Going Back to School — One Year Later

A year ago, our world looked completely different. We were learning how to live without my dad, adjusting to a new marriage, and turning an old church named St. Frances into a home filled with purpose and love. We didn’t realize then how much that year would teach us about strength, healing, and the quiet ways life can come full circle.

Now, a year later, we find ourselves stepping into a new season — one where growth meets gratitude. I’m going back to school to finish what I started, working toward my LCSW, and it feels like a family journey as much as it is a personal one. Together, we’ve walked through loss and light, carrying lessons that no classroom could ever teach.

There are nights we sit inside St. Frances, surrounded by the stillness of her old walls, and feel him — my dad — in every detail. We often wonder if he’d approve of all this. We can almost hear him laughing, shaking his head at the thought of us using what he left behind to buy a church. But deep down, we know he’d be proud. We can picture him standing in the doorway, quietly taking in the colors, the kitchen — oh, that kitchen — and the peace that fills this place. He would have loved the simplicity, because he always valued what felt real.

And then there’s my mom — our reminder that love doesn’t end, it simply changes shape. She’s still here, and we thank God for that every day. We talk often about the strangeness of it all — how loss and life seem to weave together in unexpected ways. She listens when we’re overwhelmed, laughs with us when we need it most, and keeps us grounded when life feels heavy. Watching her continue forward, even through her own grief, has shown all of us what quiet strength truly looks like.

Through it all, there’s Rick — my husband, my partner, and my calm in every storm. He’s been beside me in every project, every renovation, and every dream we’ve dared to chase. Together, we’ve turned St. Frances into something more than a house; we’ve turned her into a reflection of love, faith, and renewal. He encourages us when the days get long, believes in us when doubt sets in, and reminds us that this journey — the studying, the rebuilding, the healing — is part of something greater than ourselves.

And, of course, our three boys — Dylan, Justin, and Ian Connor — the heartbeat behind everything we do. They’ve seen the long days, the quiet tears, and the countless moments of starting over. They’ve helped lift boxes, carry lumber, and sometimes carry us through the harder days, too. Watching them grow into their own paths fills us with the same pride my father once had for me. They remind us daily why it’s all worth it — the work, the studying, the rebuilding — because they are our living legacy of love, strength, and perseverance.

And then there’s Linda — my friend, my mentor, and one of the kindest souls I’ve ever known. She’s been a steady source of encouragement, especially as I’ve worked toward finishing my license and growing in my career. Her belief in me has kept me focused when the path felt long, and her guidance has reminded me that I’m capable of reaching every goal I’ve set for myself. Linda’s support has been more than friendship — it’s been a quiet push to keep moving toward the future I’ve worked so hard to build.

Sometimes I talk to all of them — my dad in heaven, my mom on the phone, Rick by my side, our boys around us, and Linda, whose friendship continues to remind me that I’m seen, supported, and never alone. I tell them about school, about the long days, and about how far we’ve come. I talk about the moments of doubt, the small victories, and the faith that keeps us going. And every time I do, I’m reminded that we’re not walking alone.

St. Frances wouldn’t have her new beginning without them, and neither would we. My dad gave us the foundation, my mom gives us the courage, Rick gives me the strength, our boys give us the reason, and Linda reminds me that I can. Together, their love continues to shape who we are — in our work, in our faith, and in every dream still unfolding.

For our family — and the dear friend who believed in us — whose love built the foundation, steadied the walls, and filled St. Frances with life again.