Last week was, well, it was a lot! So, when the long weekend came, it felt right on schedule: finally, a chance to catch our breath. Time to go for a long walk in the park, share a hearty meal with friends, read a heartwarming longform story on our site! Yes, we’re talking about “The Long, Twisting Tale of Two Farm Boys Who Finally Got Their Big Break,” a treasure from the Creative Nonfiction archives, written by Steven Kurutz, that we republished over the weekend.
This piece is about many things: second chances, creative passion, and perhaps most of all, sacrifice. When Donnie and Joe Emerson, two brothers from Fruitland, WA, an isolated community outside of Spokane, wanted to pursue their music dreams, their parents went overboard to make it happen. The piece got us thinking about love and sacrifice and the lengths we’re willing to go to to make other people’s dreams come true. So, we’re curious: Have you ever done something so over the top for someone you love without knowing what you might get back in return, if anything?
We’ll be selecting our favorite comment and mailing that person a copy of Creative Nonfiction—The Final Issue, a gem that came out last week from our partners over at Creative Nonfiction. So, check out the story if you haven’t already (you certainly don’t have to, but we think you’ll really like it) and comment away!
In 2010, I had the opportunity to help respond to the Deepwater Horizon oil spill by working at the Coast Guard Command Center in Washington DC. I was stationed in southeastern Texas at the time. During the flight from Houston to DC, I offered a piece of gum to the beautiful, blue-eyed woman sitting in the aisle seat across from me. She lived in Alexandria and was flying home from visiting friends in Houston. She was scientist working for the National Science Foundation. Our conversation was vibrant, engaging and very satisfying. I asked if she would like to go to dinner some night, and to my delight, she said yes.
We had a whirlwind of an evening on that first date and sparks flew. I was smitten. A month passed and I was sure I was in love. I wasn't sure if she was in love with me, but I was patient. Sadly, the response to Deepwater Horizon was wrapping up and I had to return to Texas. We had a long goodbye and promised each other plenty of visits.
While we were together, she confessed one of her guilty pleasures was Dr. Pepper made with real sugar. At that time, due to the way a franchising deal was struck in 1925, Dr. Pepper made with real sugar could only be purchased in Dublin, Texas from the Dr. Pepper bottling plant there. So, when the first opportunity to visit her came up, instead of flying there, I drove. But before I headed northeast toward DC, I headed northwest to Dublin where I loaded my pickup truck with ten cases of real sugar Dr. Pepper, just for her. This was a ten hour detour and I had to spend an extra day of vacation, but she was worth every extra hour, every extra mile and every bottle I hauled for her across state lines.
She was giggling like a school girl as I covered her eyes and led her to my truck to unveil her surprise gift. She was astonished and then overcome. We had a great week together. Sadly, that was last time I saw her. Distance, work and circumstances all worked to end our relationship. All I have now is the fond memory of that time and the story of the Dr. Pepper. What I hope is that if she still indulges in her secret, guilty pleasure of enjoying a Dr. Pepper made with real sugar from time to time, she'll smile and think of me.
I don't think we thought about just how difficult of a question this was before posing it! I think parenthood seems like an obvious place to look. I keep thinking about my own parents, though, and so many of the things they did for me, like waking up super early on Saturday mornings to get me to the ice skating rink for 7 a.m. for ice hockey practice. Thank you!
Earlier this year, I helped my aunt die on her own terms. Because she was sick, because she chose to, because she and her wife have been so important in my life. It was not an easy journey, with months of preparation, countless conversations, referrals, recommendations, real work, real money spent, with zero guarantee that she would ultimately die with dignity -- until she did. I served both as direct support to my aunts, and also as the primary communicator with our family and friends, who had a range of responses, emotions, and questions. The hard work took months before the event, and, as I'm learning, I am still sacrificing, doing the hard work of processing it for myself, understanding her impact, the impact of this event. (It often lacks grace, and it often looks like major depression.) Beautifully, the days immediately before and after Joan died -- including the day she died -- were not hard work: they were natural and made sense for us, for her.
This is such a great question and I look forward to reading everyone's responses.
For me, it's the daily acts of unconditional love that really come to mind. Listening to and caring for and showing up for the people I love even when they make it really difficult ... because of mental illness, because of political differences, because people's wounds rub up against each other in all sorts of ways and it hurts.
My father passed away Christmas Eve, 2022. In the years before that, there were several times when he became so ill that we thought it was the end. Often, this was due to his own choices (to stop medications, for example), choices which were often caused by depression. Many times, I put my life on hold to fly back to my hometown and take care of him, convince him to keep trying, remind him that love is a reason to live through the hardships. I went when I was exhausted, couldn't afford to, didn't think it was worth it, was dealing with my own health issues. I went during COVID because my little sister was going and I was worried that she would hurt too much under the pressure of it all.
On the one hand, I suppose I was getting something back all along, but on the other hand it often felt very thankless. I did it anyway. This is what we do for love.
This is so beautiful, Kathryn. Thank you for sharing! Really relate to and appreciate this, too: "For me, it's the daily acts of unconditional love that really come to mind."
In 2010, I had the opportunity to help respond to the Deepwater Horizon oil spill by working at the Coast Guard Command Center in Washington DC. I was stationed in southeastern Texas at the time. During the flight from Houston to DC, I offered a piece of gum to the beautiful, blue-eyed woman sitting in the aisle seat across from me. She lived in Alexandria and was flying home from visiting friends in Houston. She was scientist working for the National Science Foundation. Our conversation was vibrant, engaging and very satisfying. I asked if she would like to go to dinner some night, and to my delight, she said yes.
We had a whirlwind of an evening on that first date and sparks flew. I was smitten. A month passed and I was sure I was in love. I wasn't sure if she was in love with me, but I was patient. Sadly, the response to Deepwater Horizon was wrapping up and I had to return to Texas. We had a long goodbye and promised each other plenty of visits.
While we were together, she confessed one of her guilty pleasures was Dr. Pepper made with real sugar. At that time, due to the way a franchising deal was struck in 1925, Dr. Pepper made with real sugar could only be purchased in Dublin, Texas from the Dr. Pepper bottling plant there. So, when the first opportunity to visit her came up, instead of flying there, I drove. But before I headed northeast toward DC, I headed northwest to Dublin where I loaded my pickup truck with ten cases of real sugar Dr. Pepper, just for her. This was a ten hour detour and I had to spend an extra day of vacation, but she was worth every extra hour, every extra mile and every bottle I hauled for her across state lines.
She was giggling like a school girl as I covered her eyes and led her to my truck to unveil her surprise gift. She was astonished and then overcome. We had a great week together. Sadly, that was last time I saw her. Distance, work and circumstances all worked to end our relationship. All I have now is the fond memory of that time and the story of the Dr. Pepper. What I hope is that if she still indulges in her secret, guilty pleasure of enjoying a Dr. Pepper made with real sugar from time to time, she'll smile and think of me.
I allowed something very precious to me go, without defaming or outing the people that took it from me.
Slept on the floor of their hospital room because there were no comfortable chairs available.
Was it as cold and terrible as I imagine?
Super cold and hard but almost 15 years later we're still together!
I don't think we thought about just how difficult of a question this was before posing it! I think parenthood seems like an obvious place to look. I keep thinking about my own parents, though, and so many of the things they did for me, like waking up super early on Saturday mornings to get me to the ice skating rink for 7 a.m. for ice hockey practice. Thank you!
Earlier this year, I helped my aunt die on her own terms. Because she was sick, because she chose to, because she and her wife have been so important in my life. It was not an easy journey, with months of preparation, countless conversations, referrals, recommendations, real work, real money spent, with zero guarantee that she would ultimately die with dignity -- until she did. I served both as direct support to my aunts, and also as the primary communicator with our family and friends, who had a range of responses, emotions, and questions. The hard work took months before the event, and, as I'm learning, I am still sacrificing, doing the hard work of processing it for myself, understanding her impact, the impact of this event. (It often lacks grace, and it often looks like major depression.) Beautifully, the days immediately before and after Joan died -- including the day she died -- were not hard work: they were natural and made sense for us, for her.
This is so beautiful. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you!
Agreed to try to be a cat person 😂
https://www.narratively.com/p/learning-love-live-pet-person
Lol, LOVE that essay! I hear your voice coming through it so much.
I knew I really loved Mary when I was willing to pay for her medical care. That was an expansion of my caring for someone. She now cares for me.
This is such a great question and I look forward to reading everyone's responses.
For me, it's the daily acts of unconditional love that really come to mind. Listening to and caring for and showing up for the people I love even when they make it really difficult ... because of mental illness, because of political differences, because people's wounds rub up against each other in all sorts of ways and it hurts.
My father passed away Christmas Eve, 2022. In the years before that, there were several times when he became so ill that we thought it was the end. Often, this was due to his own choices (to stop medications, for example), choices which were often caused by depression. Many times, I put my life on hold to fly back to my hometown and take care of him, convince him to keep trying, remind him that love is a reason to live through the hardships. I went when I was exhausted, couldn't afford to, didn't think it was worth it, was dealing with my own health issues. I went during COVID because my little sister was going and I was worried that she would hurt too much under the pressure of it all.
On the one hand, I suppose I was getting something back all along, but on the other hand it often felt very thankless. I did it anyway. This is what we do for love.
https://createmefree.substack.com/p/semicolon-a-grief-tattoo-story
This is so beautiful, Kathryn. Thank you for sharing! Really relate to and appreciate this, too: "For me, it's the daily acts of unconditional love that really come to mind."
I really relate to and like this! : "You can’t let him just die there on the floor of the home. And yet, you also can."