It goes without saying that Huck’s a passionate mathematician who writes proofs in his sleep, but did you know that he’s also the board secretary for his school’s student-led theatre organization Scotch ‘n Soda? He loves being on the producing side of things and dealing with the drama of it all, both on and off stage, which he clearly inherited from his mother. The other day I asked how their current show was going, and he listed all the elements that had suddenly come together magically, resulting in a completely different show (in the very best way). As a fellow theatre person, I had to send him every theatre person’s favorite theatre quote from Shakespeare in Love:

“Allow me to explain about the theatre business. The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster.”

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It’s a mystery.”

And of course every theatre person knows that “nothing” is the last thing we do; it all turns out well because of the unbelievable amount of work that is poured into it. The mystery is that we keep forgetting the power of a group of humans creating something together.

And like so many quotes and metaphors, this one is true for all of life, really.

This time last year Troy and I were adjusting to much loss, grief, and stress. The month leading up to my dad’s move into assisted living which coincided almost immediately with our puppy’s sudden death, we daughters pilfered through his home of 55 years to begin the long process of emptying it. For me this meant taking some favorite paintings of his, an outstanding collection of seasonal hand towels, and half a dozen wind chimes that bring me daily comfort and a quick stab of pain. In a year’s time our dad has lost his home, his car, and most recently his dog Elvis (who is now living his best life with my sister 560 miles away). A full year later, he’s still planning to “go back home tomorrow” every single day, filling boxes that we secretly unpack when he’s not looking. Some days are spent looking for his lost dog, until we remind him Elvis is happily playing at doggie daycare and will be home soon. Because all the rules dissolve with Alzheimer’s, we have become a loving band of liars in a desperate attempt to keep our old man from feeling anxiety and sadness.

We sisters and our exceptionally handsome husbands are also a group of humans creating something together. We aren’t sure what it is, but it’s something. We have an ongoing text thread called Hotts Dots ‘n Lawful Bros about UTIs, collapsed lungs, animal and laundry neglect, oxygen tanks, falls, hospice, tooth pain, uncharged phones, and many other insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster. But this thread also contains jokes, Thanksgiving plans, recipes, advice, gratitude, sudden healing, encouragement, photos of the world’s cutest couple, and even a treasured recording of a butt dial fart. It is all of this combined that helps the six of us transition into the inevitable and slow letting go of the two people who gave us life all those years ago.

And hopefully “it all turns out well.” Just like that.