Putting Up With Shit Is Part of Life

Who has been teaching people that they don’t have to put up with shit? Because you do. Every single day.

You have to deal with your boss, your spouse, your friends, your neighbors, and society in general. You have to deal with politics you don’t agree with, store policies you don’t like, products disappearing from shelves, traffic, rude people, and disappointment.

You have to deal with somebody else getting the promotion. Somebody else getting the girl or the boy you wanted. Somebody else making the team instead of you. Somebody else getting the opportunity you thought you deserved. That’s called living in a society.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve started teaching people that every inconvenience is an injustice and every disappointment is someone else’s fault. We’ve convinced people that if something upsets them, they shouldn’t have to tolerate it.

Take the recent case of one boy stabbing another. You even have a small percentage of people arguing that he should somehow get away with it. Why? Because we’ve raised some people to believe that if they’re angry enough, offended enough, or feel justified enough, the rules shouldn’t apply to them. No. Society doesn’t work that way.

Maybe instead of teaching our kids that they don’t have to put up with shit, we should teach them this simple truth: Yeah, you do. You don’t always get your way. You don’t always win. You don’t always get picked. You don’t always get what you think you deserve.

Life is unfair. People disappoint you. Rules frustrate you. Somebody else gets the job, the scholarship, the boyfriend, the girlfriend, the raise, or the opportunity. And you know what? You get up the next morning and keep going. Because that’s adulthood. That’s maturity. That’s character.

The people who learn to handle disappointment become productive adults. The people who think they should never have to tolerate frustration, unfairness, or being told no become angry adults who think the world owes them something. It doesn’t.

Nobody owes you a promotion. Nobody owes you a relationship. Nobody owes you a spot on the team. And society certainly doesn’t owe you a life free from frustration. Learning to put up with things you don’t like isn’t weakness. It’s one of the most important skills you’ll ever learn.

Grandkids

Grandchildren arrive

Turning Ordinary days

Into the good old days

The Picture I'll Treasure Forever

This was the last picture I took with my mom. June 24, 2026.
I was determined to get it! I climbed up beside her, but she was taking up the whole bed, so I kept sliding down or only getting my forehead in the shot with her face! Dennis kept fussing at me, saying, “Quit wallowing her!” Meanwhile, Mom and I were just giggling while I kept trying to squeeze in enough to get a picture. She kept making funny faces, which only made me laugh harder. Now, I realize this wasn’t exactly my best angle. I tried several times to get a better one, but I was determined, and this is the one we got. I’m so thankful I didn’t give up.
Every visit after this, she slept. This was the last time we laughed together. It was the last time I covered her face with kisses that she actually felt. The last time I told her I loved her and heard her say, “I love you too.”
When I walked out of her room, I leaned back through the doorway one more time and said, “I love you.” She smiled, waved at me, and said, “I love you too.”
I’m so thankful I have this picture.

The Day I Always Dreaded

It’s strange to wake up and realize you’re living the day you’ve feared your entire life.

Even as a little girl, I would think about the day my mom would die. The thought would sneak into my mind, and it would terrify me. I’d quickly push it away and tell myself I would think about it another day. There would be plenty of time for that later.

At night, I’d lie in my bed with my bedroom door open and the hallway light shining in. It was the only way I could fall asleep. And in the distance, I could hear my mom and dad talking in the kitchen or watching TV together. Those familiar sounds told me everything was okay. They were both home. They were both still here.

Now they’re both gone.

There isn’t another day to put those thoughts off. The day I spent my whole life dreading has finally come… and somehow, I’m living it.

Tonight, there won’t be voices drifting down the hallway. Just silence. No matter how many years you have with your parents, no matter how much you know this day is coming, nothing prepares you for the silence they leave behind.

The Hands That Raised Me

Friday, I took a picture of my mom’s hand.

Just her hand.

It’s amazing how, in this one picture, I can see an entire lifetime and every act of love she used those hands for.

Those hands brushed my hair before school, buttoned my tiny dresses, tied my shoes, wiped away my tears, packed my lunches, tucked me into bed, bandaged scraped knees, and held my hand whenever I needed it. They cooked thousands of meals, folded endless loads of laundry, scrubbed floors, planted flowers, wrapped Christmas presents, and somehow made our house feel like the safest place in the world.

Her hands made childhood magical. They sewed clothes for me, stitched Halloween costumes, and built me the most wonderful Barbie dollhouse a little girl could ever imagine.

My dad built beautiful things from wood, and my mom used those hands to bring them to life with paint, color, and love. Together they created treasures that fill many homes today. Every time I walk past one in my home, I don’t just see beautiful artwork—I see the love that poured from her hands.

When my own children came along, those same hands loved them just as deeply. They held babies, read stories, gave hugs that made everything better, celebrated every milestone, and decorated her home to look like the North Pole every Christmas. She made every holiday feel bigger, more beautiful, and more magical than the one before. She made each grandchild feel completely and unconditionally loved. She didn’t just raise her own family—she helped shape the generations that followed.

As I held her hand for the last time, I realized it had spent ninety-two years loving, giving, creating, comforting, and serving everyone around her.

Although her hands are still now, I will continue to see them everywhere. Because the greatest thing my mother ever created wasn’t something she painted, sewed, or built. Those hands built a family who never had to wonder if they were loved. And even now, when I close my eyes, I can still feel her hands in mine—steady, gentle, and full of a love that will never let go.