This morning I went back to the beach.  I knew before I even glimpsed the ocean that she was rough.  I could hear the crashing of the waves as if there was a loud drum embedded into the earth.  The moment I walked over the dunes, I saw the spray spitting into the air and a cliff made of sand.  I had been there not five days ago and there was no cliff. The beach was as one would expect, smooth, vast and walked right into the ocean as the ocean rolled effortlessly right onto it.  

Not today.  Today there was no mistaking the power of the sea and all that she is capable of doing.  The cliff was entirely made of sand, but solid enough for me to sit on without sliding into the surf. Even the walking was rough as I had to stick to the deeper, less packed earth which makes it much more unsteady.  Normally I walk right along the water’s edge where there is less give to each step. To do so today would risk being swept away.  So I walked for a while and noticed how even in the roughness, it was all so incredibly beautiful.  I myself woke up this morning feeling less than smooth.  An ache in my back due to it being the beginning of my cycle was supporting a less than stellar feeling.  In the practice of being gentle, I gave myself permission to walk up to the edge of the cliff and sit.  

As I sat there I thought about how, in a few days time, my back ache would go away and this miraculous cliff of sand would too.  I thought about how much the ocean changes, sometimes unpredictably so, which is what makes it so wild and beautiful. I couldn’t help but think about how if we only applied that to ourselves, in our own constant and ever changing tides and flows as humans, we would be so much better off.  A lot of the modern day human action is for the purpose of sustaining only what we know.  What is already in place.  Too often we look at change as something to be fixed, a burden to be admonished. Even as it keeps on coming, we do all we can to ward it off, to fight it or even deny it.

As I sat on this solid sandy cliff that would itself recede back into the ocean, I thought about how when growth and change stops, death happens.  Figuratively speaking, when people decide that this is just how they are and how they will continue to be and the goal remains to maintain stasis, it’s an emotional and energetic death. And literally when the body stops growing and changing, on a cellular level, it dies. To pursue growth and change, to even dare to embrace it, is to pursue and embrace being alive, in my opinion.  

It can get rough and cliffs will form, but rough can be beautiful. Just as beautiful as the days when everything is as calm and cool as glass. But even glass has to get heated up and changed in order for it to be so. And when it is done, it ceases to change unless it is broken.  May we be done changing and growing, only when we take our final breath.  And even then, I’m not sure we’re done. 

What do you think?

​

Getting quiet can get really loud.  It’s why so many people avoid doing it. 

I didn’t plan on going for the walk I went on today.  It didn’t even really hit me to do so until I grabbed my keys to chauffer Audrey to school. But something told me to head to one of the longer trails around here and see what happens.  Normally when I walk I listen to something, a podcast or music.  Sometimes I call a friend and chat.  

Today I grabbed my headphones and began down the trail, but I couldn’t get myself to put them on.  The sounds that were around me were far too plentiful.  The crickets and cicadas were chirping away.  There were the cries of Osprey and Vulture and the hammer of the woodpecker.  Even the crunch of my own feet felt symphonic to my ears.  I walked the entire walk with the headphones around my neck, never putting them on.

The thing about noise in nature however, is that when you really listen to it, there is a kind of quiet that exists underneath it all still. I find that as humans, when we go quiet and without distraction, sometimes there is a loudness that resides there. Thoughts hum, fears buzz and worries caw.  Without the aid of my eardrums being occupied, I was all of a sudden able to hear it all.  The initial impulse is to grab for the distraction and run.  But I kept walking and kept time with the outer noises surrounding me. I heard myself loud and clear and felt all of the things I was feeling in my body.  

Something we don’t do a great job at explaining as human beings is that the emotions we experience all have a unique sensation that shows up in our body.  There is something called Interoceptive Awareness which is the ability to actually feel these sensations in conjunction with what we are experiencing emotionally.  We are generally good at the more primal ones, such as feeling sleepiness, hunger and the urge to go to the bathroom. These aren’t emotions, but they are very much cued by our interoceptive awareness.  The real skill and study comes from understanding how our emotions show up in our bodies.  Fear comes to me as a restriction in my chest while anxiety comes as a bundle of knots in my stomach. Sometimes it feels as if the top layer of my skin is sitting in perpetual goosebumps.  It has taken some time, but I have become quite apt at reading my emotions through bodily sensation. 

As I walked today however, feeling the knots and the tightness, I found myself walking for some quick spurts and then stopping and standing in complete stillness.  I would listen to the crunch, crunch, crunch of my feet and then pause to listen to the hum of the woods.  Each time I stopped I noticed that underbelly of quiet that was present. And I realized, this is what gets missed when we don’t actually let ourselves get quiet.  When we bombard ourselves with constant distraction and noise, we lose the ability to first go in and face the loudness of our own thoughts, but after a while, not too long, there is a settling.  At the very least, an understanding that the noise of our minds is simply the top layer of what is happening.  Underneath it still lives an element of quiet calm, just as in nature. 

I understand how hard it can be to get quiet with ourselves.  It’s the very same reason we are working on gentleness this month in eMOTION.  We don’t live in a quiet and gentle world and so our skills are simply not often attuned to knowing how to navigate those moments.  One of the entire reasons I am writing these “walking diaries” is to really begin advocating for a more quiet and gentle way of being with ourselves to become more normal. Even when life is loud. A big reason my walks take place in nature is because there are just so many lessons to take and apply from it.  There are lessons there, when we really choose to listen to them. 

My sincere hope is that through reading one of these blogs, or coming to an eMOTION or Meditation class with me, you will walk away with the permission to let it be ok for things to get a little loud when you go quiet.  It doesn’t mean that you’re doing it wrong.  It simply means that there is a lot to listen to in order to get to that quiet layer underneath it all.  It’s like sometimes when you do a big clean out, you make more of a mess at first in order to sort through everything.  Often, that’s all that is happening in the loudness of our own minds. Let it move through you, but more importantly, let yourself move through it without distraction.  Peace will come. I promise. 

​

​On today’s walk I listened to the latest On Being podcast which featured forest ecologist Suzanne Simard. Suzanne’s research has shown that trees and specifically in forests, are wired for wisdom. There is a complex and invisible communication system that occurs in which the elder trees essentially teach the younger ones how to thrive and survive. So much of it is reflective of how human society also works, on many different levels. 


I took the normal walking path that I do around our neighborhood. Most of it grazes the backyards of houses and cornfields. There is a section however that is entirely wooded and has been a sanctuary of mine these last 18 months. I have meditated in these woods. Played and built forts and fairy houses with Audrey in them. I have seen deer and raccoons scamper in front of me on the path. I also have this tendency to place my hands on the trees as I walk by them. I have no idea why I began this, just one day as I was walking along the rough bark was calling out to be felt. So I place my hand upon it and find myself taking a deep breath as if somehow my hand is moving the breath into the tree. Or perhaps my hand is receiving it from the tree. Or both. 


I was struck today, listening to Suzanne, about how much healing happens because of the community that surrounds a tree. There is an entire process in place where trees communicate through one another through their own carbon, while at the same time the fungi and root system does the same. I couldn’t help but think about how desperate so many of us are for this kind of system as humans and yet how much we have set ourselves up as a society to work against that need. 


I could go on and on about social structures and the performative culture that makes it more important to look like you have it all together rather than actually share openly about our vulnerabilities.  Instead, I will simply use the metaphor of the trees that I noticed as I walked out of the woods and back into where all the houses were with the perfectly manicured lawns and landscaping. As my feet hit the pavement, I came upon a single tree perfectly placed in its own bed. Several feet away was another one. And then again, same thing. 


I thought about Suzanne’s research and the importance of not only the survival, but the thriving of trees in a forest in relation to other trees. Here were these perfectly kept trees, places between two slabs of concrete in close but not in related proximity to the others. These lone trees are essentially left to fend for themselves and have the job of providing aesthetic beauty to the neighborhood in which it has been placed. Much like the people for whom they exist to please, their value comes more from the beauty they exude than the nutrients for which they are more than capable of providing. The things that would last far longer than their beauty, or even their life span would. 


I found myself stunningly aware of this juxtaposition as I walked passed these suburban trees. I wondered, with the complex communication system that they have, can they not hear the trees of the woods calling?  Are they not standing there doing their best, yet so longing to be a part of the forest that is only just out of reach. Do they not long to be amongst the mother trees and all of their wisdom so that they can realize even more for themselves beyond just their beauty, but to be a part of the family of trees for generations yet to come?  


My hands found their way to the leaves of one of these trees as I walked by. And then another one. And so on. I wanted them to know that while they may feel alone, they are not. That their presence doesn’t go unnoticed and that they are so much more than what they look like.  I wanted to recognize that their wisdom still exists inside of them, even as they exist in a much more curated and cultivated society that doesn't always value real and true wisdom.


If one morning I woke up and by some miracle each one of these trees had pulled up their roots and ran away, into the forest to reconvene with all the other trees, I would applaud. I would dance. I would sing and smile all day.  For the seeking of wisdom, for the sake of the self and all who surround is a thing to be celebrated. 


And so you know, I would do the same for you too. 

So I dropped my daughter off at school and I headed to the beach.  The moment I stepped onto the sand and saw the sun still low in the sky, I felt my entire body ease.  Then there was the walking.  One step in front of the other is not as simple on sand.  The ground is unlevel and there are tiny valleys and mountains on the earth.  I decided to find the firmest sand, which was down by the water. At first the water washed over my feet and I felt rebellious for getting the bottoms of my yoga pants wet.  I walked on and on like that, feeling the juxtaposition of the rough sand and the slippery water. I would pass by people with dogs and people fishing, though there were few of us out there. As I walked on, the very question that prompted this post rang through my mind.  Have we so tied movement to struggle that we are missing out on one of its greatest gifts?  Here I was simply walking.  My body was in motion, no less so than when I dance really, just differently.  But walking, one foot in front of the other, one of the very first things we work on as humans, is so gentle in nature and yet so profound in its offering. As I walked on, I saw fish jump and dolphins swim.  I noticed the sun sparkling on the water and felt the shift in the time of day as it rose a little higher.  

I thought about how our theme this month in eMOTION is gentleness and how this moment was the very epitome of how movement can be gentle and yet gentle does not mean any less powerful.  We often misuse that word power, in my opinion, when it comes to movement.  We think it means the only kind of power that most of us are used to, which is power over ourselves and our bodies. We completely miss out on the other three kinds which are power with, to and within ourselves. We mistake successfully powering over ourselves for some kind of inner power, when usually in order to get our bodies to even be willing participants, we have to shut down the power within.  It is one of the greatest tragedies of the yoga world, watching it gravitate towards the more patriarchal well-known power, when it offered such a beautiful alternative once upon a time.  I am just now at almost 40 coming to deeply appreciate the yoga of the women who came before me, who I used to know of their presence but think it just wasn’t for me.  It was always for me, I just didn’t know it yet.

But I do now. At least as I walk the beach, I think that I do.  I am grateful for this call to invite more gentle movement into my life and to create the opportunity for others to do the same.  I am even getting so bold as to dramatically shift my entire business towards it.  Just yesterday I spent the day emailing therapists who work with people in ED recovery and promoted myself as a safe movement option.  It only feels bold in contrast to the years of promoting myself as a powerful and much more athletic yogi, before finding this side of movement for myself. And so I share this fear with you all, not to sound an alarm, but to hopefully create a bit of a stir.  To prompt you to ask the question, how am I using my movement?  Am I using it to punish myself?  To fortify the mindset that where there is no pain there is no gain?  I won’t be so brazen as to say that it is completely disordered, that’s not my place, but I will say that it simply is not always true.  Do you use the lack of movement to punish yourself in a way that is riddled with guilt and shame?  Because to go for a simple walk isn’t enough or like the days when you would go from pilates to running a half marathon?  That you “should” be able to do more?

I baptized the day by walking into the water. My body breathed even more relief at the sensation of its coolness. My nervous system was soothed by the gentle rocking of the waves. I lay back and let myself be cradled. Fish jumped all around me and as I floated in this earthly womb I thought about how gentleness is really our birthright. Yes we have to move through the trauma of being born, go out into the world and often have our asses handed to us by life. But at the end of it all, we still come to an ultimate stillness no matter how hard we pushed and how much grit we had.

All I am saying is, why wait until death to be gentle with ourselves? Why does the movement we impart on our bodies have to be as harsh as the rest of the world is around us? Couldn’t we perhaps consider that we are meant to, while we consciously can, do everything in our power to create and recreate a kind of pleasurable calm through movement? 

These walks are my new rebellion. This is where I defy the mindset that in order to find peace we first must suffer the consequences of self inflicted abuse. As I went to walk back to shore, I found myself turning around one last time to remind myself of this. I let my hands dance through the dark green water and I breathed. It doesn’t have to be any more than this. This is enough. 

I am currently reading the book Wintering by Katherine May.  The timing could not be more perfect as I feel as if I am approaching my own kind of wintering at this moment.  This last week I began a twelve week writer’s workshop in which I am committing to write over a thousand words a week as well as support someone else in their goal.  I have already had a few early mornings of waking before the sun and hopelessly typing words into a black google doc.  The ideas are plentiful, yet completely jumbled.  For the longest time I have been saying that “I want to write a book” and yet, while I have all the passion in the world, the exact subject, structure and specificity of it is unclear.  Sometimes I think I have one good book in me and then when I go to sit down and write, I think that there are twelve of them swimming around and I actually just have to pick one, for now. 

My creative process is messy.  What I love about this workshop is that the goal is not to end these twelve weeks with a finished product, but rather light the fire to simply “write the thing”, of which it is aptly named.  I have already written over two thousand words and yet I still have no idea where it’s all heading.  I have no clue what is going to come of this.

But here’s what I do know, that is ok. 

So often we don’t begin the thing we long to do because of what is currently happening in my world right now.  It all feels like a jumbled mess and while we have grand visions of what a final product could be, getting there feels almost impossible.  The slog of starting is so difficult that it almost feels easier, perhaps even better, to simply dream about doing it instead of actually doing it. I know this.  I have been doing this for years now. 

And yet, having recently experienced loss and the reminder yet again that life is both impermanent and goes by incredibly fast, I can’t just dream anymore.  I have to create things while I can.  Yes, I have been doing that with eMOTION and Meditation and even with coaching.  And I am proud of them.  But there is more.  I have known that for a while now.  And while I could cobble together some very quick version of what I am dreaming about doing, I want to take my time.  I want to really live up the vision I have for myself and write a book that is meaningful and well written.  It’s going to be hard.  It already is.  But I am allowing myself this time of being in my own wintering so that when it finally does bloom, it will be magnificent.  

How am I wintering?

Some of it is a mindset and some of it is practical.  For starters, I announced a while ago that I am more or less off of social media.  You will still see posts announcing new blog posts or class opportunities, but I am doing all of it through a third party platform.  The apps themselves have been taken off my phone and they are now only accessible through a browser of some kind.  I have to tell you, I am just a couple of weeks in and it already feels glorious.  I now go long moments without even looking at or checking my phone.  Even more so than that, I find that my attention is so much sharper.  I have shared this before, but social media has been such a trap for me.  I believe it is for many of us, but I can only speak for myself.  The constant barrage of thoughts, opinions, stories of other people.  As much as I love storytelling, I have found that you can have too much of a good thing.  The constant scroll continued to validate to my own mind that you don’t have to focus too much on any one thing for too long.  I have realized in the jumbled mess of already trying to create something, those spaces only serve to exacerbate it.  I think that this may be the single most important thing that I can do for my own mental health right now as I take on this project.  

I am also giving myself permission to rest.  Most of my best ideas and most clarifying moments come not when I am doing, but when I am being.  My morning meditation practice is in full swing, but even more than that, when I find my brain is overheated, I literally walk away and lie down.  I close my eyes and breathe or even take a nap.  One of the major privileges fueling this moment is having Audrey back in school again full-time. It’s only been three days and I have already exhaled a little more than I have this last year and a half.  To anyone who homeschools, whether on purpose or pandemic driven, please know that I salute you.  There was a moment when I thought that was for me, but I have been clearly shown that it is not. I am an amazing mother to my child, but adding in the role of teacher is not something that I excel at nor need to excel at.  I will openly and perhaps even selfishly admit, I need my own space.  It is in fact, one of the driving reasons that we have chosen to have only Audrey.  I love being a Mom, truly, madly, deeply and yet I have also been able to recognize my motherhood satiety has been met as one of a singleton.  In a way, it is a gigantic choice of self-care that both my husband and I have made in the interest of us all.  I share all of this in the context of rest, simply because I acknowledge that this isn’t what is possible for all and I have a certain, parent of one, privilege in this area. I know that and honor that. To even have the choice at all, I am grateful. 

In addition to taking in less of other people’s stories so that I may tune into my own and resting when I feel the need, I am also back to practicing more ritual.  Simple, minute things to mark the moments of the day or set the tone of the space I am in.  Sometimes this includes cleaning things up, changing the lighting or burning incense or diffusing oils. One of the things Katherine’s book has made me really consider is how we mark time and whether or not we do so with intention.  In one of the chapters, she talks about the druids and how they mark every six weeks or so with some kind of ritual.  I have realized that nothing extraordinary happens through ritual, other than we become really present and aware of the fact that time is moving.  I suppose that is actually quite extraordinary really.  I have always been a fan of ritual and in fact, have an entire course on it.  And yet, like everyone else, even those things we are drawn to, we sometimes lose and need to find again.  In this preparation for my own wintering, I am doing just that. Making the space and time around these moments where I will be wrestling with my own thoughts and words will serve as the reminder that my creativity is sacred.  And that my willingness to dive in and get messy is something to scoff at.  It is brave and bold and I must keep doing it, even as time passes and I will have feelings of wanting to give up. 

And so I am closing the shutters, gathering the warm blankets and with each colder and darker morning that I wake up to, reminding myself that the winter is what actually makes the rest of the year beautiful.  It is one of the other lessons I have learned from choosing to, in addition to writing for my book, only put my words on this tiny blog, with you, my wonderful but tiny audience.  The world is so loud out there and going quiet can be a kind of tonic that soothes our soul in a way getting loud cannot.  I’m not saying there isn’t a time and place for loud, there is just an equal time and place to get quieter.  

Lastly, getting ready for winter has also meant taking care of my time better.  I announced recently that I was changing eMOTION classes, the movement portion, to be completely recorded.  Beginning this week, folx who are signed up will receive a weekly email from me. There will be a link to the week’s movement class and a link for our live meditation session on Monday nights where we will convene live for the only time that week.  There will also be other little treats such as recorded audio meditations or journal prompts and personal words from me. There will also be a theme of the month and this month the theme is Gentleness.  We will explore what it means to be gentle with ourselves, something that will serve us well as we all move forward towards winter, literally and personally. 

And because I am grateful for you to be coming along with me for this journey into winter, because in order for you to even be reading this, you had to choose to do so rather than scrolled upon it, I am offering you a special discount for your first month of the eMOTION subscription. Use code: BLOG at the link below and you will get it for half off. This will work for both the coaching subscription and the eMOTION monthly and will expire on October 1st. 

I hope to see you this Monday night for meditation as we begin our own journey into winter.  It is not a time to dread, I promise you, but a time to really be much more intentional with these precious lives we are living. 

Adaption. Transformation. Resiliency.

​I feel as if these three words have been at the forefront of this last year and a half. For all of us, there was a day in 2020 when everything changed. All of a sudden life as we knew it was no longer an option. It changed differently for each of us. Some of us became homeschool parents. Some of us were out of work. Many of us were impacted financially. Or with how we spent our time. And with who. All of us have had to adapt in some way. Many ways. 

When we left our NYC apartment on March 13th 2020, I had no idea that I would never live there again. I had no idea that I wouldn’t step foot in a yoga studio in almost two years. I had no idea I would move to Delaware. Or that my daughter wouldn’t attend school full time for another year and a half. I also had no idea that I would start teaching movement and meditation online and create an entirely new thing called eMOTION. Adaptation. Transformation and Resiliency have been the name of the game for so many of us over and over and over again. And it’s hard. 

And yet, I want to say that it’s also ok. Perhaps one of the silver linings to arise out of all of this is that maybe, just a little bit, we have been able to give ourselves the permission to change when necessary. Whether it is our minds, our course, our actions or how we spend our time. I think one of the biggest human afflictions we face is our resistance to change, even though it is the one thing we can continue to count on happening. In so many ways, navigating these changes is exactly what eMOTION, both in Movement & Stillness has always been about. I have always seen my work in all of it to simply offer tools for when the you-know-what really hits the fan. So that when things really change, you don’t feel as if you have done something wrong, but rather you know you can count on yourself to adapt. To transform. And to be resilient. This kind of mailability is one of the healthiest self-care practices we could take on. 

eMOTION is doing all of that right now. I am doing all of that right now. It continues onward. Only I am changing her to adapt better to my own needs right now. I wish that kind of audacity for us all really. Rather than teaching weekly LIVE movement classes, I will now be recording a movement class a week that will be sent to your inbox via a link that will remain accessible for 30 days. Monday Night Meditation will continue to be LIVE because the community support and beauty that happens there simply cannot happen with out your gorgeous beings in the room. It is also my aim to send you a recorded meditation for the week to simply listen to. Every week, one email, a couple links and some brief words from me. It’s simple. It gives me more time to be flexible for my own needs and the needs of my family. It also keeps my schedule open for coaching and the learning/creating that I will be doing. 

If you have been a part of the eMOTION community past or present, I want you to know how grateful I am for you. None of this would even be possible without you. I hope that you will continue to be a part of eMOTION as it transforms into a more hand delivered self-care. There will be no big platform. No fancy website. I’m not looking to grow an empire but rather come more intimately right to your virtual “door-step” each week. 

Here are your options to either join or upgrade:
​
The eMOTION Monthly Subscription - $40/month
This will bring you your weekly email from me with the link to the week’s Movement class and the link for our LIVE Monday Meditation session. 

The Coaching Subscription - $120/month
This includes the weekly email, all of the links and a monthly one on one coaching session with me with a discount for those who wish to do more than one session per month. 

Book a Free 30 Minute Coaching Consultation
​If you aren't quite sure if coaching is right for you, book a free 30 minute chat with me to find out!

Both of the subscriptions  can be canceled at any time, upgraded or downgraded as needed. I am genuinely here to support you in getting what you need in taking care of yourself. My special talent in this world is helping to teach these skills that too often don’t get taught or handed down to us. Skills that are the epitome of knowing how to adapt, transform and be resilient in life without losing ourselves. 
​
I hope you will continue to transform with me as life continues to roll on into the unexpected. As it always has, but perhaps now without the blinders on. 
I hope to see you soon
xoxo,
Sara

My father-in-law passed away yesterday.  It was expected, yet the sadness is very real.  His role in this world is significant to me.  He was the man my husband modeled himself after.  He is the example of fatherhood that informs how my daughter is being fathered.  The “goodness” of Greg Packard was palpable.  If you knew him, you know what I am talking about. If you know my husband then you know it too.  It is the strongest attribute that he passed down to his children and what I fell deeply in love with upon meeting Justin.  Gratitude seems like too small a word to bestow.  Indebted for always is more like it.  I get to live in such goodness because of him. 

We were lucky enough to spend the summer with him and my Mother-in-Law.  I have always been sad that because of his disease, Audrey would never know her grandfather the way I did.  Certainly not the way Justin did.  And yet, for the last two months she got to see something really special.  She got to know her Grandpa in his last physical presence of life.  His kind eyes and his calm presence never waivered.  Even as he stopped being able to speak you knew he was always listening.  Listening was one of the things he did best, even as a man with a wide and varied vocabulary.  He had no use for swear words because he always said that there were so many far better words one could use. In moments when you felt like cussing it was an opportunity to be creative or learn a new word. And yet even with all his “wordly” intelligence, he asked far more questions than he gave answers.  Something I think we could all continue to learn from these days.

But this summer Audrey got to look on as this kind and gentle giant of a man began to move towards the end of his life with complete and utter grace.  Leave it to a lifelong athlete and phys ed teacher to show us how to let the body die.  Walking almost until the end and never losing his balance, he continued to navigate his physical space with precision and intention. It was amazing to watch.  I would marvel at the moments when you could see his brain was struggling to make the connection and yet still somehow he knew how to maneuver.  We spent the summer doing all the summer things that Western New York is ripe with.  We picked berries and walked the Erie Canal.  We went to Niagara Falls and swam in the lake.  He wasn’t able to do anything more than sit or walk slowly, but he was there.  We all knew it.  It was especially apparent in the moments when Audrey would hold up her hand in the sign for “I Love You” in ASL and he would raise his own hand as best he could. Those were two things that Greg will always be remembered for in my mind.  Accomplished in ASL and former teacher at the School for the Deaf.  And saying I Love You all the time to those he loved.  There is something about these two things that really exemplifies the goodness of which I speak.  Here was this strong man who was raised amongst the blue collar factory towns of the north and yet gentle kindness was his MO. 

What made these last months of his life so special, at least for me with the perspective of being his daughter in law, was watching my husband care for his dad in the very same way he was cared for by him.  A quick witted joke was always in tow along with a "hey pal". Yet a gentle kiss on the forehead was commonplace as he fed him his food or held his hand as they walked the neighborhood.  As a mom, knowing that my child witnessed her dad take such care of his own dad will always be something of a gift. In a world where toxic masculinity is all the rage, seeing these two important men in her life share such sweetness is invaluable.  Not to mention in a time when we tend to be so spread out as families and rarely see one another but for big holidays, to have had this be our everyday for a moment gives me hope that it has landed on her. That it will continue to be the legacy she carries along because of the example of her own dad and grandpa.

​Justin has already mastered it. As he wrote in his own words this afternoon, “more than anything, when I grow up, I want to be my dad”.  I looked on this summer and saw that his wish has most definitely come true.  He has become his own dad.  Not in all the same ways as he feels quite the opposite about swearing. But in the goodness.  I saw it and I know that our daughter did too.  I know even more that every single day for the rest of her own dad’s life she will reap the benefits of this legacy. That because of her Grandpa, it will continue to spread far and beyond what we can even see.  Floating around Brockport this summer, if I ran into anyone who discovered that I was “Greg Packard’s daughter in law” the first thing out of their mouth would be about how great a man he was. Often a story would follow about how he impacted their life in some truly profound way.  Not because he moved mountains and did grand things.  But because he listened and spoke with love, always.  Because he gave people chances. And because he believed in the goodness and dignity of others. No one was ever "sir" or "miss".  Every service professional who ever came into contact with him had a name and so he used it.  If they weren't wearing a name tag, he asked them what it was. Everyone was an individual to him. 

I am proud to be his family and feel as if I won some in-law lottery. My favorite memory of him will always be on the night of our wedding.  We were the last to be married of the Packard “kids” and at one moment he pulled all three of us in-laws aside and told us he loved us and how grateful he was to know his children had such wonderful partners in life. He thanked us for being who we were for each of them. That’s how he did it.  That’s who he was. And as the mother of one of his grandchildren and partner of his son, it’s what I will honor always.  His legacy of goodness. 

Thank you Pack.  Truly.  I Love You.