Finding My Feet After 2024
“Walking it Out” Patty DelValle
Have you ever been completely dumbfounded by a stretch of time—like a day, a week, or even an entire year—that left you shaking your head, amazed you made it through?
That was 2024 for me. Yes, the whole year.
Every time I reflect on it, I’m still in awe. It was so intense that I actually sat down and tried to list out everything that happened, month by month, just to see it all laid out. Honestly, I think I might have traumatized myself in the process. Even now, in March of 2025, I can still feel the weight of it all.
It actually began in the fall of 2023. My parents lived in North Carolina, and my Dad’s health was shaky. They wouldn’t be able to travel to Georgia for Thanksgiving, so we decided to bring the holiday to them.
Sounds simple enough—until you factor in that “we” wasn’t just my husband and me. It included our four adult children, their spouses, and their children. That meant finding an Airbnb big enough and close enough to my parents (in the middle of nowhere) to make it all work.
Getting eight adults and four children aligned on dates was a miracle. Finding a place big enough to host us all? Would need nother miracle. When we couldn’t, we pivoted: what if we found a place large enough to include my parents too? We imagined something near the ocean so Dad could see the water. And wouldn’t you know—it worked. A house on the beach, with an elevator for Dad. Perfect.
Until my sister let me know she already had plans to be there for Thanksgiving.
So, we found a second Airbnb close by, did some serious coordinating, and a few spreadsheets later, we pulled off something wild. All of my siblings, their families, and our family—30+ people total—were gathered together.
Unfortunately, Dad wasn’t well enough to make the trip to the beach house either, and large gatherings aren't usually welcomed in Airbnb rentals (even if you ask nicely). So every day, all 30 of us traveled an hour and a half to my parents’ teeny tiny place.
But they had every child, in-law, and grandchild under one roof for Thanksgiving dinner. It was chaotic and crazy and beautiful and, the last time we’d all be together.
Dad passed away on Christmas Eve, just a month later.
That’s how 2024 began.
And here’s the gist of what followed:
* A cremation
* Trips to North Carolina
* Moving my mom in with us
* An engagement
* A small kitchen reno
* Planning a memorial service in Georgia
* Hosting family for the service
* Planning an out-of-state wedding
* Travel, airports, logistics
* A two-car garage filled with Mom’s things that now need a place
* More house renovations
* Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays
* Countless doctor’s appointments for Mom
* Dress shopping, fittings
* Friends losing loved ones
* A wedding in Colorado
* Our youngest getting married and moving across the country
* A mammogram, a biopsy—Mom’s breast cancer diagnosis
* A second wedding reception in Georgia
* Caterer’s dad passed away
* Another 2 memorial services
* Chemotherapy
* Basement and garage clean-outs
* Emergency surgery for the family dog
* Granddaughter rushed to CHOA
* My husband clipped by a tractor-trailer on I-75
* Stray kitten under the porch, find it a home
* Basement flood
* Thanksgiving
* Emergency surgeries for three different family members in one week
* Mother-in-law in ICU for ten days
* Next door neighbor shot and killed—still a mystery
* Flat tire on I-285
* Another dear friend passed
* Son-in-law’s cousin died suddenly
* Mom began losing her hair
* Political tensions, a presidential election
* Christmas prep
* My own back injury
(Believe it or not, that’s the abridged version.)
There was no way to explain the magnitude of 2024 without listing it out. Because unless you see the depth of it all, you can’t really appreciate the grace that carried me through.
And God did carry me. He still is.
2024 left scars. Not just from loss, but from the sheer intensity of everything piling on top of each other. It changed me. But *God…* He is strong. He is faithful.
This verse from Zephaniah 3:17 became my anchor for 2025:
“The Lord your God is in your midst,
a Mighty One who will save;
He will rejoice over you with gladness;
He will quiet you with His love;
He will exult over you with shouts of joy.”
I know what it feels like to be quieted by His love—when my mind was spinning and my body was running on fumes. And now, as we move deeper into 2025, I know He is still right here. I’m still here. There’s breath in my body. There’s a life to live. There’s love to give and memories to make.
Did you make it this far? You deserve a prize. :)
