Witness Marks: Stories From a Heart Transplant

To be honest, not much running has been happening this week. I haven’t been feeling great. And around here, when mama doesn’t feel great, nobody feels great—meaning my not feeling great tends to ripple outward, creating a low hum of anxiety for everyone else. Still, I push on with my morning walks with friends. We’re experiencing an unusually mild winter, one that has gifted us many pleasant morning miles. I’m not complaining. The other morning, our conversation turned to a big change coming to our neighborhood—one that has left most of us feeling disappointed. Maybe worried. At the very least, unsettled. It’s something some of us anticipated, yet still something we’re not happy about: a new development that will inevitably impact our community in ways that make us feel a loss of control. When we built our home here twenty years ago, community was one of the most important factors in our decision. We were a young, growing family, searching for a safe, family-friendly place where our ch...

The holiday season arrives each year dressed in bright lights and confident cheer, announcing itself as a time when everyone is supposed to feel warm, grateful, and whole. Songs insist on joy. Social media posts glow with parties and matching sweaters. Calendars fill with gatherings and traditions. But sometimes this season quietly overlaps with something much heavier: reality—illness, exhaustion, and a sadness that feels out of place among all the celebration. Being sick during the holidays carries a particular loneliness. Sickness already narrows the world—your body asks you to slow down, to cancel plans, to listen closely to discomfort. When it coincides with a season that emphasizes togetherness and energy, that narrowing can feel like exclusion and loneliness. You may watch celebrations from a distance, physically or emotionally unable to participate. Even minor illnesses can feel larger in December, as if they are stealing something precious and irreplaceable. There is also the e...

My stepdad was a man of simple abundance—and by abundance, I mean  abundance . The man was a bit of a hoarder. He collected things. He loved tools, electronics, toys—anything anyone might possibly consider useful. If it existed, odds were it had a home somewhere in his collection. He was also a connoisseur of little joys. He found pleasure in the simplest things. From him, I learned the satisfaction of an uncomplicated, unpretentious snack plate, assembled without fuss and shared with loved ones on a quiet Sunday evening at home. He loved food—especially sharing it. He learned to cook at a young age and even taught cake-decorating classes for a time. He passed his collection (read: hoard) of cake pans along to me. Whenever I feel compelled to bake a cake shaped like, say, a rocking horse, I know I’ll find the perfect pan in his stash. One of his favorite foods to share was Chinese food. Growing up, he’d hunt down the best Chinese restaurants, form friendships with the owners, and s...

I've been pondering lately how most people love a victor's tale. And, if not, how they then are quick to root for the underdog. If you think about it, more often than not, what catches the attention of most is a story of triumph: of challenges faced, odds defied, and struggles overcome.  It’s true—some people genuinely  love  a good tragedy. No judgment there. After all, many of the greatest works in literature are tragic at their core—think  Romeo and Juliet  or  Macbeth . If tragedy didn’t strike a deep, strangely satisfying chord in us, Shakespeare’s works would never have endured with such popularity. But what we really want is a neat and tidy ending. We crave stories that, while compelling, follow a predictable pattern and end tied up with a bow. We want an engaging exposition, a captivating rise in tension, an electrifying climax, and a clear, fulfilling resolution. In short, we want to be entertained! Also, we're uncomfortable sitting in discomfort, ...

 My son is currently facing one of those big life choices: which path to choose after college. He is currently pre-med, but we all know that while many are called, few are chosen. Meaning, not everyone who intends on going to medical school will actually find themselves on that journey. He has also set his sights on possibly applying to a PA (physician assistant) program as well. At any rate, his desired outcome is to work with patients in healthcare and he is diligently preparing himself now, however it may look in the future. Someone close to him recently said, "We've decided you need to go to medical school because one day you'll look back and regret not going all the way." Upon hearing this, I immediately bristled. While I believe my son is smart enough to get into medical school, if he chooses some other graduate degree program I will be proud of him and will never see him as not having gone "all the way." And here is why: My son's reasoning for goi...