I graduated from college in May of 2005, full of dreams and aspirations.

Almost immediately, I picked up and moved to the “Beverly Hills adjacent” in California.

The sun, the palm trees, the promise of a vibrant life—everything seemed perfect. But by early fall, the reality of it all hit me like a ton of bricks.

I was miserable.

The corporate world that I thought would be my playground felt more like a suffocating cage. Everything felt wrong, nothing like I had imagined.

I reached out to a mentor of mine back in Minnesota—a man I had looked up to for years. Through emails, I kept him updated on my life, sharing my frustrations and wondering if I was simply failing to adapt.

That October, in an email to him, I explained my unhappiness in California, with the corporate setting, and how things were not as I thought they would be.

He told me to hang in there; it would get better.

Fast forward to Thanksgiving weekend of 2005.

I flew home for the annual “night before Thanksgiving” festivities. Met up with the girls at Katie’s in town, and was ready for a fun, likely highly intoxicated, night out.

Shortly after walking in, I remember he and his wife were standing near the jukebox. Because I thought so highly of them, and was grateful we were keeping in touch, I went to say a simple “Hello.”

I wish I could tell you about the meaningful conversation we shared, about the wise words exchanged in that fleeting moment. But honestly, I don’t remember much of what was said. All I remember is hearing my mentor casually mention,

Oh, yeah, Ryan is around here somewhere. You really should go say ‘Hi’ to Ryan.

And with that, I barely registered the name. Ryan was his son—someone I had heard of, maybe even dreamed about back when I was in 8th grade. He was a senior at the time, the older guy who everyone looked up to. But honestly? I couldn’t care less. Rather, I smiled, nodded, and moved on with my night. I didn’t go talk to Ryan.

A month passed, and I found myself back in California, more miserable than ever. The corporate world hadn’t gotten any better. Now, I was stuck in a navy-blue suit and much-too-dark pantyhose, far removed from the carefree dream I had imagined.

In my next email to my mentor, I shared my latest frustration: “Now they are moving me from the Los Angeles office to San Francisco. The company is opening a new location, and my boss wants me to go with her. I’ll try it, but I’m not thrilled. Maybe it’ll be a better fit.”

And you know, I’m not even sure he responded to me directly.

Instead, he forwarded the email and added both Ryan and me to it.

Ryan: Sarah is moving to San Francisco. I think you have some friends up there. Maybe you could connect them. (< something like this).

At that moment, I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t respond.

Again, I wasn’t connecting these dots.

Then, one day, bored at work in San Francisco and feeling utterly miserable, I decided to email Ryan back. I had nothing to lose.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Spoiler alert if you aren’t my mother, mother-in-law or BFF Kim reading this — Ryan is now my husband and that man is his dad, my father-in-law, Bob.

Bob

And now, Bob is coming home today after almost three weeks in the hospital.

He’ll have hospice and family by his side until the end.

I was supposed to be in California today, too, for the first time in years. I had been looking forward to the trip for months—invited by none other than Vani Hari, aka The Food Babe, to attend “The New Era of True Health” event with Calley Means. A perfect opportunity, one I had dreamed of for so long.

But yesterday, I had to make a decision: Do I go to California for this incredible opportunity, or do I stay home with my family in these final days with Bob?

In the past, I would have chosen the opportunity. But not this time. This time, I choose family.

The irony isn’t lost on me—the choice between California, a dream I once had, and Bob, the man who unknowingly set the course for my life in ways I could never repay.

I will never be able to thank Bob enough for playing matchmaker to one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received—Ryan—and for the unending love he’s shown.

On Tuesday, February 11th, Bob went into the hospital. By Friday, February 14th—Valentine’s Day—he was still in the ICU. Imagine my surprise when, despite everything, my annual Valentine’s Day flowers from Bob still arrived. It was almost too much to comprehend.

But that’s Bob—always thinking of others, always showing love, no matter what.

What Matters in the End

I was fortunate enough to be with my dad through the end. As gut-wrenching as it was, I’ve never taken it for granted.

Time may be a thief, but in these final moments, I’ve learned to slow down and savor whatever joyful moments we can still create.

Now, we stay. We stay with him, every step of the way, until the very end. Our father, our husband, our uncle, grandpa, brother, father-in-law, mentor, hero, and friend—Bob.

And in this moment, I’m grateful beyond words for the path that brought me here, for the love, and for the family.

Because, in the end, it’s all about the people we choose to keep close.

Join the magic and chaos.

Xox,

SKH