Soon after my dad’s 52nd birthday, he was diagnosed with Stage IV pancreatic cancer and given six months to live. He managed to live nine and died in the house he and my mother built.

I was there. She was there. My sister was there.

My dad died when I was 27, which, to 27-year-old me, felt like not such a bad ride.

A nice full life, right?

He was born lucky enough to be raised by loving parents and had gone to college, gotten married, had a career where he felt useful and included, built a house—where my sister and I were raised and where my children will sleep tonight—coached and played and reffed soccer, traveled more than most, and believed in community involvement and the value of social justice.

As I got closer to age 52, naturally (or morbidly, who’s to say?) I started thinking a lot about my death.

One afternoon, about eighteen months ago, I did the date-to-date calculation:

My dad’s life lasted for 19,304 days.

So, naturally (or morbidly?) I counted my life out in days, 19,304 of them.

And today, my dear readers, is my 19,304th day on earth.

It’s also my dad’s birthday.

One would need calculus-level math to determine the astronomically slim odds of that sort of alignment of dates: his birth, his death, my death landing on his birthday.

On this my 19,304th day, I deeply appreciate knowing that you’re reading about my (our) hometown.

We have a chance to do something profound and wonderful and meaningful to end poverty for the 6.3% of Littletonians who suffer needlessly from living it day after day. But first, we need to root out the abuse of power, the self-dealing, the manipulations, the lies, and the greed that are the very fabric of the dirty, exploitative, and potentially criminal industry that is cannabis.

I’ve been paying attention and there’s lots to say.

Lots more than what you’ve already been told.

*

My dad used to say, “Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life,” which, to me, when I was young, seemed silly and completely unnecessary to point out.

But today, on my 19,304th day here, and on what ought to have been his 78th birthday, those words are an inspiration to keep going.

Come with me?

Be part of something radical,

Jenna