully. Taking a nap.

My dad fought cancer for 12 years. He battled and clawed his way through countless rounds of chemo and radiation, pokes and prods. In his suffering, he found ways - so many ways - to inspire hope. He was courageous, even in the face of death. He was sturdy, defeating all the odds. I heard him only once, tell me that he was tired. Gosh, Dad. How were you so strong? For so long? I admire him more than anything for that strength.

It's hard to say, but I think my dad was ready. He was ready to go Home. Actually, I know he was. He'd been strong for so long, but he found a different Strength right before he left this world. 

On Tuesday, Dad received in the mail, Saturday Nothing, a book written by Josh Martin. The same friend and pastor who married Adam and I. Dad read the entire book in one sitting. After finishing the story - a story all about Jesus - Dad wrote a review of it on Amazon:

"I must say first off that I am not a biblical scholar! But Josh's approach in this book makes it very easy to understand and I thank him for that. A very poingant story that hits on all levels. I am proud to say I am a prodigal son!"

My hope lies in the 10 words of his last sentence. Maybe just the last 5 words. Dad returned to the loving arms of Jesus before he died. And Jesus ran to meet him. Forgiven. 

On  Wednesday, October 31, 2012, John Mays III, My Daddy, My Friend, My Coach, and My Hero, passed away. I find hope and peace in the words Dad wrote just one day earlier. He's in Heaven now. He's Home. He's spending eternity with His Father. God, I am so thankful You waited for him.

I want to thank everyone, on behalf of myself and my family, for all the prayers, encouragement, condolences, and stories that you've poured out over my Dad and our family. He was, and is, loved by so many, and one measly blog post could never encompass the man he was or the words I could speak of him. For my memory, his, and our friends and family, here are some things you had to say:

"Your dad is, was, and always will be an inspiration to anybody that had the privilege of knowing him"

"Jake Kenzie Ellie Shelby Morgy Porgy, your dad will be remembered as an inspiration of stregnth and courage as well as compassion... Lolly I hope you can call on his stregnth right now! none of you ever forget how many hearts that mans memory lives in! I only hope the pride of such a legacy helps some of the pain..."

"Johnie Mays, this is heart breaking news. You were and always will be an influential father figure in my life. I remember when you first got sick and how I cried and cried and you comforted ME. Even all these years later, I think of little things you taught me, like how it really doesn’t take any longer to walk around than to cut across the grass. Or how on the road I might think I can’t possibly hold it any longer, but sure enough, I can. I think of the bigger things too, like your strength of character, and your capacity for forgiveness. I think of you all the time, and that won’t stop now."

"A long time survivor of brain cancer won an eternal, cancer free life with Jesus yesterday. Please keep his family in your prayers as I know he will be terribly missed by so many. I met Johnie through a survivors page a couple of years ago and he is one brave, grateful soul! RIP Johnie... I look forward to the day we will be able to meet in person! "

"i love you so much. you will be missed more than you will ever know. always a smile or a joke to crack and i will miss every moment of it. you were such a fighter, and you will always be a hero to me. you taught me that no matter what the doctors say, no matter what they tell you, that you can fight through it. one of the strongest people i know, and you fought that horrible disease for years. i love you."

"Johnie was the first person to reach out to me as a friend when I moved to Kirkland in the 8th Grade, and that outgoing and friendly spirit lives on. Wish there were more like you, Johnie."

"The world lost a great man and one of my heroes tonight. He was the best baseball coach many of us have ever had and the strongest and most dedicated person I have ever met. You'll be missed by many coach."

"The Hard Rock pin collecting community and the world have lost one of the good guys today. Rest in peace, my friend. I hope I will see you again someday."

" I came to know Johnie through the Seattle HRc pin club.I am proud to call him my friend. A finer one I could not find. I will miss you, I love you my friend. You will leave a void in my life no one else can fill. You brought laughter , to our meetings, you brought yourself, I could not wait to see you and always saved you a placed next to Ernie and me. My neices ,loved you too."

"He was so courageous and positive throughout his fight with cancer. My heart goes out to you and his chiildren. I went to high school with Johnie, and I have enjoyed his FB posts and pictures about his family. Such a proud and loving father, such a kind soul. What an amazing family and bond he had with all of you. As a 2yr breast cancer survivor, and being in the midst of a 5yr anti-cancer drug therapy, he was a real inspiration to me on keeping positive and appreciating life despite cancer treatment. I will miss his ray of light"

"There is no greater title one can be bestowed than that of one who is the embodiment of true courage and inspiration. I can think of no one who deserves that than Johnie! I have had the pleasure of knowing him in our youth, and watching him become a father of children who he had no greater proud of."

"Johnie, you fought a great fight. Im sad to see someone go so early. Now its your time to hangout with the baseball gods and watch over your close ones. My Prayers go out to all of his family. Johnie, go play the game you love forever."

Thank you.

I love you sweet Daddy.
You'll always be the king of the castle. 
And I'll always be your dirty rascal.

Gosh, I miss you already.