Happy New Year

2025

“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” — Zora Neale Hurston

It felt wrong not to send at least one last post into the world before 2025 ends. I’ve got an hour of quiet time before I take my kids to the park, so let’s see what comes out.

I’m well aware this year will be forever marked in my big book of life as the year of grief.

From start to finish, it’s brought new structures into my existence. The opening of my wife’s dream—our children’s bookstore. The death of my mother. My oldest entering her teens, the sound of her near-departure into adulthood ringing louder every day. Grief in a marriage as we both struggle to love one another, to be present while dealing with broken hearts. Deciding to move, and the grief of leaving behind a home we called ours for four years.

We’re all aware that grief isn’t good or bad. It’s one of the deepest parts of our humanity. It showcases some extraordinarily beautiful things.

I’ve had this cough the last few weeks. And I cried over the word Mucinex because I could hear her the moment she would have heard that cough. “Johnny, you should get some Mucinex and clear that up we have some here at the hosue if you need some, bring me a coffee from starbucks if you do.” Or the other night, walking my dogs in a self-assigned rush, not bundled up the way I should have been. I could hear her yelling at me about how this was pneumonia weather.

Tears down my cheeks come so easily now.

When I talk about the gifts that Pops got the kids for Christmas, I don’t simply say those gifts came from Pop Pop. I say Nana and Pop Pop.

My language doesn’t know what’s missing yet.

Jalesa and I have never been closer. We now understand more deeply what the “in sickness and in health” part of our vows actually means. We’ve found a new home—a new city—that our children and we can’t stop smiling in.

Richmond was easy to fall for. Walking everywhere. The random afternoon dates to the art gallery. The wonderful park I’m taking my kids to right after posting these very words. The sandwich shop that already knows my name and order, and treats me with so much warm hospitality.

We’ve fallen head over heels for this place. It’s healing in a way we needed.

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I’m happy, but so deeply sad at the same time. Funny thing.

Being a parent is difficult. By far the second most challenging endeavor I’ll ever do in this life. Being a parent while grieving the death of your parent adds just an extra bit of spice. I’m both grieving while teaching my children to grieve. I have to be the example, a memory for them to use when, one day, they’re in my same position.

Crazy thing to realize.

Looking into 2026, I don’t truly have resolutions. I have ideas I’d like to explore.

Thinking about changing the name of this publication; ‘parental notion’ doesn’t fit. We’ll be opening our second bookstore here in Richmond , which is amazing. Writing more would be nice. I also need a hobby that’s not financially motivated—Jalesa is taking up pottery and will be making me tons of espresso cups.

As always, I want to be a good husband and father. Ever improving.

I’d like to learn more about roasting coffee. I’m extremely unsure about my career—eleven years in cybersecurity, and I’ve talked with my friend Max about not letting the idea of a career be so strictly focused. If I could do anything, it would be more of this. Writing. Connecting with creatives. Building tools, both software-based and analog. Bringing others’ dreams to life.

I learned that about myself through watching Jalesa build hers.

Well, that’s it an end-of-year rambling writen in an hour flat time for the park.

Thank you, and Happy New Year, my friends.