THE BIG FIVE

the craziest stretch of my life

I had a miscarriage, my dad died, I found out I have a whole other sister I never knew existed, our neighbor was arrested for killing someone in the house right next door to ours, and my husband got invited on an all-expenses-paid trip to summit Kilimanjaro. Also, Trump got re-elected. All within the span of two months. It was unbelievable to live through and even crazier to look back on, so I thought I’d share this saga with you.

Everyone who’s heard this story says the same thing — “this would make a great movie.” And honestly, I actually don’t actually think it would. A good movie has pacing, a nice arc. This was just boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. No room to breathe, just five enormous curveballs thrown at me back to back. Thankfully, my emotional foundation was solid at this point after having just gone through a chapter of depression, my parents’ divorce, and a few deaths in my family — amidst the global pandemic. So with more tools in my shed and a few years since it all happened, here are The Big Five.

1. I HAD A MISCARRIAGE

While I recognize this is a sensitive topic, I also feel like it’s not talked about enough — how common miscarriages actually are. So be mindful if you’re up for reading this section or skip ahead to the rest. I had a handful of friends who’d shared their own hurdles on the road to parenthood. It made a real difference having people in my life who talked openly about their experiences. My hope in sharing mine is that you don’t feel alone, should this ever be your reality.

Our pregnancy came as a surprise. We knew we wanted a family, but hadn’t settled on timing. Late for my period, I took a test and was shocked to see two lines. I plugged in the details to figure out a due date and immediately started getting so excited for when and what and how our family would grow. We started to share the news — first with family, then close friends, extending outward as the weeks passed.

We went in for an ultrasound at ten weeks, where we learned there was no heartbeat. “Can’t they find one?” I thought, unfamiliar with any of this. The answer was no and my options were narrowing. I was approaching eleven weeks, the cutoff for many D&C procedures. “It may pass naturally,” the ultrasound tech offered, which might be the least helpful thing imaginable. There was no way I was letting a dead fetus linger in my body — not emotionally and not with the risk of sepsis hanging over me.

Thankfully, Cam suggested we go to Planned Parenthood, which met every need we had. They made space for all our questions, fears, and uncertainties. They walked me through what I’d be going through physically and reminded me that this wasn’t an indicator of future pregnancies. They were a godsend to us in that moment, as they are to many who come through their doors. It’s hard to overstate how paramount the services they provide women and families across this country really are.

We were sad — not just for ourselves, but knowing we now had to circle back to our village and share devastating news so soon after the exciting one. That felt like a real bummer of timing at first, but it ended up opening real connection.

Our people showed up for us with tenderness and gentleness. One thing a friend said to me that I’ll keep forever, “At some point, you’ll know what your family looks like. You won’t be able to imagine it any other way — any other children, on any other timeline.” I look at my daughter now and understand exactly what she meant. I can’t imagine it any other way either. Everyone’s journey to parenthood looks different. That was true before this happened and it’s even more true to me now.

And for the record — abortion is healthcare. This is not up for debate. It saved my life. I’m grateful I had the ability to make that decision for myself. Thank you, Planned Parenthood.

2. MY DAD DIED

Our culture doesn’t do grief well — we sidestep it, soften it, rush past it. What helped me most was leaning directly into it. My dad passed away close to two years ago. In his final chapter, he lived half an hour away. This meant I could show up mid-week, sometimes just to reheat dinner and sit with him for ten minutes before going home. Other times, the visits were longer. My sister, who lives out of state, processed it completely differently — spending long stretches there, overnights, full days. There is no right or wrong way, but knowing our capacities honoring that without judgment was everything.

What I’m most proud of is that I went into that chapter knowing I wanted to walk out without resentment. My relationship with my dad was complicated. I didn’t know if I’d be able to let go. But I gave myself the time to process, release, and focus on what mattered to me. Because how you show up in someone’s final chapter is something you carry for the rest of your life — and so is how you carry their memory after.

Grief is not linear. Addressing it is not convenient. Our culture does a terrible job creating space to sit with it. But I think the more you lean into what you’re actually feeling — even the irrational parts, especially the irrational parts — the more it moves through you instead of compounding. The hard things are still there — they just don’t define it. Love you, dad.

I wrote more on this grief journey here, should you be interested.

3. I LEARNED I HAVE ANOTHER SISTER

This is genuinely the craziest thing I think could ever happen to a person.

It was a Sunday evening. My dad was being transitioned to hospice, where he lived for a few more days. The care team was in the living room getting him ready to transport. My mom, my sister, my husband, and I were in the bedroom. I pulled a random piece of paper out from his files, unfolded it, and in the middle of a handwritten letter, it said: you might be my father.

I’m sorry — WHAT. I cannot describe what it was like reading that sentence out loud. I had no idea what I was about to read, but certainly not that. We were all stunned, but now was not the time to address it with anyone, especially dad. With the hospice team getting ready to go, I put the letter in my pocket to read on the drive to my father’s final place of rest.

Following the van on the highway, I read the letter aloud. What we found was the most disarmingly sweet letter. A woman’s earnest introduction to my dad, her dad, the man her mom had always told her was her biological father. She had seen on Facebook that he had a family and hadn’t wanted to disrupt that, but once it appeared he was no longer married, she tried to connect. The letter was warm, open, and wonderfully quirky. She mentioned she was a beekeeper. She loves craft beer. She’s a translator. She lives in Japan.

We looked her up on Facebook immediately. The resemblance was uncanny. My sister and I looked at each other in the car and were like: holy shit, we might actually have another sister. The timeline checked out — she’s from Upstate New York, where dad lived in his 20s, long before meeting my mom and starting our family. There was no drama, no overlap, no reason why it might not be real.

My dad only lived for four more days. We didn’t bring it up with him — it didn’t feel necessary as he spoke only a few more words. We realized that this new relationship was ours to navigate. A sisterhood to build on our own terms. That actually felt really cool.

After dad passed and the dust settled a bit, we reached out to her. We pinged back and forth slowly over the following year. Life was busy, but eventually last fall, about a year after we found the letter, we did an Ancestry DNA test. (I wouldn’t normally want my DNA floating around in a database, but confirming whether I have another sister felt like an extremely valid reason to make an exception.) The results came back: 27% match. Half-sibling. She’s my sister. My husband and I looked at each other the second we found out and said, simultaneously: we’re going to Japan.

I don’t know how much my dad understood about her existence, whether he ever really thought about her over the years. Without email or social media, there weren’t easy ways to keep in touch. He was from a different generation and I don’t think he had the emotional tools to navigate a relationship like this one. In some ways, I think it might have been for the best that he didn’t try.

We hopped on a video call after the DNA results came in. It felt completely natural, like meeting someone I’ve always known. It’s been fascinating thinking about nature versus nurture through our story. But there’s a lot more to come on this front, because we went to Japan in June to meet her — stay tuned!

4. THERE WAS A MURDER NEXT DOOR

I’m going to be careful with the details here, mostly for privacy and safety reasons, but this is such an unbelievable story I have to include it.

It was a Thursday evening in November. I had just gone to bed and Cam was still winding down when he noticed lights flashing outside — blue, red. Looking out the window, he saw police cars from our town, then neighboring towns, showing up. Ambulances, fire trucks, but no real commotion. He woke me up wondering what could be going on. With no leads, we went to sleep, then headed into work the next day as usual. Midday, we got a text from a neighbor: “Are y’all home? Are you following what’s going on next door?” We weren’t, but she kept us updated with the play by play until I got home that evening.

Pulling into my driveway, I found a state police officer standing in front of my house. I asked him what was going on. All he’d say was: “You’re safe.” Which is sort of alarming, because on the one hand there were a few dozen law enforcement folks strolling around, but on the other hand — okay, sure, safe, great, what’s happening? He wouldn’t tell me. Through the window, I watched them photographing the house next door — interior, exterior, the driveway. Evidence bags going into a forensic trailer. All of it painstakingly slow, meticulous.

Over the following days, the whole neighborhood grew increasingly on edge. Coincidentally, many neighbors decided to take their dogs for a walk around the same time, and we’d congregate on the street, murmuring our suspicions to no conclusion. At one point we saw the man who lived there just going about his day, walking his dog, and figured whatever had happened, it must not have involved him directly.

Sunday morning, we hosted some friends for brunch that we hadn’t seen in a while. We decided not to bring up whatever was going on next door — we had lots to catch up on, namely their new baby, and didn’t want to freak them out. After eating, we moved into the living room to chat, when our friend noticed folks going door to door. Out of nowhere, I said, “That could be Jehovah’s Witnesses or it could be related to the murder next door.” Immediately they clued in, we briefed them on all we knew and waited for the detectives to reach our home.

We invited the two state homicide detectives inside as they questioned us. Without giving us any details, they made clear their curiosity was centered on one particular neighbor and his relationship. We had encountered him in fits and spurts over the past few years, but had one tumultuous incident that we shared with the officers, which resulted in him trying to fight with Cam and the cops being called. They weren’t surprised by this story — they said many others had shared similar accounts.

A small rotation of police presence hung around our street. We went away for Thanksgiving with no major updates. Almost two weeks later, a news truck appeared outside. The reporter said any information they had would be released at noon, so we refreshed the local news site until the press release confirmed our neighbor had been arrested for killing his roommate with his bare hands.

The details are devastating for many reasons, but especially knowing about Cam’s close encounter with him years back. There’s a lot more to this story, but I’ll spare you the sadness. The silver lining: the man is no longer our neighbor and we now know and love so many more of the people on our street.

5. CAM HIKES KILIMANJARO WITH COVID

This story requires a bit of context. A few years before The Big Five, Cam got invited by a fellow photographer on a winter expedition into Baxter State Park. He didn’t know anyone else in the group, but without meaning to, he ended up being looked to as something of a guide on the Katahdin summit attempt. After briefing the crew, they hit the trail well before sunrise.

Cam led, breaking through the fresh snow with his snowshoes as the others trudged behind him. It wasn’t until they reached the ridge and regrouped in the dawn light that one of the guys admitted he was bonking. He’d hit a wall — completely soaked through his clothing from wearing all his warmest layers and out of both water and food. Cam realized the guy was in a precarious position and, after assessing the situation, said, “Take my dry layers, have my water, eat my snacks — we’re getting to that summit together.” And they did.

They caught a magnificent sunrise on Katahdin, overlooking a widespread wintery landscape. The return to camp was smooth and the group dispersed after the trip, staying loosely in touch. A few years later, that guy reached out to Cam, sharing how the incident had changed his life — inspired him to get into mountaineering, even compelled him to hire a mountaineering life coach. That interest eventually culminated in an invitation to climb Kilimanjaro, not just for himself, but for Cam too.

On the call, the friend told Cam there was no one else he trusted more on a mountain and he was willing to cover expenses to get him there. Who would say no to that? This was an opportunity of a lifetime that I certainly would not pass up.

And there lies the final event of The Big Five: Kilimanjaro. Cam flew to Africa, set out to climb 19,341 feet, and contracted Covid somewhere along the way. The irony of catching a respiratory illness while attempting one of the highest peaks in the world — where the air is already thin and the breathing already hard — is lost on no one. He was feverish. Nauseous. Couldn’t keep food down. Things were bleak.

Thankfully, by summit day, he was turning a corner. The local guide looked at him and said, “I wouldn’t tell you to push it if I didn’t think you could make it.” One of our closest friends from Portland was also on the trip, which is a whole other story, and the two of them summited together. Slowly, one foot in front of the other, at whatever pace the altitude demanded. The friend who’d invited Cam didn’t reach the summit this time, but even getting there was a feat in itself. Cam has a lot more stories from this expedition and I’m hoping he shares them someday.

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What a whirlwind to navigate within the span of two months. Cam’s December Kilimanjaro trip coincided with a run of holiday gatherings and I remember feeling pathologic. Friends would ask me, “What’s new?” Where do I even begin? A miscarriage. My dad. A whole new sister. A murder next door. Meanwhile, Cam’s on Kilimanjaro as we speak. Phew!

While on the one hand, this stretch was wild, it also surprisingly didn’t destabilize me the way it certainly could have. Having already built a healthy, loving relationship with myself got me through not only this particularly insane stretch, but the many other mundane, maddening, and marvelous moments since. For that, I am so grateful.

And here I am, on the other side of it. My dad lives in my memory with so much lightness. My daughter is everything I dreamed she would be and more. And, this past June, we finally went to Japan to meet my long-lost sister. Hope you enjoyed The Big Five. Much love.