What I learned in 2024

2024 was one for the books. After navigating one of the hardest years of my life, the clouds parted and not one but two boys found their way (back) to me. One a gift from God, I never thought I was going to receive, Jameson was born on June 22nd with his daddy’s face. He had a few health setbacks, and we spent much of July in the hospital, but now he’s strong and jovial, and truly a child of light. The second was my gift from the stars as I say. Big boy John is 17 now. I met him when he was only 14 and grieving the unimaginable, the death of his beloved mother. How far he has come. We are unbelievably grateful for the community that has helped John heal and continues to surround us with support and guidance. I learned first hand that redemption is possible.

In hindsight I learned it takes courage to ask for help, prioritizing yourself and your welfare. I’m still coming up against difficulty saying no when I need to say no and please help when I need help. People pleasing is a hard habit to break. When we derive much value from being useful and helpful and proverbially saving the day, we forget that we are already enough when we just sit still and do nothing. But this little person I am charged with taking care of and protecting is teaching me lessons daily. To slow down, give grace, and recalibrate.

I learned that you can be 35 years old and still know very little. Conversely, you can be six months old and embody all that is truly important. To lean towards love, to be vocal about what you need, to forgive, to wake up smiling, to be unashamed, and to take up the space that you inhabit without apology or condition.

I learned the world and the organizations that you participate in don't combust if you can't perform like you had prior. People make do, slack is picked up. You're not that important in the cosmic sense, but to a precious few you are the whole universe.

Perfectionism and improvement may have their place and I think we can all endeavor to be our best selves but if you find yourself somewhere lower on that continuum know that you are in good company and are still worthy and deserving of all the love in the world.

I learned people evolve. My husband held my hand the entirety of my C-section. We typically don’t hold hands. It’s not really his style, maybe the combat veteran in him, and I honor who he is as he is. But it doesn’t mean I don’t long for those small interactions. But the day my dear Jameson was born, James held my hand and it was beautiful. It may be intrinsic in our nature to look at the world and see how we don’t necessarily add up to the aspirational. But something that gave me comfort was my Nana sharing that my beloved Papa never really held her hand, when we were gabbing one day. He was the most magnificent man I’ve ever known and thus it was illuminating. You’re allowed to imagine things you’d like and also allowed to find beauty in the way your life deviates from what is deemed typical or desirable. It can all concurrently be true.

I reread “A Return to Love” by Marianne Williamson. I had needed a tuneup after navigating highs and lows of postpartum. I’m reminded that it is profound when people come together, not as two broken pieces, but as two full entities that can amplify the vibration of one another, such that you might reach higher peaks and more graciously navigate the valleys that are inevitable.

I learned that you can have much that you desire and still have a hard time. Things can still be challenging. Mothering is supremely difficult and also magic. Having the job or the relationship or the house or the opportunity that you’ve always dreamt of can set your soul on fire and simultaneously frighten you to death. Anything fragile and beautiful presents the ability to lose something dear and that’s a lot to hold.

Relationships change and people come and go. Your world may become more insulated as you age. But nothing is lost and even if seasons are brief, they matter. Every engagement is a thread in the tapestry of your life as it unfolds.

This year was a year for the boys. A child of my bearing and a child who found me. JJ is doing beautifully well in the world and in the community. He has a team that empowers him and helps him to thrive. He’s reaching new levels of independence with the right help. And my little person is learning and growing day to day. The time they spend together is the loveliest to behold. Add Tiernan to the mix and it’s a party!

I lost one of my indoor cats that I saved from outside and oddly enough her kittens’ dad that stayed outside. They found their way back to one another.

You can’t be everything to everyone. Not even remotely. You have to make choices and sacrifice certain parts of yourself to nurture the other parts.  You will let people down but the important thing is not to let yourself down or anyone whose welfare you’re supremely responsible for. I must remember this when I’m running to and fro with a baby in tow.

I learned your body is pretty remarkable. It can go through arduous events and still heal. The scars, the extra weight, the thinning hair and the aches made a baby.

I might not actually like to cook as much as I used too. Or I could just be tired, but I’m still certain I love to be fed.

I learned about the gift of clarity that comes with sickness. The bubble of Jameson’s hospital stay was wrenching and frightening, but also oddly peaceful. We were surrounded by doctors and nurses willing to help us around the clock. The housekeeping crew became my friends, and trips to the ice machine or across the street for a coffee became my routine. My husband wasn’t going to work and we just sat together on those uncomfortable couches and stared at our baby and prayed for his welfare. If only to practice this same humbling surrender in our other worldly power struggles.

I learned we aren’t done learning yet, not even close.

A tale of two boys

My feet are staring at me and they are the size of Italian subs. I just got released from my bed and waddled over to the bathroom to have a quick cleanup. I labored for 20 hours or so and had a C-section anyway as my cervix wasn’t quite ready for the early blood pressure compelled induction… but I birthed a son. We have a son. His name is Jameson Conrad and he is magnificent. The scar from my C section hurts, but the joy in my heart trumps all adversity. We never thought this day would come. James always kept the faith, but I had moved on from imagining this was possible after year after year of being childless. God had other plans for us though…a beautiful young man named John Joseph walked into our lives after the death of his mom, his only parent, and we were catapulted in a new direction and thankfully so. I ended up with two soulmates and a perspective forever changed.

We assessed the route of adoption a few years back and filled out a home-study, which is one of the more invasive things you can do, but also a cool exploratory experiment for you and your partner to unlock all the topics you never really talked about. Under scrutiny and for a lot of money you get social workers to assess if you’re capable of being parents. In the midst of getting on the waiting list to adopt a baby, we met JJ. He lived in our town, only growing up about a mile from us. He frequented our church and even our bank and yet our paths never crossed. We had an informal meet and greet and decided very quickly that we would be a family. This 14 year-old child had lost his only parent and deserved a place to safely land.

One of those old adages says make plans and God laughs and it’s true. We ran headfirst into this undertaking, imagining it would be peachy, believing love would be enough, but our special guy needed some support that we weren’t able to provide. We navigated trauma, grief and loss together and travelled to the darkest caverns, but we had each other. We slowly unraveled and got to a desperate point of needing external support to keep ourselves and this beautiful boy safe. I know regardless of the outcome looking different than anticipated, that he was meant to find us, and us him. As a culture, we definitely need to be more honest and open about families, living in crisis and navigating the sector of disability. I have much to say on that and will continue to investigate this critical space. But today is a happy tale because John is doing so well on his healing road. He is the most resilient and transformative figure I’ve ever met and changed our world and worldview. There are no mistakes.

When John left home to get some more support, grief filled my soul…he was not dead, but to me he was not there either. A few months later I went for routine check up as us ladies have to do. A miracle happened; our precious miracle. My doctor said that she saw something on the screen and I giggled because for years there was nothing on the screen. In my stubbornness I never actually tested for fertility, not quite wanting the truth to be revealed. The pregnancy test was positive. We were going to have a baby eight years into our marriage.

We found out the gender because being pregnant was enough of a surprise and settled on the name Jameson, son of James. James never gave up faith that we would have a baby. I myself had surrendered to God that I just wanted our boy John Joseph to be safe. I did not need to give birth. I would be JJ’s soul mom and I would be my beautiful niece’s cool aunt and it would be enough. But by the grace of God we are here. On June 22 a delicate little life joined us with beautiful beaming eyes, a sweet smile, and a full head of hair. I pray he has my grandfather’s heart. We’re over the moon with a chance to love not one but two remarkable boys. We are humbled by the chance to parent the child of our flesh and love the child of our soul who found us. Families don’t always look the same and we didn’t have an easy road. There were no guarantees that life would be fair but here we are, and there is joy.

For everyone still navigating childlessness and trying desperately to find a way to make the dream of motherhood come true, I hold space for you. I have sat in your seat for nearly a decade. My prayer for you is that if a baby is not birthed by you that a life is meant still to be loved by you. Your dream might be disguised in a traumatized teen, or a precious niece who rewrite your story and adjust your sails. Motherhood is not made one size fits all. We mother how we can, we mother where there is a need, we mother the miracles that we find thrust upon us, and we mother the miracles we make.

Love Francesca, James, JJ & Jameson

What I learned in 2023

Another year has passed where I didn’t write very much, but I surely lived more than I was able to put on a page. 2023 began with much promise but turned out to be the hardest albeit the most formative year of my life thus far. I learned lessons I had not wanted to learn and experienced a range of situations I had not predicted but likely needed in the grand scheme of this one miraculous life we are entrusted with.

I learned about the resilience of the human spirit, housed in a teenage boy who lost too much and still found a way to go forward. A boy who navigated trauma, grief, and loss without a roadmap. Who captured my heart and taught me humility, who confounded me, scared me, and saved me all in one fell swoop. I learned that a mother may leave this physical world but never leaves her baby in the ultimate sense. I learned that we will go to the ends of the earth to make sense of a loss we were not ready for, nor should have been ready for. But there are no guarantees, and us mere mortals can only do our best. Sometimes our best falls short but it does not mean anything was in vein.

I learned that love is the strongest force on earth but sometimes more is needed to remediate a situation. Love remains unending though and the circle is unbroken.

I learned about desperation, and fell to the depths of distress but at the bottom I had the opportunity to rise again. There is no growth without adversity, no connection without vulnerability, no salvation without sorrow.

Boundaries! Lack of them, the need for them, and the difficulty in erecting them.

I learned about friendship. Real friendship. Lifeline sort of friendship. And the type of friends that show up in your darkest hour, and don’t look away. I also learned you find heroes in the unlikeliest of places.

I fell on my face, I cried my eyes out, and I pleaded with God. I also laughed, found peace, grew up immensely, and learned the true meaning of sacrifice.

I learned that families look different. They don’t always live under the same roof, but their souls can be tethered. And I was introduced to ambiguous grief, the type of grief that happens when you mourn someone who is not dead, but who is not with you.

I learned that all we have is our truth. People may threaten to take it away from you, or to change it to meet their narrative…but at the base of your soul resting right between your gut and your heart, you know what is true, you know what you’ve seen and you know what you’ve navigated. You have to have faith and conviction that whatever is meant for the highest good will transpire, and an aura of light will protect you from the stones that are cast in your direction. 

I learned that we so often diminish children. We treat them like they should conform and adhere to standards that are unrealistic. To quell their big feelings, to comport themselves a certain way, to not undergo any changes in response to the life events that would rattle any adult to their bones. We need our grace to extend to children and especially children with disabilities.

I learned that miracles happen, but sometimes they are disguised in a hue you had not anticipated. On the matter of hue, I learned that life can take on darker shades but to embrace the storm, because when we try to avoid it, the turbulence finds us and by then we are fatigued from running away. We need all our strength and all our wits for the road we are on.

What I learned in 2022

I have not written a blessed post on this little sliver of the web since this time last year, but empty this past year was not! So much transpired. New lives to love and challenges to overcome. So much grace to be thankful for.

I learned that when you drop the proverbial ball, the world doesn’t combust as you thought it would. While we are profound in the spiritual sense, in the worker bee impact on the entirety of the world sense, we really are not that significant. Someone else does the work, or it doesn’t get done, or you get to it but 3 months after you said you would. And the world keeps spinning.

I learned that you can do what you imagine is impossibly difficult. Your worst fears realized are still navigable. Just keep going.

I learned that the well of grief is wide and deep. Cry when you must. Unravel too. Your departed loved ones are guiding you through the murky waters still.

I learned about boundaries, my lack thereof, and my need to establish some. Physical ones, digital ones, even emotional ones. Countless times I was compelled to mute or block out the joy of new moms not because I wasn’t happy for them in the miracle of life being bestowed upon them but more so because I couldn’t separate my all or nothing feeling of being lost from the new beginnings of others. I know rationally this wasn’t necessary and I feel ashamed to admit it. But I think more often than not people show you what they want to show you and they withhold the raw truth. And if more of us shared what we were actually feeling maybe everyone would feel a little less alone.

And then there was the first miracle. My beloved niece, Tiernan, arrived and she helped to fill the void of my longing. I learned what is was like to be certain I would lay my life on the line to prevent even a moment of harm from befalling her. I held her the first nights of her life as my sister healed from a very invasive experience. Though she was not of my flesh, she felt like mine and my brother and sister were all too willing to let me bask in the glory of her life.

I learned about hope! We finished a home study in May as James and I felt called to adoption especially of a child with Down syndrome. We completed the massive undertaking but it still felt off. Like we we were completing an interview for one of the most profound jobs on the earth. Thankfully being grilled by social workers helped James and I establish more of a dialogue about topics we never would have navigated organically. This was our gift. With documents in hand we still prayed that a child would find us. Somehow I thought there must be someone who needed us as much as we needed them. Might they just walk into our lives? Or would we be another family in a book waiting to fulfill our most sacred wishes?

And then there was John. He carries the name of my grandfather. And with that he carries boundless love in his heart. Another John. Another great love of my life. I’m learning how to be a mother. Something I have ached for, for longer than I can recall.

I’m learning so much more about disability. Humbled by how little I knew prior to this new role. Of Autism, and the legal system, and guardianship, and the DDD, and meltdowns and sensory processing, and therapies, and grief, and attachment, and that’s just an ounce of the load. I can’t tell you how many times someone spoke ill of the disability experience. Cautionary tales of what to expect. Our minds can be narrow and I honored where each and every person was coming from.

But thankfully I cannot tell you how many people extended their grace, their hope, and their belief in what is possible rather than their fear of what would be hard. And boy, is it hard. But I would confidently go to the end of the earth to protect John. Nothing he could ever do will deter me from loving him with my whole life. I’m honored he found me and James and with every bit of time we have left I’ll shower him with every opportunity and spend every ounce of patience to support him and give him comfort.

There’s not a food he doesn’t like. There’s not a heart he has not touched. I love the moments when I am soaring through the sky with joy of an accomplishment. I love the way you tenderly pray over the sick and invoke your mother for guidance. I love the tantrums and the sadness and the big feelings that we work through together. The times I am brought to my knees sobbing wondering if I am enough, if we are enough, and realizing that we’ve already been given by God all we will ever need to care for another human life. I love every broken bulb and locked phone and magnificently unique thing you do. Everything has its place and purpose. This story is open ended so buckle up with us if you will.

In 2022 I drank SO much coffee. Too much. But who’s to say? Had oh so much pasta, pizza, and Ethan & the Bean chocolate chip cookies too. I didn’t exercise as much as I should have but was busy and moving enough to feel balanced. I solidified profound connections with some and grew further away from others. The natural ebb and flow of relationships and pruning of obligations was cathartic. I barely read any books and have very little to report on literature but I lived a lot and that has to count.

I learned we tend to come undone and be the ugliest with the ones closest to us. I learned I don’t always listen, can get wildly defensive over things that really don’t matter, and question my worth. Maybe I always knew these things. Conversely, I also learned I need to be more gentle with myself. As gentle as I am with others. I deserve that and I’ve learn to be comfortable enough to declare what I deserve.

What I learned in 2021

Another year! Another year we lived in fear. When I was gathering my thoughts this past week to craft my annual reflection I felt resounding anger. Another week of stances shifting, of people we entrusted with our welfare changing their minds, and the common person dealing with the ramifications. Weeks upon weeks of frantic testing lines, shortages, anxiety, and sick friends. Another week of astounding hypocrisy by leadership as they took lavish vacations and the rest of us cowered in our homes. Weeks where we were left riddled with uncertainty and confusion as the goal posts continued to shift, the requirements evolved, and the children, and the vulnerable, and the elderly remained experimental specimens in a Petri dish. Another week of elites calling the shots from the safety of their cozy homes in protected communities while others performed the mental and physical gymnastics of determining how they would feed their families, keep their businesses open, and keep their mental health from deteriorating further. I’m angry at our proclivity to elevate individuals to the status of demigods to shortly after watch them fall from grace as their abuses come to light. I’m angry that they think we will forget.

Last year around this time, I felt societal pressure to never err, or say the wrong thing, and vowed to do whatever was required to be marked good in this war of identities that we are raging in this beloved country. This year I feel angry at my lunacy, and our willingness to be led like sheep by talking heads on the television toting platitudes that lose their meaning after their bearers continue to behave so poorly. Angry that here we are two years later being told there is no solution. Angry at the years of performative activism and grandstanding that has not helped a literal soul. Still angry I never got to say goodbye to my grandpa.

And then I paused as the anger raged. Anger doesn’t sit well in the body; it always hurts. I took a breath to focus on the ember inside that has yet to be stamped out and as I always do , found a way back to gratitude. I fixed my eyes on the beauty that remains. The beauty of a quaint Christmas spent alone at home with my husband and our menagerie of rescue cats. The technology of FaceTime to allow opening gifts in tandem with loved ones. The beauty of the promise of a child to remind a family of the miracle and innocence of new life. Gratitude for the decency of people in my community despite the grim perception being painted by the inept commentators of our time, and relief that the tv has an off switch. Grateful that grief is unexpressed love and that is why it never really runs out because love never dies. Grateful that after the rain, there comes a rainbow.

I learned I would be an aunt! And how to make a mobile for this beautiful blessing due in May. I learned a whole lot about adoption as well as I investigate my own path to motherhood. I also learned it is ok to feel profound joy for someone realizing their most sacred dream, and to still feel a tinge of longing that you might realize yours as well.

I explored so many new projects. I realized the culmination of publishing a cookbook with my sister friend Rossella Rago and was delighted to witness firsthand the photo shoot of said cookbook! What an experience it was. I established new connections in the community, found more reasons to smile with Sorriso Kitchen, and met joyful new spirits at my sanctuary, Ethan & the Bean. I leaned into the arts and was led to new understanding by mentors and friends.

I saw love stories come to an end as it was decided the abuse had gone on long enough, and witnessed other love reborn when it was not thought possible. I learned we are all working through loads of shit. It’s the human condition. Crying continues to be cathartic but so does laughing and dancing around to 80’s music alone in a coffee shop.

I relished the glory of reunions and revisited the sadness of separation. Realized I needed healthier boundaries with media that stifled my peace. I learned how to make jewelry, did lots of yoga, tested so many recipes, painted, and sipped! I hosted art shows, planned a bowling birthday blowout, and celebrated small businesses and talented makers with my stellar team. I shed some relationships while fortifying others, and found new souls to walk this world with. I realized I know next to nothing about alleviating the suffering of someone who is genuinely sad and genuinely afraid, and in the same breath realized that presence is the only support that people often require. You being there is the elixir that heals, not some magical solution they never asked for.

We said goodbye to some of our beloved furry friends and hello to new additions. Animals have been for me a source of such grace and solace always, but especially during volatile times. They teach us how to love unconditionally, to be present, and to express as much goodness as is maximally possible during sometimes only a short while on earth. May we all be better at what comes so naturally to animals. May 2022 too be better, and if it isn’t may courage prevail.

Past reflections:
2020
2019
2018
2017
2016
2015
2014
2013