Loss and Life After

Six years.

It’s been six years since I stood by his side and told him he did everything right. It’s been six years since I held his hand and told him it was OK to let go. Six years ago I lost my father, but gained tremendous gifts.

My father had problems with his heart and lungs. His health had been deteriorating for years and living out of state, I dreaded the phone calls that came in the night. I had such an overwhelming sense of dread knowing my father would one day pass. I believed that when the day came, the air would no longer exist and I wouldn't be able to breath. Without my father, I didn't know who I was.

And then he passed, and I was OK.

I sat in my Aunt Barb’s house, my father’s sister, and noticed the depth of color of the October leaves outside her window. I noticed the sweet smell of cinnamon bread in the toaster, and know I would be OK. I knew that if I could continue to see the beauty around me, and take in the sweet smells of life, that joy would still exist. In those brief seconds, everything I thought to be true, was changing.

I allowed myself to feel it. I allowed myself to feel sadness, but also sing along with the radio. I allowed myself to miss my father, and cry as I made his fried potatoes. I allowed all of the feelings to exist, and by doing so I realized that I wasn't stuck, as I thought I would be. I was going to be OK

I adopted the phrase, “It won’t always feel like it does now,” and have lived by it since.

After losing my father, some of the greatest heartaches and challenges of my life surfaced. I was broken, lost, and wanted my father. Then, I knew that if I could live through my father’s passing, I could work through any challenges that came my way. I knew that I could do anything.

I believe, wholeheartedly, that the challenges in our lives come to us at the times we have the tools to handle them. Another phrase I have adopted, “You have everything you need, in this moment, to get through this,” has been my mantra since.

When my father was not there for me to lean on, I learned who I was. I learned who I am. I learned about grit, grace, forgiveness, humility, integrity, and the enormity of love. I learned what I’m made of. I know that in the midst of it all, he is in there, too. I knew that although I couldn't hear the audible words of my father, I knew exactly what he would say.  I sincerely believe that I was able to face the challenges in my life because of my experience in losing my father. That, was a gift.

My husband is now the greatest man of my life. His birthday is the day before my father’s passing, and people often express their condolences in regards to the timing of sorrow and celebration. I actually see this as the gift as well. You see, there will always be something to mourn and to celebrate. There will always be heartache and joy. God made day and night. There is balance in the world, and it is our focus that determines what is magnified.

Yes, it has been six years since I lost my father. Yes, I still feel a great loss, cry at times, and wish he were here. And, there have been great blessings and gifts since then as well. God made day and night, darkness and light. 

I choose the light. 

When it Rains it Pours...Perspective

It was the greatest surprise ever...until it wasn't.

My son, Teague, is a Gator fan. He loves him some Gator football and is surrounded by Gator "stuff". But, he has never been to a game. Until now.

When Teague completed his first triathlon, we wanted to honor his courage and hard work with something big. He got a Florida Gator jersey. What he didn't know, is we also had tickets to the first Florida game. We were taking him to "The Swamp" for his first game....ever!

The game wasn't televised in Georgia, so Teague went on and on about not getting to see it. We played it up and finally told him that we'd be visiting family in Florida, so there was a chance the game would be on TV.

The drive was long as Teague asked us over and over if we thought he'd get to see the game. We were thrilled with ourselves, knowing how exciting this surprise would be for our son.

We finally stopped for a late lunch, and Teague had no idea we are in Gainesville. There was a sea of orange and blue and Teague is even more concerned he might not see the game. We "decided" to get a hotel for the night, so we didn't have to get back on the road.

He still has no idea.

It's a beautiful day. We check into our hotel, complete with chocolate chip cookies, and Teague and I go to the pool. When we get back, my husband breaks the news that the hotel doesn't get the channel showing the game. Teague is deflated, and we are getting more and more excited. Teague now knows we are in Gainesville, so we told him we'd go to dinner and see if we can catch the game at one of the restaurants in town.

The shuttle from the hotel takes us to the UF campus. Teague looks at the crowds of people walking toward what he realizes the stadium and says, "I wish we were going into the game like them". We intentionally walk the other way. We are playing this up big time.

After some time in the campus book store, we exit into a crowd of fans and stop to get our bearings. My husband pulls the tickets out of his pocket, and shows them to Teague, seconds after I pulled out my phone.

Teague was humble and filled with joy.


We entered the stadium just minutes before 7:00 pm and found our seats. Lightning flashes in the distance and we realize the sky is darkening. The first drops begin to fall and the game is delayed 30 minutes.


The sky opened up, dropped buckets of rain, and thunder rattled the sky. The game was delayed, and delayed, and delayed. We stood, and stood, and stood in the concrete tunnel...waiting.

Teague's excitement turned to disappointment and he cried. He was once again worried he might not see the game. This is where we turned our focus on perspective.


We talked together about how fortunate we were to be at the game, to have the opportunity to spend this time as a family. We talked about perspective, where we focus our thoughts and energy, and all the good that was happening between the rumbles of thunder. We had thumb wars, ate giant pretzel twists, and watched the lightning flash.


At 9:30 pm, after two and a half hours of standing still in the concrete tunnel, we returned to our soaking wet seats to witness the first kickoff and watch Florida run the ball back to the 14 yard line.

It was an amazing play.

It was the only play.

Officials ran out on the field and delayed the game, yet again, due to lightning. From 9:30 pm -11:00 pm, we waited. It was past Teague's bedtime, he had experienced a flood of emotions, and the tears came yet again. At 11:00 pm, the game was cancelled, and we caught the shuttle back to the hotel in the storm.

But, you know what, it wasn't so bad.

We had planned a really fun surprise, and just because it didn't go as we had hoped, it doesn't change the joy we had watching it unfold.

We spent 4 hours standing. That part stunk, but we were together. We were all disappointed, tired, and uncomfortable...but no one got crabby. That alone, was a success.

Alcohol was not served in the stadium, so emotions were not magnified or exaggerated by the crowds around us.

Teague will never forget his first game, the lengths we went to to make it special, or that one kickoff return...in the storm.

Our son will forever remember the time we waited 4 hours, in a thunderstorm, for him to have this special memory.

Even after the game, people sent texts, messages on facebook, and checked in to let us know how bummed they were about the weather and most of all Teague's disappointment.

Days later, it was announced that the game would not be rescheduled. It was another let down. But it really wasn't. We made our memories,

The game didn't go as planned, but I can see so much goodness in that dark and stormy night.

The Gators didn't get a win that night, but the Drapers did.

Worth a Tri Part 2

If you missed part one, click here.

This brings me to the triathlon. After such a successful 5K, our son wanted to push himself to the next level. To him, that meant a triathlon.  He trained with his dad and was ready. I again, was filled with fear. I knew he would be safe physically, but I was so worried about how he would feel if he didn't perform the way he wanted to.

Race day, I put on my bravest face, and needed my husband to talk me out of helping in they ways I could. As he dove into the water for his swim, I worried. He had planned to start in the water, because jumping messes up his goggles. I wanted him to stay safe and stick to the plan. But then, he had his fastest swim to date. As he ran into the transition, I was coaching him to dry his feet, tie his shoes tight, drink water, and not forget his helmet. But what I wanted to do was do it all for him. As he ran out of transition with is bike, I cried. He was doing it. He was ready. He was safe.

The bike portion was a loop completed 3 times. The first part of the loop was a pretty long hill. His bike is heavy, has no gears, and is not made for racing. I was worried. I wanted to make all of these excuses, prepare him to be slower than the rest. I wanted to protect his emotions. Once he rounded the corner after his second loop. I cried. He was flying. He came down that hill with such confidence and strength. His bike was not in his way. I was.

After transitioning from the bike portion of the race, my son set off on his run. We moved so we could see him enter the final portion of the race and finish. He was running with such speed, that he was nearly to the finish. Just in time, we made it to see him complete his final loop and cross the finish line. He was breathing heavy, covered in sweat, thought he might throw up, and safe. I cried. I was so overwhelmed with the realization of what my son is actually capable of. That, and a whole lotta pride!

My son finished his first kid's triathlon strong. He placed 3rd in his age group and is ready to do IronKids next month. He knows that it will be a longer swim, longer ride, and have over 1,000 kids. He also knows that he is ready. So do I.

As a mom, I have learned that I try to prevent my son from feeling disappointment by reducing risk. But, if I want my son to feel confident, I need to allow him to do things that make him proud. If I make things too easy, or prevent him from stretching his abilities in order to make him me feel safe, he won't feel the sense of pride that comes with great accomplishments.

I'm not saying I'm "fixed", or that I won't go to great lengths to protect my son, but I will work to protect him at his fear level, rather than mine. Hey, it's worth a tri!

Worth a Tri

As parents, it's our job to protect our kids, right? We should keep them safe, right?

Over the years, I have taught my son to play it safe. Through my example, my fears, my desire to protect him from feeling disappointment, I have sheltered him. I didn't know I was doing it at the time. I thought I was being, you know, "a good mom". But what I was really doing, was teaching him not to reach his fullest potential. I was protecting him at my fear level, not his. He does things that look like he is stretching, but they are usually pretty easy for him. Others might disagree, and create a list of things he has done that were brave, but they didn't really feel brave to him. I know this well. It too, is my pattern. Yesterday, he was brave, and stretched, and safe!

Here is a little back story. My son's school has a one mile race to celebrate the top ten fastest runners in 3rd-5th grade. At the end of 3rd grade, my son was number 11. He missed the top by seconds, but didn't make the cut. He was also the only student in 3rd grade to get so close. He was really disappointed! I wanted to lesson his pain, make excuses about the length of his legs, his age, his experience....to make him feel better. But the truth is, it only teaches him to make excuses, and being so close taught him to work harder.

A couple of months later, my husband was running a 5K, and my son wanted to do the one mile fun run before the race. Several runners used this as a warm up, allowing  my son to lead the pack in just over 7 minutes. He was hot, and tired, and stinky. But, he was proud. He decided he wanted to run the 5K with his dad. I was terrified. He was tired, just ran a really fast mile, and had never run more than a mile. My husband would be running at his own pace, so my son would be on his own. My mind was racing.

What if he didn't pace himself correctly?

What if he got dehydrated?

What if he got a cramp?

What if he needed help?

I wanted to tell him, "no". I wanted to tell him to train more and prepare for 3 miles. I wanted to protect him at my fear level. I wanted to hold him back. But I didn't.

When my husband finished the race, 7th out of 127 runners, I wanted him to go back and get our son.

Go protect him.

Go keep him safe.

But, as I looked up, there was our son coming down the hill toward the finish. He crossed the finish line in 28:08, and was 17th overall. He was tired, and red faced, and so proud. Maybe I had underestimated him. Maybe I need to stop protecting him from my fears, and let him grow.

Part 2 to come...

Facing My Fears

It's been a while since I have blogged publicly. I write posts in my mind, make notes for "someday", but ultimately leave them to lay dormant and unseen. It's not that I don't want to share, there is something within me that feels compelled to do so. It's that sharing feels vulnerable and unsafe.

I work diligently to let people know much they matter. I work to love more, give more, and share the kind thoughts I have about people. It is my desire to inspire, support, and connect with people in real time. I don't want interactions and relationships to be in passing, but to be deliberate and real. I want to encourage your dreams and connect with your broken pieces. It is my passion and my gift. It is what makes my soul sing. It is who I am at my core. Therefore, exposing my thoughts, perspective, and stories feels unsafe.

I say, over and over, that everything you say, and everything you do matters. All of the good, and all of the bad...matters. The smallest gesture or greatest effort, impact our own lives and the lives of others in ways we may never fully comprehend.

 But, what if we could?

What if each of us could tap into that part of ourselves that truly understand the unique and powerful impact we have in our lives, our families, our community, and our world?

How would things change?

How would we be different?

I am facing my fears, I am putting my heart on the line. I am blogging...again. I am doing so in a way, to publicly claim my own worth, and to recognize that if I want others to know that they matter, I have to claim it for myself. So, here I am, standing in my own fears, publicly. I am claiming my unique and powerful gifts and sharing them with the world. If I want you to know how much you matter, I must also recognize it for myself.