Lifequake & 6,325 Days I recently heard a word that hit me to my core: lifequake. A lifequake is a sudden, significant change that disrupts everything you know, forcing you into upheaval, transition, and ultimately growth. Experts say a person may experience 3 to 5 lifequakes in their lifetime. My first began when I was 15, August 3, 2023. I remember the moment clearly. My family was gathered on my grandparents’ deck at our cabin when my dad suddenly got sick. At the time, I had no idea that this moment would begin a three-year journey that would change me forever. Growing up, my dad was strong, hardworking, and full of life. He built our cabin himself, ran his own lawn care and snowplowing business, and filled our lives with adventure—long summer days on the lake and winters spent snowmobiling. But after that day, I watched him slowly become a shadow of the man I knew. His liver and kidneys began to fail, and the strongest person in my life became fragile before my eyes. Through hospital visits, setbacks, and uncertainty, I learned quickly that strength isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and built through perseverance. Without my faith, my family, and the support of my friends and coaches, I don’t know how I would have made it through. Swimming became my refuge. I have been swimming since I was six, but during this time, it became something more. When I’m in the water, everything quiets. I feel a sense of peace, control, and strength. The rhythm of my breathing, the focus on each stroke—it grounds me. Swimming gave me a place to process everything I couldn’t put into words. It kept me from falling into despair and reminded me of who I am beyond the circumstances around me. Despite all the challenges, my dad continued to fight. But in August 2025, we lost him. Grief is something you can’t fully prepare for. Some of the hardest moments are the quiet ones—coming home from practice without his encouragement or not receiving the texts telling me how proud he was. Yet, I feel him in everything I do. Shortly after his passing, I visited Gardner-Webb University. The moment I stepped on campus, I felt peace—the same peace I feel in the water. It felt like home. One of the coaches told my mom, “We are recruiting Taylor for the wonderful human being she is. She isn’t just about swim times.” That stayed with me. In the midst of loss, it reminded me that I am more than my circumstances—I am resilient, driven, and capable of growth. Through my faith, I have learned that life isn’t about asking “why,” but about trusting that God walks beside us through hardship. I believe He guided me to Gardner-Webb—a place where I can grow academically, continue my athletic journey, and keep healing. The hardest moment of my life was sitting beside my dad in the hospital, saying goodbye. My mom looked at me and said, “When I look into your eyes, I will forever see him.” That is something I carry with me every day. I had 6,325 days with my dad. In those days, he taught me resilience, strength, and how to find joy even in the hardest moments. His favorite saying was, “If you’re not laughing, you’re not living.” So through the grief, I will find laughter. I will carry him with me in everything I do. And as I continue forward, I know this lifequake did not break me. It shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and ready for whatever comes next.

Lifequake & 6,325 Days I recently heard a word that hit me to my core: lifequake. A lifequake is a sudden, significant change that disrupts everything you know, forcing you into upheaval, transition, and ultimately growth. Experts say a person may experience 3 to 5 lifequakes in their lifetime. My first began when I was 15, August 3, 2023. I remember the moment clearly. My family was gathered on my grandparents’ deck at our cabin when my dad suddenly got sick. At the time, I had no idea that this moment would begin a three-year journey that would change me forever. Growing up, my dad was strong, hardworking, and full of life. He built our cabin himself, ran his own lawn care and snowplowing business, and filled our lives with adventure—long summer days on the lake and winters spent snowmobiling. But after that day, I watched him slowly become a shadow of the man I knew. His liver and kidneys began to fail, and the strongest person in my life became fragile before my eyes. Through hospital visits, setbacks, and uncertainty, I learned quickly that strength isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and built through perseverance. Without my faith, my family, and the support of my friends and coaches, I don’t know how I would have made it through. Swimming became my refuge. I have been swimming since I was six, but during this time, it became something more. When I’m in the water, everything quiets. I feel a sense of peace, control, and strength. The rhythm of my breathing, the focus on each stroke—it grounds me. Swimming gave me a place to process everything I couldn’t put into words. It kept me from falling into despair and reminded me of who I am beyond the circumstances around me. Despite all the challenges, my dad continued to fight. But in August 2025, we lost him. Grief is something you can’t fully prepare for. Some of the hardest moments are the quiet ones—coming home from practice without his encouragement or not receiving the texts telling me how proud he was. Yet, I feel him in everything I do. Shortly after his passing, I visited Gardner-Webb University. The moment I stepped on campus, I felt peace—the same peace I feel in the water. It felt like home. One of the coaches told my mom, “We are recruiting Taylor for the wonderful human being she is. She isn’t just about swim times.” That stayed with me. In the midst of loss, it reminded me that I am more than my circumstances—I am resilient, driven, and capable of growth. Through my faith, I have learned that life isn’t about asking “why,” but about trusting that God walks beside us through hardship. I believe He guided me to Gardner-Webb—a place where I can grow academically, continue my athletic journey, and keep healing. The hardest moment of my life was sitting beside my dad in the hospital, saying goodbye. My mom looked at me and said, “When I look into your eyes, I will forever see him.” That is something I carry with me every day. I had 6,325 days with my dad. In those days, he taught me resilience, strength, and how to find joy even in the hardest moments. His favorite saying was, “If you’re not laughing, you’re not living.” So through the grief, I will find laughter. I will carry him with me in everything I do. And as I continue forward, I know this lifequake did not break me. It shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and ready for whatever comes next.

Lifequake & 6,325 Days I recently heard a word that hit me to my core: lifequake. A lifequake is a sudden, significant change that disrupts everything you know, forcing you into upheaval, transition, and ultimately growth. Experts say a person may experience 3 to 5 lifequakes in their lifetime. My first began when I was 15, August 3, 2023. I remember the moment clearly. My family was gathered on my grandparents’ deck at our cabin when my dad suddenly got sick. At the time, I had no idea that this moment would begin a three-year journey that would change me forever. Growing up, my dad was strong, hardworking, and full of life. He built our cabin himself, ran his own lawn care and snowplowing business, and filled our lives with adventure—long summer days on the lake and winters spent snowmobiling. But after that day, I watched him slowly become a shadow of the man I knew. His liver and kidneys began to fail, and the strongest person in my life became fragile before my eyes. Through hospital visits, setbacks, and uncertainty, I learned quickly that strength isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and built through perseverance. Without my faith, my family, and the support of my friends and coaches, I don’t know how I would have made it through. Swimming became my refuge. I have been swimming since I was six, but during this time, it became something more. When I’m in the water, everything quiets. I feel a sense of peace, control, and strength. The rhythm of my breathing, the focus on each stroke—it grounds me. Swimming gave me a place to process everything I couldn’t put into words. It kept me from falling into despair and reminded me of who I am beyond the circumstances around me. Despite all the challenges, my dad continued to fight. But in August 2025, we lost him. Grief is something you can’t fully prepare for. Some of the hardest moments are the quiet ones—coming home from practice without his encouragement or not receiving the texts telling me how proud he was. Yet, I feel him in everything I do. Shortly after his passing, I visited Gardner-Webb University. The moment I stepped on campus, I felt peace—the same peace I feel in the water. It felt like home. One of the coaches told my mom, “We are recruiting Taylor for the wonderful human being she is. She isn’t just about swim times.” That stayed with me. In the midst of loss, it reminded me that I am more than my circumstances—I am resilient, driven, and capable of growth. Through my faith, I have learned that life isn’t about asking “why,” but about trusting that God walks beside us through hardship. I believe He guided me to Gardner-Webb—a place where I can grow academically, continue my athletic journey, and keep healing. The hardest moment of my life was sitting beside my dad in the hospital, saying goodbye. My mom looked at me and said, “When I look into your eyes, I will forever see him.” That is something I carry with me every day. I had 6,325 days with my dad. In those days, he taught me resilience, strength, and how to find joy even in the hardest moments. His favorite saying was, “If you’re not laughing, you’re not living.” So through the grief, I will find laughter. I will carry him with me in everything I do. And as I continue forward, I know this lifequake did not break me. It shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and ready for whatever comes next.

Lifequake & 6,325 Days I recently heard a word that hit me to my core: lifequake. A lifequake is a sudden, significant change that disrupts everything you know, forcing you into upheaval, transition, and ultimately growth. Experts say a person may experience 3 to 5 lifequakes in their lifetime. My first began when I was 15, August 3, 2023. I remember the moment clearly. My family was gathered on my grandparents’ deck at our cabin when my dad suddenly got sick. At the time, I had no idea that this moment would begin a three-year journey that would change me forever. Growing up, my dad was strong, hardworking, and full of life. He built our cabin himself, ran his own lawn care and snowplowing business, and filled our lives with adventure—long summer days on the lake and winters spent snowmobiling. But after that day, I watched him slowly become a shadow of the man I knew. His liver and kidneys began to fail, and the strongest person in my life became fragile before my eyes. Through hospital visits, setbacks, and uncertainty, I learned quickly that strength isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and built through perseverance. Without my faith, my family, and the support of my friends and coaches, I don’t know how I would have made it through. Swimming became my refuge. I have been swimming since I was six, but during this time, it became something more. When I’m in the water, everything quiets. I feel a sense of peace, control, and strength. The rhythm of my breathing, the focus on each stroke—it grounds me. Swimming gave me a place to process everything I couldn’t put into words. It kept me from falling into despair and reminded me of who I am beyond the circumstances around me. Despite all the challenges, my dad continued to fight. But in August 2025, we lost him. Grief is something you can’t fully prepare for. Some of the hardest moments are the quiet ones—coming home from practice without his encouragement or not receiving the texts telling me how proud he was. Yet, I feel him in everything I do. Shortly after his passing, I visited Gardner-Webb University. The moment I stepped on campus, I felt peace—the same peace I feel in the water. It felt like home. One of the coaches told my mom, “We are recruiting Taylor for the wonderful human being she is. She isn’t just about swim times.” That stayed with me. In the midst of loss, it reminded me that I am more than my circumstances—I am resilient, driven, and capable of growth. Through my faith, I have learned that life isn’t about asking “why,” but about trusting that God walks beside us through hardship. I believe He guided me to Gardner-Webb—a place where I can grow academically, continue my athletic journey, and keep healing. The hardest moment of my life was sitting beside my dad in the hospital, saying goodbye. My mom looked at me and said, “When I look into your eyes, I will forever see him.” That is something I carry with me every day. I had 6,325 days with my dad. In those days, he taught me resilience, strength, and how to find joy even in the hardest moments. His favorite saying was, “If you’re not laughing, you’re not living.” So through the grief, I will find laughter. I will carry him with me in everything I do. And as I continue forward, I know this lifequake did not break me. It shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and ready for whatever comes next.

Lifequake & 6,325 Days: By Taylor Bassett I recently heard a word that hit me to my core: lifequake. A lifequake is a sudden, significant change that disrupts everything you know, forcing you into upheaval, transition, and ultimately growth. Experts say a person may experience 3 to 5 lifequakes in their lifetime. My first began on August 3, 2023, when I was 15. I remember the moment clearly. My family was gathered on my grandparents’ deck at our cabin when my dad suddenly got sick. At the time, I had no idea that this moment would begin a three-year journey that would change me forever. Growing up, my dad was strong, hardworking, and full of life. He built our cabin himself, ran his own lawn care and snowplowing business, and filled our lives with adventure—long summer days on the lake and winters spent snowmobiling. But after that day, I watched him slowly become a shadow of the man I knew. His liver and kidneys began to fail, and the strongest person in my life became fragile before my eyes. Through hospital visits, setbacks, and uncertainty, I learned quickly that strength isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and built through perseverance. Without my faith, my family, and the support of my friends and coaches, I don’t know how I would have made it through. Swimming became my refuge. It kept me from going to some really dark places and fall into a depression that I don't know if I could have gotten myself out of. I have been swimming since I was six, but over time, it became something more. When I’m in the water, everything quiets. I feel a sense of peace, control, and strength. The rhythm of my breathing, the focus on each stroke—it grounds me. Swimming gave me a place to process everything I couldn’t put into words. It kept me from falling into despair and reminded me of who I am beyond the circumstances around me. Despite all the challenges, my dad continued to fight. But in August 2025, we lost him. Grief is something you can’t fully prepare for. Some of the hardest moments are the quiet ones—coming home from practice without his encouragement or not receiving the texts telling me how proud he was. Yet, I feel him in everything I do. I am so happy that before he died, he knew I had an official visit to Gardner-Webb. I'd give anything to tell him I signed and that I am so excited for my future. He would be so unbelievably proud of me. His passing also brought a new reality for my family. We are now navigating life on a single income, and I have stepped up to help where I can. I got a job to cover my own gas and personal expenses, learning firsthand what it means to contribute and be responsible. As I prepare for college, I understand more than ever the financial commitment it takes, and I carry that awareness with me as motivation to work harder and make the most of every opportunity. Shortly after his passing, I visited Gardner-Webb University. The moment I stepped on campus, I felt peace—the same peace I feel in the water. It felt like home. One of the coaches told my mom, “We are recruiting Taylor for the wonderful human being she is. She isn’t just about swim times.” That stayed with me. In the midst of loss, it reminded me that I am more than my circumstances—I am resilient, driven, and capable of growth. Through my faith, I have learned that life isn’t about asking “why,” but about trusting that God walks beside us through hardship. I believe He guided me to Gardner-Webb—a place where I can grow academically, continue my athletic journey, and keep healing. The hardest moment of my life was sitting beside my dad in the hospital, saying goodbye. My mom looked at me and said, “When I look into your eyes, I will forever see him.” That is something I carry with me every day. I had 6,325 days with my dad. In those days, he taught me resilience, strength, and how to find joy even in the hardest moments. His favorite saying was, “If you’re not laughing, you’re not living.” So through the grief, I will find laughter. I will carry him with me in everything I do. And as I continue forward, I know this lifequake did not break me. It shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and ready for whatever comes next.

Lifequake & 6,325 Days I recently heard a word that hit me to my core: lifequake. A lifequake is a sudden, significant change that disrupts everything you know, forcing you into upheaval, transition, and ultimately growth. Experts say a person may experience 3 to 5 lifequakes in their lifetime. My first began when I was 15, August 3, 2023. I remember the moment clearly. My family was gathered on my grandparents’ deck at our cabin when my dad suddenly got sick. At the time, I had no idea that this moment would begin a three-year journey that would change me forever. Growing up, my dad was strong, hardworking, and full of life. He built our cabin himself, ran his own lawn care and snowplowing business, and filled our lives with adventure—long summer days on the lake and winters spent snowmobiling. But after that day, I watched him slowly become a shadow of the man I knew. His liver and kidneys began to fail, and the strongest person in my life became fragile before my eyes. Through hospital visits, setbacks, and uncertainty, I learned quickly that strength isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and built through perseverance. Without my faith, my family, and the support of my friends and coaches, I don’t know how I would have made it through. Swimming became my refuge. I have been swimming since I was six, but during this time, it became something more. When I’m in the water, everything quiets. I feel a sense of peace, control, and strength. The rhythm of my breathing, the focus on each stroke—it grounds me. Swimming gave me a place to process everything I couldn’t put into words. It kept me from falling into despair and reminded me of who I am beyond the circumstances around me. Despite all the challenges, my dad continued to fight. But in August 2025, we lost him. Grief is something you can’t fully prepare for. Some of the hardest moments are the quiet ones—coming home from practice without his encouragement or not receiving the texts telling me how proud he was. Yet, I feel him in everything I do. Shortly after his passing, I visited Gardner-Webb University. The moment I stepped on campus, I felt peace—the same peace I feel in the water. It felt like home. One of the coaches told my mom, “We are recruiting Taylor for the wonderful human being she is. She isn’t just about swim times.” That stayed with me. In the midst of loss, it reminded me that I am more than my circumstances—I am resilient, driven, and capable of growth. Through my faith, I have learned that life isn’t about asking “why,” but about trusting that God walks beside us through hardship. I believe He guided me to Gardner-Webb—a place where I can grow academically, continue my athletic journey, and keep healing. The hardest moment of my life was sitting beside my dad in the hospital, saying goodbye. My mom looked at me and said, “When I look into your eyes, I will forever see him.” That is something I carry with me every day. I had 6,325 days with my dad. In those days, he taught me resilience, strength, and how to find joy even in the hardest moments. His favorite saying was, “If you’re not laughing, you’re not living.” So through the grief, I will find laughter. I will carry him with me in everything I do. And as I continue forward, I know this lifequake did not break me. It shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and ready for whatever comes next.

Lifequake & 6,325 Days: By Taylor Bassett I recently heard a word that hit me to my core: lifequake. A lifequake is a sudden, significant change that disrupts everything you know, forcing you into upheaval, transition, and ultimately growth. Experts say a person may experience 3 to 5 lifequakes in their lifetime. My first began on August 3, 2023, when I was 15. I remember the moment clearly. My family was gathered on my grandparents’ deck at our cabin when my dad suddenly got sick. At the time, I had no idea that this moment would begin a three-year journey that would change me forever. Growing up, my dad was strong, hardworking, and full of life. He built our cabin himself, ran his own lawn care and snowplowing business, and filled our lives with adventure—long summer days on the lake and winters spent snowmobiling. But after that day, I watched him slowly become a shadow of the man I knew. His liver and kidneys began to fail, and the strongest person in my life became fragile before my eyes. Through hospital visits, setbacks, and uncertainty, I learned quickly that strength isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and built through perseverance. Without my faith, my family, and the support of my friends and coaches, I don’t know how I would have made it through. Swimming became my refuge. It kept me from going to some really dark places and fall into a depression that I don't know if I could have gotten myself out of. I have been swimming since I was six, but over time, it became something more. When I’m in the water, everything quiets. I feel a sense of peace, control, and strength. The rhythm of my breathing, the focus on each stroke—it grounds me. Swimming gave me a place to process everything I couldn’t put into words. It kept me from falling into despair and reminded me of who I am beyond the circumstances around me. Despite all the challenges, my dad continued to fight. But in August 2025, we lost him. Grief is something you can’t fully prepare for. Some of the hardest moments are the quiet ones—coming home from practice without his encouragement or not receiving the texts telling me how proud he was. Yet, I feel him in everything I do. I am so happy that before he died, he knew I had an official visit to Gardner-Webb. I'd give anything to tell him I signed and that I am so excited for my future. He would be so unbelievably proud of me. His passing also brought a new reality for my family. We are now navigating life on a single income, and I have stepped up to help where I can. I got a job to cover my own gas and personal expenses, learning firsthand what it means to contribute and be responsible. As I prepare for college, I understand more than ever the financial commitment it takes, and I carry that awareness with me as motivation to work harder and make the most of every opportunity. Shortly after his passing, I visited Gardner-Webb University. The moment I stepped on campus, I felt peace—the same peace I feel in the water. It felt like home. One of the coaches told my mom, “We are recruiting Taylor for the wonderful human being she is. She isn’t just about swim times.” That stayed with me. In the midst of loss, it reminded me that I am more than my circumstances—I am resilient, driven, and capable of growth. Through my faith, I have learned that life isn’t about asking “why,” but about trusting that God walks beside us through hardship. I believe He guided me to Gardner-Webb—a place where I can grow academically, continue my athletic journey, and keep healing. The hardest moment of my life was sitting beside my dad in the hospital, saying goodbye. My mom looked at me and said, “When I look into your eyes, I will forever see him.” That is something I carry with me every day. I had 6,325 days with my dad. In those days, he taught me resilience, strength, and how to find joy even in the hardest moments. His favorite saying was, “If you’re not laughing, you’re not living.” So through the grief, I will find laughter. I will carry him with me in everything I do. And as I continue forward, I know this lifequake did not break me. It shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and ready for whatever comes next.

Lifequake & 6,325 Days I recently heard a word that hit me to my core: lifequake. A lifequake is a sudden, significant change that disrupts everything you know, forcing you into upheaval, transition, and ultimately growth. Experts say a person may experience 3 to 5 lifequakes in their lifetime. My first began on August 2023. I remember the moment clearly. My family was gathered on my grandparents’ deck at our cabin when my dad suddenly got sick. At the time, I had no idea that this moment would begin a three-year journey that would change me forever. Growing up, my dad was strong, hardworking, and full of life. He built our cabin himself, ran his own lawn care and snowplowing business, and filled our lives with adventure—long summer days on the lake and winters spent snowmobiling. But after that day, I watched him slowly become a shadow of the man I knew. His liver and kidneys began to fail, and the strongest person in my life became fragile before my eyes. Through hospital visits, setbacks, and uncertainty, I learned quickly that strength isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and built through perseverance. Without my faith, my family, and the support of my friends and coaches, I don’t know how I would have made it through. Swimming became my refuge. I have been swimming since I was six, but during this time, it became something more. When I’m in the water, everything quiets. I feel a sense of peace, control, and strength. The rhythm of my breathing, the focus on each stroke—it grounds me. Swimming gave me a place to process everything I couldn’t put into words. It kept me from falling into despair and reminded me of who I am beyond the circumstances around me. Despite all the challenges, my dad continued to fight. But in August 2025, we lost him. Grief is something you can’t fully prepare for. Some of the hardest moments are the quiet ones—coming home from practice without his encouragement or not receiving the texts telling me how proud he was. His passing also brought a new reality for my family. We are now navigating life on a single income, and I have stepped up to help where I can. I got a job to cover my own gas and personal expenses, learning firsthand what it means to contribute and be responsible. As I prepare for college, I understand more than ever the financial commitment it takes, and I carry that awareness with me as motivation to work harder and make the most of every opportunity. In the midst of loss, I am reminded that I am more than my circumstances—I am resilient, driven, and capable of growth. Through my faith, I have learned that life isn’t about asking “why,” but about trusting that God walks beside us through hardship. The hardest moment of my life was sitting beside my dad in the hospital, saying goodbye. My mom looked at me and said, “When I look into your eyes, I will forever see him.” That is something I carry with me every day. I had 6,325 days with my dad. In those days, he taught me resilience, strength, and how to find joy even in the hardest moments. His favorite saying was, “If you’re not laughing, you’re not living.” So through the grief, I will find laughter. I will carry him with me in everything I do. And as I continue forward, I know this lifequake did not break me. It shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and ready for whatever comes next.

Lifequake & 6,325 Days I recently heard a word that hit me to my core: lifequake. A lifequake is a sudden, significant change that disrupts everything you know, forcing you into upheaval, transition, and ultimately growth. Experts say a person may experience 3 to 5 lifequakes in their lifetime. My first began when I was 15, August 3, 2023. I remember the moment clearly. My family was gathered on my grandparents’ deck at our cabin when my dad suddenly got sick. At the time, I had no idea that this moment would begin a three-year journey that would change me forever. Growing up, my dad was strong, hardworking, and full of life. He built our cabin himself, ran his own lawn care and snowplowing business, and filled our lives with adventure—long summer days on the lake and winters spent snowmobiling. But after that day, I watched him slowly become a shadow of the man I knew. His liver and kidneys began to fail, and the strongest person in my life became fragile before my eyes. Through hospital visits, setbacks, and uncertainty, I learned quickly that strength isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and built through perseverance. Without my faith, my family, and the support of my friends and coaches, I don’t know how I would have made it through. Swimming became my refuge. I have been swimming since I was six, but during this time, it became something more. When I’m in the water, everything quiets. I feel a sense of peace, control, and strength. The rhythm of my breathing, the focus on each stroke—it grounds me. Swimming gave me a place to process everything I couldn’t put into words. It kept me from falling into despair and reminded me of who I am beyond the circumstances around me. Despite all the challenges, my dad continued to fight. But in August 2025, we lost him. Grief is something you can’t fully prepare for. Some of the hardest moments are the quiet ones—coming home from practice without his encouragement or not receiving the texts telling me how proud he was. Yet, I feel him in everything I do. Shortly after his passing, I visited Gardner-Webb University. The moment I stepped on campus, I felt peace—the same peace I feel in the water. It felt like home. One of the coaches told my mom, “We are recruiting Taylor for the wonderful human being she is. She isn’t just about swim times.” That stayed with me. In the midst of loss, it reminded me that I am more than my circumstances—I am resilient, driven, and capable of growth. Through my faith, I have learned that life isn’t about asking “why,” but about trusting that God walks beside us through hardship. I believe He guided me to Gardner-Webb—a place where I can grow academically, continue my athletic journey, and keep healing. The hardest moment of my life was sitting beside my dad in the hospital, saying goodbye. My mom looked at me and said, “When I look into your eyes, I will forever see him.” That is something I carry with me every day. I had 6,325 days with my dad. In those days, he taught me resilience, strength, and how to find joy even in the hardest moments. His favorite saying was, “If you’re not laughing, you’re not living.” So through the grief, I will find laughter. I will carry him with me in everything I do. And as I continue forward, I know this lifequake did not break me. It shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and ready for whatever comes next.

I recently heard a word that hit me to my core. LIFEQUAKE. According to Bruce Feiler's Podcast, A "lifequake" is a significant, often sudden and unexpected, major life change that disrupts a person's life, leading to a period of upheaval, transition, and potential for personal growth. They say that a person can have three to five lifequakes throughout their life. My first one started when I was 15 on August 3rd, 2023. We were sitting on my Grandparents' deck at their cabin, having a family cookout, when my Dad vomited. Little did I know at that time that the next three years would change me forever. Growing up, my memories of my Dad were idealic. Long summers at our cabin, which he built himself, long days spent on the lake. My Dad was a hard worker, strong, funny, and energetic. My dad would go from this strong, healthy man to a skeleton of himself. His liver and kidneys were shutting down. Seeing your Dad in a hospital bed, this strong man, turning so fragile, was heartbreaking. It's been a long three years of doctoring, setbacks, wins, and more setbacks. I want to tell you that without a strong family base, supportive and caring friends, coaches, and swimming, I am not sure how I could mentally make it through this “lifequake”. Did I tell you I am a swimmer? I started taking swim lessons at 6 years old and I continued to excel. I started club swimming at 6 and haven't looked back. When I get in the water, something takes over me. Peace. The feel of the water gliding past my skin, the quietness of just my breath, and the water. The focus on my strokes and the force when I hit the wall and flip. I feel powerful and in control. Swimming has saved me through my Dad’s illness. When I am in the water, my mind is calm. I can focus on my practice, my friends, and my coaches. I have such a wonderful support system that I have surrounded myself with, through this sport; it has literally saved me from falling into a rabbit hole and depression. Swimming has been my distraction. Swimming will always be a big part of my life. As for my Dad’s health, we have good days, and we have bad days. I am very close with my family. They are another excellent support system I have, and I have learned so much about what it means to have family, friends, and a sport you passionately love because when life throws you a “lifequake,” you are going to need this to survive it, and through it, you will find personal growth. UPDATE: 11/19/2025 It has been almost three months since my dad passed away. Navigating life through grieving has been an interesting process. I feel my Dad in everything I do. I remember sitting at his hospital bedside when we had to make the hardest decision to let him go. My Mom was sitting across from me, holding Dad's hand, and she said, “I am going to miss looking into your Dad's eyes, but when I look into yours, I will forever see him.” I will carry my Dad with me forever. The lessons he taught me and his favorite quote, “If you’re not laughing, you’re not living.” Well, Dad, through these tears I will find laughter, and I will carry you with me throughout my life’s journeys. I got to spend 6,325 days of my life with you, and for that, I will forever be grateful.