I’m requesting donations to keep the blog going.

I’ve decided to no longer allow advertisements on the site and blog.  I want 100% what you see on 344 Pounds to be our thoughts — me and you.  Ads are a third party, something that comes in between you and me and takes away from the intimacy that we all share together here as we struggle to live better lives.  By requesting donations and running the site like PBS used to be essentially, it gives you a way to support the site and determine its value.

It takes away outside influences to allow me to write about anything.

Why are you accepting donations?

I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the nearly 10,000 comments I’ve received on the blog in just a short 18 months. I love every single one of the thousands of e-mails, forum comments, and Facebook/twitter messages I’ve received. I’ve developed countless friendships through 344 Pounds that I love and cherish. Even if you’ve never commented or contacted me, I know that you’re reading and that’s enough to drive me and give me motivation.

I’ve lost nearly 150 pounds because of all of you.

With that being said, the blog, forum, and everything related to 344 Pounds takes up a lot of time. I’m a father, work a full-time job, and often spend several hours a day writing posts, responding to e-mails, twitter messages, Facebook comments, etc.  I love every single minute of it, but I pay to do it.

Time aside, there are many expenses associated with this site. You can think of it like building a house. Like a house, I have to pay for other folks to build and maintain it, perform renovations, etc.  I’m pretty good at picking colors (my wife picks on me for that!), but I’m fairly limited in any technical abilities and have relied and will continue to rely on other people to make changes and additions to the site.  Even while I’m on vacation for the first part of this week, you will see a contractor making changes to the forum.

And while it doesn’t represent a majority of expenses, I pay to use certain things on my site, like the theme you see here and the forum software.

It’s money out of my pocket.

Why should I give?

Has anything I’ve ever written or done ever encouraged, inspired, or motivated you? I know it seems like everything on the web is free these days, and it is but with ads alongside it, but if you could give anything, $10 even, you will help keep the site free of ads. You will also help pay for future site enhancements, additions, modifications, etc. Your donations will go directly into what you’re reading today and will have an impact for years.

And, lastly, you’ll publicly thanked and linked to on the blog.

What if I can’t give?  How else can I support you?

I know money is extremely tight these days.  If you can’t give anything, don’t feel bad.  If you still want to help, contact me and tell me about any special skills that you wouldn’t mind offering.  Again, I’m not requesting donations to go and buy a new flat screen, I’m going to turn around and use it to make things better around here.  So, if you can’t donate any money, then simply let me know what you can do to help and I’ll get back to you.

How much are you expecting to receive?

While it might seem like I will receive a lot of donations as I have quite a bit of readers, the reality is that the majority of people won’t give anything.  And that’s not limited to donations, the majority of people visiting my site, or any site for the matter, don’t comment or interact in any way, shape, or forum.  That’s just the nature of the web.  I’m no better, though, as I personally have numerous blogs I read and rarely comment or interact at all.

We just take, take, take, and go about our day, unfortunately.

How do you give?

You can donate via PayPal by clicking here.

A few of the long-time readers that I’ve passed this idea by before announcing it including Tara, MsMel, Tweediem, DorsalPhin have already donated and even committed to donate $1 for every pound they lose.  Maybe that’s something you can consider too if you’re in a position to do so.

Let me end by saying this isn’t an action of desperation.  I’ve never been more committed and devoted to this site and my journey and it won’t be going away if I don’t receive enough donations.  If I have to, I’ll even use the birthday money my mother gave me this weekend (turning 25 tomorrow!).  Ultimately, I’ll carry the burden to continue doing what I love, sharing my life with you.

If you can, though, can you help carry some of the burden?

If so, please donate.

If alive, my father would be turning 57 today.

And tomorrow, Friday, would mark three months to the day he died.

I typically have a point or some kind of structure to every blog post I write (even though it may not seem that way!), but I don’t today.  I just want to talk.

That’s something I haven’t done much the last three months:  talk.  I haven’t thought or talked about my father since his passing, with you or even close family members, including my mother. I’ve ignored his death for so long in some kind of “manly” attempt to not be saddened or affected by it — it hasn’t been healthy.  That changed last night as I finally broke down, crying to my mom on the phone, telling her how much I missed him and how I wish I could go back and answer his phone calls and tell him that I love him.

I would give anything to see him call me at the office again.

You don’t really know me.  You don’t know my father, my family, or what it was like having him as a dad.  I don’t think that matters, though.  I know you care.  You and I are connected.  We have a relationship.  I might just be another bookmark on your browser or iPhone or RSS reader and we might have never met, but we’ve spent hundreds if not thousands of hours together.  I have shared a lot with you, now I’ll bare it all in an act of letting it all out.

It’s the healthy thing to do.  Isn’t that what we’re here for?

I remember the phone call from my mother well.  I had taken a day off of work, a Friday, and it was about 8:10 in the morning, 10 minutes after I would normally be arriving at work.  It was a pretty day outside and I was at the computer, about to start the day, sipping a coffee from Starbucks and still getting yawns out my system.  The weekend was ahead and I was excited about going down to Charleston on Saturday to run in a 5k donut run.

Instead, the phone rang.  My mother called to tell me that I would be going to Charleston that weekend for a different reason.

She was sobbing, greeting me by calling and repeating my first name, Shawn, which she repeated several times.  In a brief state of panic I shouted “WHAT” to which she replied…”your father is dead.”  Almost as a jerk reaction I twice asked her if she was serious, which of course she replied to with yes both times.  While she was still sobbing and I was near tears, I demanded to how it happened, as if somehow that would make it better to cope with.

I don’t remember her exact reply as I was pretty much in shock at this stage of the phone call.  I do remember the bullet points, though.  My dad was lying in bed, asleep, resting.  He was waiting for my mother to get dressed to take him to the doctor as he wasn’t feeling well this fateful Friday morning.  It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, however, as he had regularly been in and out of doctor’s offices for the past 10-15 years or so.  He lived with certain vices that he just couldn’t seem to shake, even though he tried so many times.

When my mother got ready, she went to wake my dad up and that’s when the discovery was made.  He wasn’t breathing.  She called her brother Tom, who lives next door, to try to revive him.  Both of their efforts were fruitless and my father passed away that Friday morning, April 23, 2010.

Later we would find out he died from a heart attack.

After I was told “how it happened,” my mom informed me that I would soon have to carry out one of the worst things I’ve ever had to do in this life:  I had to tell my baby sister our dad was dead.  She lives in Columbia near me and was working that Friday morning, with her workplace less than five miles from the house.  I wasn’t about to tell her on the phone;  while that would’ve made my job a lot easier, it wouldn’t have been very brotherly of me.

I had to go and deliver the news in person.

As I was gathering my keys, wallet, bearings, etc., I made a call to my wife to inform her of the bad news.  She’s a teacher and unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view) I caught her before class started for the day, but after the bell rang with kids started trickling into her classroom.  She wasn’t alone.  I really had no easy way to tell her, logistically speaking, as it was important she find out immediately so she could make preparations to leave and meet me at home.  I just made the split decision to tell her, in her classroom, even as a heard students in the background.

After briefly losing it, she composed herself (she had no choice) and told me she’d tell the school she’s leaving, pickup our daughter from daycare, and meet me at house to start packing to leave for Charleston.  My wife is a very strong individual, someone who loved my father very much.  The first time they met my father brought her perfume that he had bought himself — if you knew him, you’d know that was a very big gesture.

Once off the phone, I started the longest drive of my life to tell my sister.   I had devised a plan as I drove to her work on how I would tell her, something that completely fell apart as I put it into action.  I was able to find her manager first and inform her of our misfortune and arrange for my sister to leave and take time off.  So far, so good, everything was going according to plan.

I wanted to get my sister outside of the store (away from customers) before breaking the news to her.  Not only did I not want customers in the store to feel uncomfortable, but I wanted her to be in private before she let her emotions go.  It didn’t work out that way.

After the brief conversation with my sister’s manager, she proceeded to get her from the back of the store where she was counting stock.   Again, much like the car ride over, this was the longest 30 seconds of my life.  I thought I’d never see the manager again.  Finally, my sister walked through the door in front of me that lead to the back, her face lighting up with a smile.  She was and is always happy to see at work, and today was no exception.

She asked me, inquisitively, not expecting anything bad:  “What’s up?”

“Follow me,” I urged.  She did, reluctantly.  As we turned to start walking to the door I could see at last glance behind us my sister’s manager and a couple of employees huddled.  They were grim, with faces and eyes tilted downward, staring at my sister like she was being led to the guillotine.

Her inquisitive questioning as to why I was there was met with canned replies from me:  “Let’s go outside.  Follow me.  Come with me.”  I tried to fake a smile, but I just couldn’t find one.  Then, I let the cat out of the bag as my lips started to quiver.  Her inquisitive questioning turned into a demand.  About 20 feet from the door she stopped moving, turned to me, and looked into my eyes and pleaded with me to tell her without saying a word.

I told her.  I don’t think it’s necessary to tell you how she reacted or describe in vivid detail how the scene unfolded.  You know what happened.

Once I was finally able to get her outside, she insisted she drove herself home.  While I was obviously reluctant, she convinced me that was coherent enough to drive and we went our separate ways.  We both went home to our separate households, spouses, and children.  We’d all pack up within an hour or so and head down to our childhood home in Charleston to bury our dad.  We arrived around noon to greet our mother and give her all the love we could.

I missed my 5k, as I said earlier, as I was planning a funeral that Saturday.  We had a lot of socializing, junk food, and card games with family and friends that weekend as people visited our home to show their condolences.  The wake was on Sunday, followed by the funeral that Monday afternoon at 3:30.

My wife, daughter, and myself came back up to Columbia that Tuesday and I was back at work a couple of days later.  I haven’t thought much about my father, his death, or the events surrounding it until tonight.  Until now.  It felt really good to let this all out.  It was the healthy thing to do.

And, as I said before, that’s what this is all about.  I really appreciate you reading all of this, even though it may not help you lose weight.  If there’s anything you can take from this, it’s this:

You only have one body.  One life.  One family.  Love all of them.  You never know when one, or all of them, might be taken away.

I love you, dad.

I proudly introduce you to the forums at 344Pounds.com:

344 Pounds Community

Our family has grown over the last 16 months. What started as a blog read only by my mom has quickly turned into a site read by thousands of people, men and women from all over the world, all trying to change our lives for the better. While I love the comment system on the blog, it’s unfortunately pretty limited as the discussion always centers on what I wrote that particular day.

Starting today, that changes.

The forums are a place for us to share our thoughts, our fears, our triumphs and tribulations. Share your weight loss journey with us, let us know what kind of car you drive, add your favorite recipes, ask questions, provide others with motivation and support, tell us your goals, etc!

So go ahead, join the community! It’s free, of course!

Pick a username you want to be known by — this will be YOUR name on our community.  Nobody else can choose that as their name, unlike the current comment system. Add a picture beside your name and a quote (signature) underneath your comments.  Get nice and cozy — stay a while!

It’s my home. It’s your home. It’s our home.

Personally, the forum will become a part of my life.  I plan to still post on the blog as usual, but I’ll also keep the forum up when I’m at the computer and comment on new threads. I want to be more apart of your life.  Likewise, I want readers of the blog to have a better relationship with other readers.

We’re a family.  If you just found the blog and don’t feel that way, wait a while.

You will.

I’ve had the mood the last few days that I can take on the world.  The world tour starts this Wednesday with weigh-in number 67.  I plan on stepping on the scale Wednesday and have it tell me I weigh under 200 pounds.

It’ll be a good day.  An epic day.  But only one of many to come.

I want to learn how to dance.  I want to take piano lessons.  I want to write a book.  I’m going to join another adult sports league in Columbia this summer — basketball, kickball, maybe softball — I haven’t decided.  I have more 5ks, 10ks, and marathons lined up.  I want to take some classes on nutrition.  I have a list of tasks/goals I want to accomplish with my body (coming soon).

Losing 100+ pounds will look easy compared to these new goals.

Many people have asked about my plans for the future, specifically the future of the blog.  An e-mail I received last week asked:

Are you going to quit posting after you reach your goal?

No.

In addition, some other folks see me reaching my goal weight of under 200 pounds as the climax of this journey.  Some think I’ll pack up my bags and come back every now and then to talk about how my life is doing.

That’s not going to happen.

While reaching this 16-month goal is a pretty big deal, it’s just a milestone in the journey, not the journey.   If I reach 199 pounds Wednesday it’ll be one mission accomplished and the beginning of a new, tougher, larger one.

Let’s dance.

My mom called two hours ago to tell me that my dad died this morning.

I’m in a state of shock.  I’m in a surreal mood where nothing is sinking in.  This is how I felt at first when my close grandmother died, emotionless, only for all of my emotions to hit me like a brick wall once I saw my mom.

I know I can expect the same once I arrive back home in Charleston.

We’ll be leaving for Charleston as soon as my wife gets home with our daughter, hopefully within the next 30 minutes or so.  I’m scared, knowing that reality is quickly going to take shape as I pull onto that long dirt road.

In the meantime, please, for God’s sake, call your dad.