Letter To My Daughter – 02/04/11

Dearest Munchkin,

One year ago today I started writing this blog – for you, I thought. But I’m not sure now. I’m just not sure at all.

I hope you read this post one day, and other posts, or some of them, the ones your mom allows you to read. I’ve pushed the limits a few times and have had second thoughts about some of the things I’ve written. It is what it is. I’ve done my best to be frank and present the truth as I see it. Though, as I hope you know, truth does not equal fact. (T≠F). There are a few sentences/posts I should probably take back, though Fox would disagree. [Fox here, I ain’t taking back anything, yellow Labrador. There are no do-overs.]

I’m not sure how interested you’ll be in what’s here. I haven’t spoken to my father in 30 years and don’t regret it, and I don’t really have much to say to my mother. So, I’m not the best judge of what would be interesting to read when it comes to parents. I don’t think I could get past the first paragraph of anything they wrote. So, no guilt if you’d rather be playing your guitar or enjoying life. My gut tells me your mother will be more interested and surprised, as she didn’t know I wrote this blog, or at least to this point. She’s also been more aware of the events I’ve written about, especially the hospital stays.

If there’s anything interesting to read, I say it’s the comments. And though I’ve written close to 200 posts in the last 365 days, nothing I’ve said is as interesting or as touching as the comments I’ve received. Perhaps, that’s the true and best story of this blog – the people behind those comments and their lives and the fact that during 2010 and 2011 I was lucky enough to connect with them through this blog. And somehow despite this awful disease, something special and hopeful can rise from the darkness of living with cystic fibrosis. It feels good to get something back from a disease with the sole purpose to destroy you piece by piece.

And if I look at blogging as a whole, I’d say it feels like white-water rafting, which I’ve done a couple of times. It’s thrilling, scary, tiring, and when I’ve wanted off the raft, my friends have motivated me to hunker down and keep rowing. Sometimes the raft just rows itself and sometimes it takes great effort. But always, it’s rewarding to know you got someplace, flexed your creativity, experienced something new and unexpected, and pushed yourself beyond your comfort zone.

I hope when and if you read this, you are happy – or working your way to becoming happy. I hope you’re not caught up in the material things in life and you understand cash is king and freedom. I hope you’re doing what you want to do and haven’t become chained down with things that don’t matter.

I hope you love your mother and are making sure she is happy and you’re saying things to her filled with love and happiness. Your mother is special and unique and has only love and kindness in her. I’ve never met anyone like her who was so pure of thought, though the world and a corporate job have done their best to try to change that. But they haven’t. I hope you don’t either with the parts of you that are more me than her.

Lastly, I hope your dreams come true. Be patient and work hard. They will. I hope you take risks when it comes to doing what you are most passionate about in life. I didn’t and have regretted it every day. I was so afraid of failure, which caused failure, or didn’t allow me to achieve the success I had hoped for. It’s my wish that you’ll have more courage.

Remember: I love you; your mother loves you; everything is temporary. It’s that simple. Sometimes.

Hugs and kisses,


10 thoughts on “Letter To My Daughter – 02/04/11

  1. To The Unknown Daughter:

    Your dad has made me laugh and he has made me think a little deeper about my “normal” life and my CF life because he let his readers into his. I may never have a daughter or a son, but if did, I think I would approach parenthood in the same manner your dad does: With humor and flail…whatever that means. It seems to work pretty well for him.

    Oh and I agree, don’t mind Fox. He’s a jerk sometimes because he wishes he were half the fox that your dad is. Not that I think your dad is a fox, I just mean th…nevermind. Your dad is cool, fox is a weirdo. Entertaining, but a weirdo.

  2. So much beauty in a single post.

    This post contains so much: fear, pain, intense love for wife and daughter, appreciation, anger, regret, family ties, family unties, humor, creativity, community, desires, philosophy, a stealthy fox…I could go on.

    Like I said, beautiful. I agree with Stacey- thank you for letting us in to this beautiful life of yours.

  3. I love reading your posts. You are truly an inspiration. Your daughter is a lucky girl, as is your wife.
    Whatever the reasons you began this blog, it has become a sort of home for me, personally. When I feel like I cant….I come here to see the world through your eyes for just a moment, and you never fail to bring a new perspective. Thank you for that.
    Thank you for your honesty, your courage, and your “flail”.

    all of my best always to you and your California girls. ~j

  4. Your letters to your daughter are always my favorite. So pure and true. I now sit with kleenex in hand… I know now that if the title of your post is to your daughter, then I need a whole box of kleenex next to me. I love the last couple of lines – life really can be that simple, sometimes.

    p.s. you seem to attract readers with some form of the name Elizabeth – have you noticed?!?! Liz, Lizi, Elizabeth… must be some weird force drawing us all to you. 😉

    • Liz,

      I’m going to have to start sending you cash for all of these nice comments. They do touch me that something I wrote could affect such a generous person like you in such a way. Thank you for sharing this with me. That single line of advice for my daughter may be the best I’ll ever be able to give her, but it may take her a lifetime to appreciate it.

      Regarding the Liz situation, yes, I noticed that too. And as one of my first girlfriends was named Liz, there is something to it – the universe playing one of its little tricks again.

      Thank you again,


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