2010 had more ups and downs than a Craftmatic bed at the Bunny Ranch

2010 was a year of highs, lows, heartbreak, obstacles and challenges. It was the best and worst. It was the year I learned what I was made of.

The lessons of 2010

Blessings sometimes come disguised as heartbreak.

It was a year with great loss. It began and ended with the passing of loved ones. My dear friend Renee in January, my father in December. I learned that when someone leaves this earth their memory lives on within you, in your thoughts and in your actions. They are never far away.

Laughter is as important to my well being as the air I breathe.

Facing fear never gets easier. I did things I thought I could never do. We moved the entire family, four generation into one house. That in itself was a challenge. Overcoming being squeamish to care for the physical needs of my father is something I never thought I could do, yet I did. Managing to keep joy and laughter in your life when facing impending death while a challenge is not impossible. My dad inspired me every day. He had so many obstacles to deal with just to get through a day, yet he did it with a smile and gratitude.

Not everyone will like me no matter how much I wish they would.

The disillusion of friendship. I learned that misunderstandings can't always be repaired no matter how much you had hoped they would be.

Forgiveness is imperative to moving forward.

Not to rush to judgement. Some of the best surprises of 2010 were things I would have missed out on if I had never explored beyond my initial impression.

Passion is the lifeblood of creativity.

The labyrinth always leads back to the people you respect and care about.

Love, It's that simple.

All in all, it was a very good year. Looking forward to a great 2011. Happy New Year!




























All in all, it was a very good year.

My Dad ... Forever in my heart

At 3:10 am this morning, surrounded by family, embraced by love and laughter, my father passed away.

It has been a year of many ups and downs highs and lows. There were so many times that the doctors had little hope that my dad would pull through yet somehow he always managed. This year was a "bonus" round, a blessing in every sense of the word.

We learned to work together as a family, four generations under one roof. Not an easy task, but it was such a privilege to have my dad at home with us. Our common goal of his well being and comfort far outweighed any of our personal differences.

He was a man of courage and extraordinary will. He reminded me of the Incredible Oz. Only until you looked behind the curtain, did you realize truly how frail he truly was.

Kenneth David McKenna was a husband to my mom Betty for 59 years. He was a dad, grandfather and great-grandfather. He lit up a room and had a sense of humor that was larger than life. As a family we laughed a lot and he was the conductor. Good times and bad we always managed to see a silver lining.

So in his last hours we remembered the good times. As we sat at his bedside we all shared funny memories and the laughs we had throughout the years. He smiled. We smiled through our tears, laughter and love filled the room as we said our good-byes.

Losing someone you love is never easy. Today, my heart is heavy, and I'm overwhelmed by sadness and an endless stream of tears. This isn't the end of my father. He shall live on in our hearts, our memories and in the stories I will continue to share.

His favorite time of year was Christmas. He always did it up big. So we couldn't pass up the Santa Snuggie we found last week. It only seemed fitting. It was his last photo taken just days ago, with a smile that could light up a city block.

I love you dad.

Dave Koz .. we talked music, family, travel and of course cookies!!

Dodging Bullets

I lost a wonderful and very dear friend to breast cancer this year. She never once said "Why Me?" I have several other friends who are fighting valiant battles now. No complaints from them, all amazing incredibly brave ladies doing what they have to do with dignity and grace. I'm no different, not special, so every year when I get the results back from my annual mammogram and it's good, I feel as though I've dodged a bullet.

My dad has had pneumonia four times in the past year and a half. He almost died twice. He has been in and out of hospitals, he has a traich, a catheter and is on oxygen 24/7. He has amazed doctors with his resilience and sheer will to live. We brought him home to my house a year ago this month. Doctors were not optimistic and we counted everyday with him as a blessing There have been tears but mostly laughter. That's what we do in our family. Face anything and everything head on with a joke and a belly laugh and pie.

Today, I write this from Room 3115 where my dad is battling his 5th go round of pneumonia. When he arrived by ambulance a few days ago doctors thought he might be in for just a couple days, a "Tune-Up" if you will. Last night, was a bad night. He couldn't catch his breath. He's scared. The treatment has gotten more aggressive, his oxygen need is increasing and his breathing more labored. He's not eating. He's been here before and always come out of it. I never try to count him out, after all he has amazed us all so many times before. Yet, somehow this time feels different. So we wait, and hope and continue to pray. Does he have the strength to dodge another bullet?

New Season Starts Now: Midlife Road Trip

My Dad

This is my dad’s 53rd father’s day, my 53rd year as his daughter. No Norman Rockwell painting here, but more than five decades peppered with magical moments and plethora of belly laughs.

Growing up, my dad was always larger than life to me. He would walk into a room and everyone knew who he was. We never waited for a table. He engaged everyone in conversation causing me to shrink with embarrassment. At the time I wondered how could he just talk with everyone, selfishly knowing we would be there for a good while.

While my friend’s dinner tables were quiet and uneventful, ours was filled with the tales of the day and laughter. Sometimes we laughed so hard there was more giggling than eating.

My dad taught us everything from basic survival skills like how to deflect attention when passing gas in public to more important things like chasing your dreams and doing what’s right when nobody is looking.

Dad wasn’t perfect. He fell short on many an occasion. But, he was real. He was who he was, no apologies. The good memories have far outweighed the others.

My father planned the most wonderful vacations, like the summers we spent on Fire Island. We had to get there by boat. No cars on the island, we pulled red wagons along the boardwalk from the dock to the summerhouse where we stayed loaded with our necessities and our imaginations for what was sure to be an awesome week. It always was and even after 50 years I can still recall the tiniest details.

My father instilled in me his work ethic for which I will be forever grateful. He showed me how to stick it out, even when it isn’t always the fashionable or popular choice.

This past year has been the most profound of all my 53 years with my dad. He almost died, he was told there was no hope, has been in and out of a coma, in and out of the hospital so many times I’ve lost count. This once independent, larger than life figure now relies on others for just about everything. The most remarkable thing though, while his body may be compromised, his spirit and sense of humor remain unscathed.

It has taught me that life isn’t always pretty, sometimes it’s downright ugly but never let it get the best of you. A sense of humor and a soaring spirit will shine light on the darkest times.

It has taught me that my house doesn’t have to be perfectly clean with everything in its place. The chips and dents from my father’s wheelchair have become precious reminders of how lucky I am to have these months with him living in my home.

It has taught me to step outside myself. Realize it’s not all about me. That helping others, sharing what I have is far more important and gratifying.

It has taught me forgiveness.

It has taught me who my friends are, the ones who have been here to stand with me in dark hours, the ones who call just because and the ones who encourage when I just don’t think I can do it another minute and they never judge.

Most of all, it has taught me that my father is facing his mortality, much how he lived his life, with courage and grace. His smile is still a beacon, his spirit still larger than life.

So this Father’s Day, I am especially grateful for the time I have with my father. Our conversations are more meaningful. The “I Love You’s” are much more frequent. That just sitting in a room with him has significance. That every day I have from here on out with my dad is an extra special gift.

While our family portrait may be more of a Mad Magazine cover than a Norman Rockwell, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

It's a new day