Dylan Stafford

Dear Sister Lisa,

It’s 6:07 am on the morning of the 4th of July. America celebrates 250 years today. I’m at the kitchen table with the windows open. I hear birds caw outside. The refrigerator hums quietly. The house is still.

Remember when we were kids in Denison, and how excited we got for the 4th? We’d go to Lake Texoma to shoot fireworks off the cliffs, remember?

And fifty years ago, in 1976, I remember how excited everyone was to celebrate 200 years. Today, fifty years later, I’m excited to write you this letter.

It’s been ten years since you passed Lisa. Each 4th of July I have written to you, up in heaven, to honor you. The first few years I titled the essays “Green Sky, Blue Grass” because my world seemed upside-down when you died.

Time heals. Time takes time.

Today, I set my alarm for 4:45 am and joined a 5:00 am Zoom from Ft. Worth. It’s a sobriety meeting full of people you know, people who were there when you got sober, and later, when you introduced me to sobriety. I got called on today and I shared about writing to you, about honoring your memory and your legacy.

Thank you for gifting me life, Lisa. I’m still sober, one-day-at-a-time. This February 28 marked 25 years of continuous sobriety.

Sobriety. 9/11. Siemens. Layoff. Courtship. Engagement. California. UCLA. Employment. Marriage. Miscarriage. Fertility. Jackson. Christian. Authoring. Speaking. Teaching. Being a Leader. Palooza. Drive Time. Podcasting. Travel. Anniversaries. Christmases. Birthdays. Reunions. Peace. All gifts of a sober life.

25 years of life, lived sober. None of that would have happened without you Lisa. Something would have happened, yes. But it would not have been blessed the way my life has been because you brought me to sobriety.

Today, we’re going to clear off the driveway. Dust off the patio furniture. Set out the firepit. Fire up the grill. We are going to host friends and cook and eat and celebrate.

I’m grateful to live in a time, in a country, in a life, like ours. I get to be sober, married, a father, employable, a citizen. It’s a blessing. You taught me the magic of gratitude.

I’ll keep this year’s post short. Know that I love you. Know that your legacy lives. You gifted Marisa a husband. You gifted Jackson and Christian a father. You gifted your older brother the life of his dreams. Thank you Lisa.

I love you sister,

Nunna

P.S.

Oh yeah. Two more things.

1) The photo

That’s Christian (14) and Jackson (19) and me on the golf course in Colorado. Another gift of sobriety, Christian and Jackson are teaching me how to play golf. Talk about humbling, at 57 I’m having my two sons explaining golf to me, “Dad, you look like you’re chopping wood. You’re chunking it. You’re topping it.” Oh they have a lot of coaching for their dad.

Humbling, yes. Satisfying, incredibly. I get to be 57. I get to be married. I get to be a father. I get to learn golf. Good stuff!

Jackson is still 6’3″ and now Christian is hitting his growth spurt. He’s 5’8″ and a full 8 inches taller than he was two summers ago on our last Colorado visit. Blessings of the day.

2) The Lord of the Rings

Remember my paperback copies of “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings” from childhood? Remember all those hours I sat on the couch in the living room in Denison, reading? I read “The Hobbit” seven times. I read the trilogy three times.

I’ve kept all four books and brought them with me all around the world.

This summer, I’m re-reading them. I started “The Return of the King” yesterday. It is blowing my mind that the last time I opened these very copies I was in high school, forty years ago. The books still smell the same. The covers are falling off. The pages have turned yellow. My same eyes read these same pages four decades ago. I’m loving it.

Blink. Life happens. Love you sister.