Everyone Loves A Happy Ending

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there was a queen named "Brenda". She was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. She was loved by many and respected by all. A fair and noble queen, she was. She was one who cared for others more than herself. She lived in a modest castle with her daughter, Princess Nikki, her son Prince Josh and her servant Ronnie. (just kidding) other son, Prince Ronnie. They were a happy family that shared love and laughter everyday. Queen Brenda would hold special parties and invite the people of the kingdom to come and celebrate life and the many joys that accompany it. The gala would be equipped with delicious food, lively music and crafts for the children. There was no sickness in the kingdom. There was no hunger. Life was beautiful and lush and happy. The grounds of the kingdom were incredible to view. Fields of flowers and mountains in the distance set the scene for beautiful sunsets daily. It rained just enough to keep the crops healthy, otherwise the days were golden in color, perfectly warm and breezy and scented with the perfume of nature.

Each one had a special gift. Queen Brenda had the gift of strength. She was physically, mentally and spiritually stronger than anyone in the land. She often faced difficulties in which her strength aided her to come to victory. Princess Nikki had the gift of love. She loved all and saw beauty within everyone and everything. She felt that there was no one in the world that could live without love. It was her belief that love could conquer all. Prince Josh possessed the gift of hope. He was hopeful that there would always be a happy ending to every story. In times of darkness, Prince Josh never lost hope. His hope had often lifted the family from various situations. His hope was undefeatable. Prince Ronnie was the courageous one. He feared nothing. He felt that with bravery, comes victory. He was a mentor to young lads in the kingdom. With his guidance, an army of brave soldiers was formed to keep the land safe from harm.

One day, the sky lost its beautiful golden color and turned a dreary gray. The air was thick and steamy. The town folk all came out of their cottages with confused faces. The Queen and her family were aware of the changes as well. They were equally baffled by the situation. The Queen, with a sharp pain of dread in her stomach, knew what was happening. "It is the mighty and greatly feared Black Dragon. I have heard legends of his existence and the effects that his presence can have. I am afraid, he could be.....unbeatable. His visit is likely to destroy all that we hold dear. I will try and face him alone." Just as the Queen feared, while standing on her balcony, a gigantic, ferocious dragon appeared. His wingspan was incredibly frightening. His teeth were as sharp as razor blades and he breathed a spray of the hottest fire that could burn. He flew right up to the Queen. With all of her strength she stood tall. With one flap of his wing, he knocked her to the ground. Princess Nikki then jumped to her feet. "Mother!" she called out, but as she was running to her mother's aid, the dragon breathed fire to the beams supporting the balcony, and she and her mother fell to the ground. It was at this time that Prince Josh ran out of the front of the castle and drew his sword. The Black Dragon was no longer flying. He was walking with a thunderous stomp as his gigantic body stretched above the rooftops. Prince Josh stabbed the Dragon in the tail, but was unable to withstand the brute strength of the tail slapping his body.  He flew into the fallen debris of the balcony. At that moment, Prince Ronnie charged from the side with his army of soldiers. They began fighting the dragon with all of their might. But, one by one, they succumbed to the dragon. Prince Ronnie was the last to fall. Exhausted, he landed next to his family. The family lay huddled together in fear as the dragon crept closer and closer, threatening coyly with his dreadful appearance and terrifying breath of fire.

The family, hands joined, began to pray. They prayed for more strength. They prayed for more love. They prayed for more hope. They prayed for more courage. At that moment, a band of townsfolk appeared in the horizon. They began firing their bows at the dragon's back, at first not phased, the dragon kept moving forward. The family didn't stop praying. The town folk continued to fire. The dragon began to stagger. The family, broken from fear of failure, found faith and rose to their feet and began firing from the front. The dragon, no longer able to withstand the fight, gave in and fell to the ground. Everyone joined together and cheered as the smoke cleared and the sun found it's cozy home above the kingdom bringing back the golden hue of happiness.

It seems, the Queen could not defeat the dragon alone. Neither could the Princess or the Princes. But together, with the help of friends, neighbors and loved ones, the unbeatable was beat. All it took was strength, love, hope, courage, and most of all, faith.

And everyone lived long and full lives, happily ever after.

                                                                           THE END

Hit The Snooze

I have alot of trouble sleeping at night. For whatever reason, my mind goes into overdrive when I lay down. One of two things usually happens: Either I stay up half the night until I just cant hold my eyes open OR I go to sleep at a decent hour and wake up a hundred times. So at 3:30 this morning when Michael began his daily rendevouz with the snooze button, I wasn't excited to say the least. I wasn't enthused about him serenading me with his usual "snooze button" solo. I found myself awake thinking "why do snooze buttons exist?" I mean, really. Its just a tease. You re only going to want more and more. It is a button that says "hold on reality, I am taking a 5 min break". But reality reappears in a LOUD way in the blink of an eye. And besides, he had awoke me from an important dream. I dreamed about my grandfather again last night. There was snow everywhere. It was dark. There were people everywhere. I was greeting them one by one. The faces seemed to run together until he walked up. He was bundled up in a flannel jacket. He was SO happy. His smile was beautiful. I hugged him and I smelled him. It was really him. That was his scent. I asked him how he was and he said "I'm fine baby". We traded "I love you's" and "I miss you's".  He hugged me again and then walked away. He was gone. How I wish I just had more time. "More time". That phrase always makes me think of my mom.

When you are told "you have one year with your mother", alot of things go through your head. You want to jerk her up and squeeze her close and never let go. You want to scream to the Heavens "WHY MY MOM?WHY?" You want to hope for a miracle, but you fear the worst. You want to say those things you never said. You want to apologize for things. You want an apology for other things. You want every moment to be fun filled. You want your video camera to capture every second. You want to fill up your memory bank. But most of all,you just want more time. I have ran into a few people that have said "at least you get a chance to say goodbye. People are in accidents and their families never get to say goodbye". Well, I get it. I really do understand that philosophy. I cannot imagine the pain of words left unsaid. But the pain of asking myself everyday "is it today? Is today the day she will take a turn for the worse?, Is it tomorrow?, will she be here next Easter? Mother's Day?" --I've got to tell you, it is maddening.

Recently I said "I just want 10 more years", and my aunt replied "and what happens after that 10? You're going to want another 10". Perhaps she is right. If my "snooze button" theory is correct, perhaps it applies here. That little bit of extra time just encourages us to strive for more and more and more. It's never going to be enough. I will always need her. All we can do is make the most of the time we have left.

So now, as I finish making my baked beans, potato salad and deviled eggs, I am headed to my moms house for a Memorial Day gathering. All her kids and grand kids together. Making memories. Enjoying the time we have. Ever how long it may be.

Positively Blessed

   My sister in law told me yesterday "Thursday is the first day I've seen you smile in a long time". She said she got a glimpse of the "old me" for the first time since my mom was diagnosed. I know I have changed. It's tough when I realize that other people notice it. Sometimes I get so caught up in all of my fears and losses that I don't focus on all the great things in my life. I just wanted to take an opportunity to talk about some of the positive things in my life--a definite change of tone for this blog.

Neva is my two year old "mature beyond her years" helper. I keep calling her that, but she will actually be three in August. She is the funniest kid ever! She has been verbal since birth, I think. She articulates her thoughts and feelings as well as a child double her age. She has long beautiful hair. The kind with golden ringlets. The kind I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA how to fix. She loves gymnastics and cooking. She has been helping me cook since she got old enough to hold her head up while sitting on my hip. She has a true passion for creating. My front door, refrigerator and one of the walls in her room are all covered in her "creations". She has a art cabinet in her room where she can just go crazy and color and glue and paint. She loves it. She is SO smart! She loves books. We go to the library every Tuesday to quench her thirst for literature. (We have missed a few Tuesdays recently). She has had some behavior issues lately for which I blame our situation. But she is wonderful with her sister. There is some normal jealousy, but she is Nori's caretaker. I heard her talking to Nori in the living room the other day and I stopped washing dishes and tuned in to what she was saying. It went something like this "Those shoes don't fit you anymore, baby. They are too little" she cupped Nori's face in her hands " but I love you, my wonderful child" she said sweetly. (That is a line from her FAVORITE book "I Love You, Stinky Face"). I felt my heart swell. During this difficult time in our lives Neva has really been a rock. Although she has endless questions. Difficult questions. She has asked "why does Gammy have cancer?", "Does Chemo hurt?" "Will Gammy get better?" and the worst one "Is Gammy gonna die?" She and my mom have always been close. So this is hard for her. She was the first grandchild to spend the night with mama. They are each other's biggest fans. She has had a tough time understanding that Gammy cannot lift her or run through the yard or get down in the floor anymore. She cannot stay the night anymore. She very seldom gets to stay at all. She does enjoy our daily visits though. And she is quick to remind mom "it's time for a bweathing tweatment".  She's not a big kisser or hugger, until nap time or bedtime. As she is falling asleep she will kiss me a hundred times and tell me over and over "I love you SO much".

Nori, my 15 month old is my precious angel. She is HILARIOUS and BAD (don't tell her I said that)! She has these facial expressions that just crack me up. She is so quick to just walk up to you and kiss you square on the mouth and give you a big ole' hug. When I am crying (too often to mention), this baby is the first one to put down her toy and climb in my lap giving me repetitive kisses. She is just as quick, however, to slap you in the face. She is a definite handful. We have had emergency room visits and falls and bo-bo's that we never had with Neva. She has an unnatural obsession with her belly button. In fact, any given moment, you will find her-shirt up and finger in belly button. She has been telling me to change her diaper and even going to get the diaper for me since she was 12 mos old! She has a language that only a few can translate, although she has mastered "yes mam" and "no mam". She is so beautiful. She will NOT keep a bow in her hair. Actually, the quickest way to see that little attitude is to even touch her hair. She and my mom are close as well. Not as close as mom and Neva, but that is because mom has been sick a large portion of Nori's life. Even before the diagnosis, she battled bronchitis, various colds and pneumonia. But Nori loves her "mammy" (she can't say Gammy). She will point to mom's port and label it "bo-bo", then give it a big kiss. Mom just eats up the attention from her. Nori enjoys the outdoors and her kitty "George". She also loves alone time. She had a tent in her room for a while that she loved to just go sit and "read" in. After it met it's demise,  I set space under her crib up like a little fort equipped with all the necessities: stuffed animals and books. She looks up to her sister and mimics her behavior daily (NOT a good thing sometimes!).

Michael and I have been together for over 9 years. I know it sounds cheesy, but for the sake of being honest, I love him more each day. I believe our love is maturing as it grows older. It has blossomed into something I could not have even imagined when we were first dating. We could not be more opposite. Everyone has always said we were an odd couple. Perhaps that is why it works so well. We have our moments, but don't all couples? We agreed before Neva was born to always be on the same page with our parenting. And so far, so good. We want to raise our kids "old school". I (temporarily) put my career on hold to honor this commitment. We want our kids to eat a home cooked meal every night (hot dogs count, right?). We want them to feel the true excitement of Christmas and birthdays, so we do not buy gifts in between. We want them to earn things. At 2 and 1, they have to clean their own messes and they help us plant and work the garden. We sit at our table and eat every night. We refuse to let TV taint quality time. It may seem a little dated, but it works for us. He and my mom have a great relationship. He would do anything for her. Mom adores him. (although she did give him a hard time when he asked for her blessing to propose to me. I wasn't there, but I heard she was one tough cookie) Michael has been incredible through all of this. I wanted the girls to attend Papaws funeral, not the viewing, just the funeral. So, Michael got them down for nap, woke them up, got them dressed and brought them to me in Taylorsville just in time for the service. (Their hair wasn't brushed, their shoes were not on, and Nori's dress was on backwards...but he tried! All of that was "fixable"). That is just one of many instances that he tapped into his "Super Dad" capabilities. I truly could not handle all of this without his unwavering support.

   I do have alot of heartache right now. But I also have SO many reasons to smile. I WILL put forth more effort to focus on the positive. Though I don't know what tomorrow holds, the sun will still come up. The Earth will keep turning. Life will go on. I will be blessed to be a part of it.

A Wandering Mind

 It is so often that I depend on my mom's advice. I may use it, I may not. But I always love to hear it. It comforts me. She is real quick to say "mama's always right". Ever since she came home and said "they think it's a mass" I have been having horrible thoughts (sadly most of them have come true). It's weird, I know, but sometimes I start with a single thought and all of a sudden I'm in a alternate universe where I visualize the domino effect of that thought. What I mean is, I may think "What happens when I want to make a specific dish that my mom used to make but she is not here to give me the recipe?" then my mind unfolds a whole story where I call my aunts, but they don't know. I call my brothers, but they don't remember the dish. So I am stuck. I'm sitting at my kitchen table in silence. I can't call her because she is not there. Maybe her number won't even exist anymore. It was a number I didn't even have to think about dialing. My fingers were trained. I miss her so much I can't breathe. She's gone and never coming back.

Sometimes I think about another baby (to my mother's dismay). She is the only grandmother in the world that is totally in love with her grandchildren, but at the same time says "STOP HAVING BABIES!". Never the less, I think about another baby all the time. But, when I picture myself in the delivery room, screaming out in pain, I'm going to need her. She held my hand the entire time with both of my daughters. I found great comfort in her being there. Can I do it without her? Then again, WHY do it without her? Do I want to have a baby that she will never meet? I see myself in an empty hospital room. Michael at work. My brothers at work. My aunt's with their families. I am sitting in the bed staring at an empty chair. Holding a baby that will never know the best woman I ever met. Completely unable to feel the joy, because I'm overcome with sadness.

What will happen at Christmas time? Money has always been tight for my mama. But Christmas has never been less than "over the top" for us. She always goes all out. The gifts are strategically bought after a full year of taking notes about what we need and want. We have food and laughter and just the best time ever. When I think about her absence, I see us there trying to hold it together. My little brother quietly sitting with that look on his face. He has the saddest eyes when we discuss mom's illness.He usually changes the subject. I can see him sitting there lost in his misery. I can see me trying. Trying to make it fun. Trying to make it better. Trying to remember how she did it-and mimic her as much as I can. I see Ronnie. He is hurting but fighting through it to have a good holiday for the kids. He is crazy about the kids. He's fussing because we are messing up his house. But still glad we are all together. We share stories about past Christmases when the tree fell on mom, the Christmas morning that she threw up on the living room floor (long story), how she would always nervously say--"Now if you don't like it take it back! it won't hurt my feelings" as we were opening each present. What happens when the laughter stops and the stories end? As we get in our cars and drive away, what will we be thinking?

I know I shouldn't be this way. I know I should focus on today. And I do, most of the time. Most of the time I hang on to my hope for a miracle. That my mom is going to somehow beat the odds and live a full life. But I can't help but let my mind wander sometimes. What if the Dr's are right? What if she does leave me? A happy life without my mom is unimaginable. Directly after a day dream or day nightmare, I call mama and talk to her. I always feel better just to hear her voice. Before she got sick, when I would have bad dreams about losing her(which I had frequently) I would call her at work because she would be there so early. I'd tell her my dream and she would soothe me with "I'm fine baby. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. Now I'm busy-go back to sleep and call me later." That's all it took. Through all of this, I've been waiting on that line. I even asked her for it recently, and she wouldn't promise me. She wouldn't say it. I guess I'll never hear it again. Mom has never been one to lie or make promises she doesn't know she can keep.

 Upset one day, I asked mom "what do I do if I call my aunts for advice, but they give me a total "non-you" response?" See, when I ask my mama for advice, I somehow already know what she is going to say-I just need to hear it. So, when I call up my aunts and they give me some "non-mama" feed back, I think I'm going to cry. I'm going to feel alone. What if Neva is being a rebellious teenager? What if Nori has a boyfriend I despise? What if something happens to mine or Michael's health? I will need her advice. No one else's. When they give me their "non-mama" answer, I see myself respectfully accepting the help, then hanging up the phone and feeling lost. Hopeless. Alone. She thought about the question I had asked her, then simply responded "why cant you look inside  yourself, and find the "me-response?" She's right. But I guess Mama's always right.

What Will Be With Wednesdays?

We stood out there silently. The group of people that never finds a silent moment amongst them. The sky was threatening us with clouds of gray. All of us dressed in black to represent a dark moment in our lives. We waited for every sibling, cousin, and grandchild to arrive. Then, as a family, we stepped inside. His children led the way. Their families followed close behind. We were greeted by the Funeral Director. A slide show had been prepared in my grandfather's honor. We took our places in front of the TV and it began. In just a few moments, we watched the man we adore grow from a child to a great grandfather. As we found ourselves on the screen, we were taken back to a brighter day. This memory made the entire room erupt into tears. The thick silence was filled with sniffles and the sounds of sadness. My heart was already breaking, as I was taken back through photos to a simpler day filled with happiness. I looked at my Mom "the loud one" crying into her hands, my uncle "the funny one", fighting back his tears as he was his father's only son, and their baby sister, "the sensitive one" huddled up with her husband and children, all of them sobbing. But when I really felt myself breakdown, was when I saw their oldest sister, "the strong one" begin crying uncontrollably.

When the slide show was over, we were led to the casket. I knew this would be difficult for us all. I watched my mom and her siblings lean down and kiss the vessel that used to possess the vibrant spirit of their father. I found out later that my mom, who kept staring at him intently, was waiting desperately for him to take a breath and wake up. When my uncle led me to the casket, I looked down tears streaming my face. I hate it when this is said, but he really did look good. He looked at peace. I pressed my forehead to his. My heart shattered as I longed for him to reach up and hug me as he had done so many times in the past. He was gone. I still need him, but he is gone. Some of the grandchildren placed their driver's licenses in the casket with him, because it was a special memory of their's that he took them for their driving test. I simply placed some artwork that my daughter's made for him. That is my special memory. Watching him dote on my children. He was very active in my children's lives. He didn't play a "great grandfather" role. He played a "GRANDFATHER" role. Now they don't have him. All I keep asking myself is "what will be with Wednesdays?"

Wednesdays......Wow..... If I explain it, it will seem too simple to be special. But it SO was. We would visit him on Wednesday. Usually we would sit outside. He would bargain and bribe my children for "sugar" using....well...using sugar! What I mean is, he would stock up with sweet snacks in hopes of getting my fast paced girls to slow down, climb in his lap and give him a kiss. He lived for it. He truly adored my girls. They adored him. I adored him. We've been close, but in the last year or so of my papaws life we had grown much closer. Seeing each other once a week and speaking on the phone regularly. I would specifically cook a big meal on Tuesday, so I could take him a plate on Wednesday. He would brag so much on my food (and I couldn't get enough of the praise--I'll admit it). Wednesday is a day we found ourselves stopping to relax on his front porch soaking up the sunshine and breathing in the summer breeze. A day where we literally did "stop and smell the roses". The day ended with hugs and kisses and "call me tomorrow". I would count the seconds until the next day, so I could call and get the verdict on meal I brought. (I knew it was a positive review) Papaws reviews of me were ALWAYS positive. He was so special to me. But now, what will be with this ache in my heart? This hole in my life? What will be with Wednesdays?

The one-day funeral event ended with us congregating over delicious donated food at my papaws house. Neva kept asking "where's Papaw The Great?" This caused a sting in my heart. We were all there, but there was a HUGE piece of the puzzle missing. We hugged and reminisced and shared stories to uplift one another. Then, when it was time to go our separate ways, my aunt "the strong one" asked "what happens to our family now?" I couldn't help but notice, that no one was able to answer. A life without Papaw is too difficult for any of us to grasp right now. I think it was assumed, that "time will tell".

As Michael was loading Neva into the car she said "wait! What about Papaw The Great? You wanna go see him for a little while?" It was if she had realized he was missing. The ice cream, the sitting in his lap, the hugs and kisses, the final "I love you Papaw The Great" before we left and planned our next visit to see him. All of it was missing. Michael's sad eyes met my tear filled eyes. "Neva, Papaw The Great is in Heaven with the angels" I responded. "Can we go there to see him?" she asked. My heart was broken. All I could muster up was "We will one day baby. We will one day".

Know Your Role

Things have been really tough lately. I have learned to never say "things can't get any worse" because the last time I said it, I ended up in Jackson with my 1 yr. old who couldn't walk, her head and body were swelling, and the doctors were baffled. So, I won't say that. But it really has been hard lately. As I have previously said, I am really having trouble with the phrase "everything happens for a reason". I cannot, for the life of me, think of a reason that my mom should have developed a terminal illness. I cannot fathom why my grandfather had to endure so much suffering before he passed. I have no clue why so many horrible things are happening to one family. However, I will admit, there have been some "coincidences" lately. I would like to share a few of them with you:

Mom was having a "down day". Well, while waiting in line at the bank, she was updating the tellers of her condition. One man who was also waiting turned to her and asked if he could share his story. It seems, he had a large tumor on his colon. They did the proper testing and apparently were talking of scheduling a surgery. But on the day of his final scan before the surgery was to take place he asked the Dr. (regarding his test results) "Are you going to be able to get it?" The Dr. with a stunned expression replied "I don't have to, someone already did". The man believes he was healed by prayer. He then took my mom's hands and prayed for her. She left the bank feeling blessed, uplifted and hopeful. (coincidence that this man was in the bank on the same day as mom?)

For weeks now, my aunts, uncle and (when possible) my mom have made it their main priority for my papaw to not be left alone. Even though he was in the care of very capable doctors and nurses, they never left his side. However, on the day of my papaw's passing, All the siblings had stepped out of the room together (which never happened) and when they came back just a few short minutes later--he was gone to be with Mamaw. (Coincidence that he waited until they were not in the room?)

Today in wal-mart, my mom was feeling equally self conscious about her thinning hair, and the mask I made her wear to protect her from germs. As we walked up and down the aisles quickly grabbing the necessities for our homes, we bumped into a beautiful 20-something young girl. She recognized mom, and knew her story through a friend of my brother's. She smiled softly and told my mom the story of her fight against and victory over breast cancer. She spoke about taking chemo, wearing the masks and also about losing her hair. She was so sweet and positive. Mom walked away from her with a new found "I am not alone in this" confidence. (coincidence that this girl was able to share her amazing story right when my mom needed it?)

It is almost as if these people were placed in the right place at the right time. That man had to be a miracle, so that he could inspire my mom to hope for one. My Papaw held on so tight, so that his babies didn't have to endure anymore pain than necessary. That girl crossed mom's path so that she could say--"there are more important things than hair" right when mom needed to hear it. It's almost as if it was their role to play.

If I had to assume why this tragic situation exists I would say to make us stronger. To bring us closer to one another. To make us thankful. To bring us closer to God. And to make us understand and believe "Everything Happens For a Reason".

Back to the Future

I keep having this dream. The location varies. Sometimes I'm in a hospital room. Sometimes I am in my grandfather's living room. The dream itself is always the same. Papaw and I are talking. I'm not sure about what, but he is healthy and plump and full of life. He has the biggest smile on his face. I don't actually see mom and the girls, but I know they are there. They are probably getting ice cream out of the freezer or gone to get snacks of some sort. It's not discussed, but I know mom is healthy. I know because I don't feel heavy. I don't feel negative at all. I feel joy and warmth in my heart. I'm the old me. Life is normal again.

 I have found myself thinking back alot. Thinking back to when I was a kid getting off the school bus and running through the yard because I knew mama had a snack waiting. I remember being little bitty, sitting on the bathroom counter watching my mom put on her makeup. I thought she was the prettiest girl in the world (still do).I recall, mama quickly cleaning the makeup off of my little brother's face and removing his dress  before Daddy came home(even though I had worked SO hard making him beautiful). The living room baseball games! My brothers and I ALWAYS ended up breaking something and getting sent to our rooms! Thinking back to when my parents got divorced and how hard life became. I keep going back to when I was a teenager and doing everything I could to help my mom run our household. I could never forget mine and Ronnie's horror movie marathons! Mom would complain about us staying up all night and sleeping all day. And Oooh, those dirty looks that mama would shoot toward me and michael just for sitting next to one another on the couch! Thinking back to when I told mama "he asked and I said YES!" and she gave me the silent treatment for two weeks. I remember the day I called my Papaw and said "Mama is being mean to me about planning this wedding!" (and he scolded her the next day). Neva's birth.... never forget how Michael's eyes went to the baby-but mama's focus stayed on me.  I've been thinking back to all the days I listened to mom and Neva sing duets together. I recall  those days I worried mom was going to teach Neva a cuss word just to tick me off. I remember clearly the day I announced "I'm pregnant, Again!" and mom responded "Nikki! Don't you know what causes that??"  And our family gatherings! Oh my goodness our family gatherings! They are huge! Huge and LOUD! Every holiday, Papaw retreats to another room just trying to soak up some peace and quiet!

 And then, inevitably while flipping through the chapters of my past, I make my way back to the present.

The thing about memories and pictures and dreams, is they don't go on forever. There is a sadness about me when I reminisce. I find a split second of comfort then I am lost in sorrow. I want the past back, without wishing away certain aspects of my present. I fear the future. Fear of the unknown. How will I cope? Will I find a new norm? Will I be happy? It is such a mystery. Knowing the future may alleviate some of the anxieties of today, but what about tomorrow? Would knowing the contents of tomorrow inexplicably drain the life from it?

I'll continue to be thankful for  my yesterdays.
I will be hopeful for my tomorrows.

And my Todays? I'll just take them one at a time.

The Volcano

"They are killing you!! You're killing yourself!!! They've already killed you!!! You don't even care! I don't care anymore! I'm done caring! It's got me nowhere! I'm so sick of this! I can't take it anymore! I cant take it!" I hit my steering wheel with anger. Then I realize my mom is crying. My daughters are crying. I can't believe what I've done. Who am I?

One Hour Earlier:  "Are you excited about going back to church?" I ask my daughters as we drive to their Gammy's house to pick her up for our return to Journey Church. I have found myself looking forward to it all week. When we arrive, our hopes of making it to the early service are shattered by the realization that mom is sick. Really sick. Coughing. Vomiting. Pitiful. "I still want to go, baby, we are just going to have to wait for the second service". GREAT! That will provide just enough time for my girls to get filthy. I started to feel a little aggravated. I am looking at Mom's frail little body. The Dr had scolded her about her weight loss. 20lbs in a month won't work. I have been even harder on her about the eating than I am about the smoking. I feel guilty about my constant nagging. But I don't know if, in good conscience, I can just let it go. I eat all the time even though I'm not hungry....Why can't she? And what is this cough? She has been sounding so much better. She has been trying so hard to slack off on her smoking. For those of you judging--please stop. She is losing her dad. She has found out disturbing news about her OWN life. And we, her kids, are freaking falling apart. Most people don't lay down a 30 year habit in a day. It can happen, but not easily. Stress and trying to quit smoking DO NOT go hand in hand. She is trying, so if you are thinking negative about her--please stop. In all actuality, we have been told that IF she did quit, at this point, the cancer isn't going away. To an addict, that's like an open invitation to keep "using". What I worry about is the fact that smoking can increase the risk of colds, which is not something she needs in her fragile state.

"What did you eat last night mom?" I asked as I combed and tried to disguise her thinning hair, hoping for an acceptable answer. "I ate some watermelon. It was the only thing that sounded good to me." I felt anger in my chest. I felt my heart begin to race. "Watermelon? Really?" All the while, Neva and Nori are running around looking for anything and everything that will aid them in their attempt to get dirty. The phone rang. It was my aunt and she needed to talk to mama regarding Papaw. He has had 3 seizures this morning. I knew this would be a lengthy conversation, so I wasn't surprised when I saw mom walk out to sit on the porch. "Great. We are going to be late". Even more anxiety building up inside me as I think about my grandfather. Luckily, she had managed to throw some clothes on, so maybe we could leave as soon as the conversation ended. I stuck my head out the door hoping to rush her up, and that's when I saw it. Her cigarette. I was so furious. I had to comment. I just had to. She has been coughing all morning. Why add fuel to the fire? "I'm sick of seeing you smoke." I barked and stomped inside. She avoided my comment and ended the conversation with her sister. I got the girls and put them in their car seats.

Of course, this is when Neva announces "I've got to potty". As I am carrying her back inside, mom is walking to the car. We purposefully avoid eye contact. I am raging on the inside. I am walking Neva to the rest room, when I hear Ronnie, my brother "You know you made her cry. You're going to have to live with that on your conscience."  "I don't care" I responded. "If saying that made her cry, then I will make her cry everyday!" "It's your conscience" he retaliated. I found myself wondering "who DOES have the better conscience? The person who nags and fights and taints quality time in an attempt to stop a harmful behavior and gain additional time OR the person who goes along with the harmful behavior to keep the  remaining time positive?" I carried Neva to the car. I felt unlike I have ever felt in my life. I felt a volcano of anger inside me. I felt as though I was going to cry. I felt like I was going to scream. I felt like I needed to hit something. It was building, building and BUILDING. I HAD to say something. I HAD to. I aggressively strapped Neva into her seat and slammed the door. I plopped down in my driver seat and snapped "You're crying??!! Because of what I said?? How about when I cry? I can't take this!" Neva begins to cry. Nori is stunned by my tone. There is a voice in my head saying "Stop it. stop it, Nikki. Now is not the time." But I didn't listen. "They are killing you!! You're killing yourself!!! They've already killed you!!! You don't even care! I don't care anymore! I'm done caring! It's got me nowhere! I'm so sick of this! I can't take it anymore! I cant take it!" I hit my steering wheel with anger. The sting of my hand hitting my car snaps me back into reality. Then I realize my mom is crying. My daughters are crying. I can't believe what I've done. Who am I? Mom, quietly sniffling and wiping her tears, begins to console the girls while I continue to cry and feel the regret creeping into my heart. I can't stop wondering "what has happened to me?"

We ride silently to the church. I took Nori to the nursery, she was fine. Neva however, my smart little "analyzer" wanted to stay with us. I agreed. What a traumatic morning for that baby. For us all. We were greeted by the same smiling faces from last week and even more.We took our seats and the music began. Neva seemed to really enjoy it. "Thank goodness" I thought, hoping my temper tantrum hasn't scarred her for life. Brother Robby spoke about perseverance. He spoke about overcoming obstacles and adversities and standing strong for something. The service was beautiful and once again, seemed like it was meant for me. About halfway through, mom leaned over and whispered "I'm sorry. I love you", She kissed my cheek and held my hand the remainder of the service. Meanwhile, that sad little look on Neva's face faded and was replaced with curiosity. We had to urge her to stay in her seat and use her "whisper voice". 

I later apologized to mom, not for what I said, but for the delivery. I also apologized to my girls. I worry about her all the time. Her appetite. Her weight. Her cough. Her smoking. Her medicine. Her energy. Her sleeping habits. Her temperature. I worry about my girls. I feel guilty ALL the time. I guess it all became overwhelming. I know today is not the last of the obstacles we will face. I DO sometimes feel like just giving up. But I won't. I will continue to work and fight and strive for the day they tell us my mom is okay. Today was just another bump in a very long and twisted road.

Perseverance is commitment, hard work, patience, endurance.

Perseverance is being able to bear difficulties calmly and without complaint.

Perseverance is trying again and again.

The Follow-Up

I'm just going to say it. I'm very depressed. I am. I cant stop crying. I feel guilty if I accidentally laugh. I'm very down. My Papaw isn't doing good at all. My mama is weak, tired, and nauseous from the chemo. She's trying to be at the hospital for him everyday, even though they said hospitals are a bad place for her with her lowered immunity. I can't really wrap my head around all of this. I sat yesterday in the clinic waiting room waiting for mom's Chemo-follow-up appointment. I was already having an emotional day. But my eyes kept drifting across the way into an empty examination room. This room was trying with all it's might to jerk the tears out of my eyes with the memory it was forcing into my mind. That room brought us such bad news just a few weeks earlier. I hate that room.
December: The nagging cough starts. If any of you are smokers or know a smoker, then you wouldn't totally be alarmed by a nagging cough. She was alarmed by it. She was affected physically by it. It seemed to wear her out to cough that hard. I very harshly thought in my mind "She should quit smoking. She is doing it to herself". Don't get me wrong, I made her soup. I cared for her. But never the less, I didn't take it as seriously as I should have. (regret)

January: After a month of totally pulling away from me and my girls, I found myself very annoyed with her. I knew she had this cold that would not let up. But she cant go to Wal-Mart with us? Really? She feels SO bad that she can't play with my girls? I found it hard to believe. She's tough. She obviously doesn't want us at her house. Did I do something to make her mad? Why isn't she calling me anymore? Whatever. I'm over it. (regret)

January 16:  We (my brothers and I) had been urging her to go to the Dr. Even bribing her: "I'll take you" "I'll pay for it" "I'll buy your medicine" etc. She refused to go. Until this day. And she took HERSELF. This annoyed me too. In this family, we never go to the Dr alone. "at least she went", I thought to myself (mentally forgiving her). Urgent Care treated her for the flu. Even after a negative swab. She had all the symptoms, so they treated her for the flu. "we have something going around that is JUST like the flu, but gets NEG swabs" they explained to her. Why didn't I question it? Why?

February - March:  The "flu" lingers. The medicine didn't touch it. I'm at the donut shop with Michael and my cell phone rings. It's my aunt expressing her concern for my mom. Mom had called her and spoke about how horrible she felt. I jumped in my car, took the girls to my sister in law and pulled up at her house, furious! Why did she call them? I talk to her everyday and I know she looks bad, but she SAYS she is okay. Why not tell me??? I stomped into her house where she laid on the couch after a 10 hr day at work. She was in her apron still. Her jacket was on and she was under the cover. "Get up, right now. Get your shoes on and get in my car, you're going to the Dr." I barked with a mean voice unlike I had ever used with her. She tried to argue and I spoke over her "You can get in the car, or I can PUT YOU IN THE CAR". She said no more. She wouldn't speak to me the whole way there. (regret) We met Dr. Sumrall, from the Immediate Care clinic in Laurel. My mom liked her. She appeared to really want to "fix" my mom too. She quickly diagnosed mom with "walking pneumonia" and put her on much stronger medicine. I remember how scary the term "walking pneumonia" sounded. I cried. People die from that, ya know?

At the end of the antibiotics, her breathing was horrible. We returned to Dr. Sumrall. who then treated mom for bronchitis.

Then, when it got worse, mom returned. They did an Xray of the chest, where the Dr. could see the "pneumonia" was still there. I remember asking mom, "did she comment on your lungs at all?" (I've always had an unnatural fear that mom's bad habits would land her with lung cancer). "I guess they look fine, except for the pneumonia" she replied. I felt SO much better. She put mom on, yet another, antibiotic. A SUPER strong 10 day antibiotic.

10 days later, Mom returned for her follow-up Xray. I was supposed to go with her so I was at her house waiting when she got off work. But the kids were going with us, and they had not had their nap yet. That is a big "no no". No nap = nightmare. Mom made me wait at her house and put the girls down for nap. She promised to call me as soon as she saw the Dr. I just knew that she was going into the hospital for her pneumonia. I just knew they would admit her and I was not going to be with her. She wasn't any better. "Surely they can admit her and get rid of it" I thought to myself, mentally preparing myself for the "worst".

She came whirling into the yard and I crept quietly outside, once again, annoyed with her because she had not called me. I didn't give her time to speak "What did they say?" I asked as I noticed the familiar sound of Michael's truck coming down the road. I looked back at mom and repeated (meanly) "WHAT DID THEY SAY MOM?" All the while, Michael is pulling into the driveway. "Why is he here?" I wondered. Mom finally spit out "they think its a mass. They are setting me up with a lung specialist and a CTscan is scheduled for this week". I immediately began dry heaving. My worst fear realized. I will never forget that moment. Come to find out, Mom feared I would react so severely, so she had called Michael to come console me. Mass? What is a mass? I read up on it. Don't ever "read up on it".

April: CT scan results are revealed. It is a mass. They cant say with certainty without a biopsy, but it appears to have "little arms" reaching out to surrounding tissue. This is a characteristic of cancer.

We met the Lung Specialist, Dr. Dobbs. She quickly set up a biopsy and MRI. "Why an MRI?" I wondered. So I read up on it. Don't ever "read up on it".

The day of the biopsy, she told us that it looked like "Small Cell". Never heard of it. So I read up on it. Don't ever "read up on it".

Biopsy and MRI results were revealed to us on April 22nd. There were so many family members there, they brought in extra chairs and put us in a special room. I hate that room. I found my place on the floor. "It is Small Cell Lung Cancer. It cannot be surgically removed. There are spots on both lungs, the liver and the brain". "Not the brain. Not the brain. Why?" I couldn't control my negative thoughts. The entire room burst into tears. She urged mom to go into the hospital and to begin chemo immediately. "I want Easter with my family" she declared. The Dr reluctantly agreed.

The next appointment, the Dr. gave us the life expectancy speech. I have mentioned this appt in a previous post.

Back to Today: So, here we are. Sitting here with an oncologist who is totally surprised to see that mom still has hair. I'm once again lost in thought. Lost in the "what if's" and regrets I cant change. Lost in my negativity. I come out of my head long enough to hear my mom, my aching, shedding, exhausted mom, tell her Dr. "I'm going to be your miracle".  The Dr. smiles. "I believe that" she responds. Miracle.......Maybe I need to read up on it.

Good Days, Bad Days

Today was the final day of the chemo cycle #2. Well, mom has to have "the devil shot" tomorrow. But we will just walk in, get it, and walk out. The Neulasta shot, if I understand correctly, encourages the bones to create more white blood cells. I don't really know alot of medical or drug facts. All I know is that mom named it "the devil shot" for a reason. After taking it her first (and only) time, she experienced excruciating aches in her bones throughout her body. Her legs and back seem to be targeted more than any other area. Last time, it lasted a few days. She found herself on the floor trying to arch her back (reminiscent of a cat) just to find a little relief. How can something so painful be good for you ? BAD DAYS.


Tomorrow would be pretty cut and dry, but we have yet another tragedy in our family. Through these posts, I have failed to really talk about an important man in my life, my grandfather. He is my mom's dad. The week before my mom was diagnosed, my grandfather fell victim to a stroke that left him mentally and physically unable to care for himself. 3 hospitals and many tests later, they have concluded that there is nothing more they can do for him except keep him comfortable. Tomorrow, after "the devil shot" we are going to see him.

A weekly outing for my mom and I (for several years now) was to drive to Taylorsville and spend some time with my Papaw. This tradition remained in tact and actually strengthened when my children came along. It was such a fun day. We picked mom up after nap time and headed out. We would stop to get us a drink because he usually only had flat sprite on hand (yuck!). When we arrived at his house, (weather permitting) he and mom would sit on the porch while the girls and I played in the yard. GOOD DAYS. It sounds so simple. But this is another example of a norm in our life that has ended. Oh, how he worships my girls. It is a wonderful thing to see a great grandparent bond with your children. The girls warmly refer to him as "Papaw The Great". He keeps his freezer stocked full of ice cream and popsicles and yummy snacks. He almost seems to count down the days until our next visit. Looking back, once a week seems not enough. Though he is still with us, I miss him so much. Our last conversation was about a month ago. He is a typical old guy. He talks about the weather and tells me the same story 2-3 times in one conversation. But there is something I have always found so comforting in talking to him. Though there is always that part of you with high hopes, I fear that I have had my last conversation with him.

There has been an eerie calmness about my mom recently. I mean, she still has crying days (just about everyday) but considering the bad news bombs that have been dropped on her all at once, she is handling it all so beautifully. She harbors guilt because she is unable to help her siblings as they have been making decisions and sharing the responsibilities regarding Papaw's care. She has still somehow, through the discomfort of her illness and medicine, found a way to see him several times a week. If she wasn't sick, I can assure you she would have taken up residence at those hospitals right beside him.

 The strength of this woman physically and emotionally never ceases to amaze me. Perhaps it is her willingness to accept the good days with the bad days. Perhaps, one cant exist without the other.

Beast or Burden

Chemo session #2 started Monday. I believe we were all scared because the last chemo week left her in the hospital. If I am unable to get a sitter, I cant go and sit with her through the entire treatment. Because children are so "germy", they are typically not allowed in facilities that treat cancer patients, due to their lowered immunity. Since my brothers work, I have made it my personal duty to deliver her and pick her up from every treatment or appointment she has. She prefers me to drop her off, then pick her up and not to sit with her through the whole thing. She says she doesn't want to "burden me".

 It's funny....Your whole life, you hear the word "chemo" and you never really know what it is. Mom was so scared her very first day of chemo, she cried the whole way there. Fear of the unknown is the worst. "will it hurt?", "will I be sick?", "will I lose my hair?" The poor Dr. was bombarded with questions that day.

This is basically how it goes: Mom goes in and they do bloodwork. If her levels are good, they hook her up to an IV (now they use her port instead of sticking her) and she first receives a bag of a steroid and nausea medicince, followed by bag(s) of chemo. About 4 hrs (give or take). Then we leave.

 There is a whole room dedicated to chemo. When you walk in, the perimeter of the room is lined with recliners. There are magazines, television, and snacks and drinks. Though this room would be cool if it were in your house and titled "media room", it is the total opposite in the clinic. When I walk in I am drawn to look at the faces of the patients being treated. All of them pale. All of them appearing hardened by living the hand they were dealt. I wonder if they ever think "why me?" I'm not a patient and I think it all the time. Monday, I walked down the aisle of patient bearing recliners, until I saw a familiar face. She looked up and gave me a weak smile. Those of you that are close to your mom, you know what her smile can do. It can say "it's alright". It can say "I'm sorry" or "I love you". It can send tons of hidden messages that only you can decode. But looking at this smile, all I could feel was my heart breaking. It is a nightmare to walk in this room and see your mother. I just kept thinking "how did we get here?" I sat there with her until the bag ran out and the nurse unhooked her. After a treatment, she is usually so exhausted that I have to take her straight home. So that's exactly what I did.

Once home, my mom spoke of something else that she didn't want to "burden" us with. She informed me that she was going in the near future to pre-pay for her funeral. "Lots of people have burial policies, this is no different" she assured me. I found it hard to respond. Initially, I barked out "MOM!!", completely ready to steer the conversation to the weather or Arnold Schwartzenegger or anything. But I knew she NEEDED to talk to me about this, so I allowed her to speak her mind regarding location of cemeteries, etc. I told her I supported her 100% in whatever decision she made. My mind is like a bully. It keeps letting me forget the situation, then it reminds me with a vengeance. My mind also allows me to think that this will be over soon. I catch myself thinking, "I cant wait until this is over". Then, reality sets in. This is life now.

  One of the definitions of "burden" is -"something that must be carried". Well I intend to carry my mom emotionally and even physically as long as she needs me to. The truth is, mom could never "burden" me. I guess sometimes the course that life takes requires us to switch roles. The "caregivers" become the "cared for". When I look back at my life and how she was always there for me, I would do nothing less for her.

An Amazing Journey

Today was an exciting day! It was my first visit to Journey Church in Laurel. Of course I was nervous. I worked diligently yesterday to find the right outfit for me and the girls. I remember from my sporadic church experiences as a child-that your outfit is a really big deal. I explained to the girls (mainly Neva) that we would be going to Church the next day. I'm ashamed to admit that at 2 1/2 and 1, this would be their first visit. Though I tried to explain it, I knew the concept was too abstract for their little minds. I worried about their reaction. I have flattered myself to think my children are very well behaved but over the last month I have seen some definite changes. I find Neva very defiant and acting out, almost in a plea for attention. Because Nori looks up to her big sister, she has been mimicking this negative behavior. I know a little about child development and I believe that this stretches beyond the typical "terrible two's". I believe this is a direct reflection of how difficult all of these changes have been on my babies. I've changed. I want to be the same. I even try to fake it for them. But they know. So, as I am thinking about our upcoming church experience, I cant help but worry about the girls.

I awake this morning and with a quick look at my clock, I had a "MY BISCUITS!!" moment.

"MY BISCUITS!!" BACK STORY-
Mom, having been an employee at David's  for years, was the breakfast cook. Though the store doesn't open until 5am, the cooking responsibilities required her to be there around 3:30am. Well, years ago, the first time she was late for work she awoke in a panic (as we all do when we are late) but the first (VERY LOUD) words that came out of her mouth were "MY BISCUITS!!"  For years to come, everytime she woke up late we would hear this line. My brothers and I found this to be hilarious. So, we too, began to use the phrase when we were late for school or work or anything.

So, anyway, I had a "MY BISCUITS!!" moment. I quickly got the girls and myself ready and we went to pick up my mom. I found her in the bathroom. In spite of our tardiness, she was still in her pajamas. Before I had the opportunity to comment on her "lolly gagging", I noticed the tears in her eyes. Then, I noticed the hair in the sink. I looked back at her and told her "Mama, you're beautiful". She continued to cry and told me that even though she was told she would lose her hair, she thought she would beat the odds and keep hers. I let her vent out her thoughts and cry out her hurt as I fought back my emotions and fixed her hair and applied her makeup. After she was dressed, I bragged about how beautiful she looked. And she really did. Although I could see that she was having a weak day. Her eyes were dark and her color was pail. I couldn't help but think, "maybe today is not a good day for church".

We arrived right on time. We nervously walked in the door and were immediately greeted by smiling faces. some were familiar, some were not. Br. Robby walked with me as I hesitantly left my girls in the nursery and toddler room. Then he showed us to our seats. I couldn't help but notice how laid back the atmosphere was. I didn't feel awkward like I thought I would. I also noticed that your outfit isn't important there. People were very casually dressed. "So, you don't have to wear expensive and uncomfortable clothes to go to church?" I thought to myself. This was a new concept to me. I liked it. The service was so moving. It was inspiring. The music was modern and exciting. As he preached, I felt as though Br. Robby was talking to me! He put his message in terms that I could understand. My mom was equally moved. I really didn't want it to end. We agreed that this place is absolutely amazing.

Afterwards, I rushed to get my girls. I found Neva working on a puzzle quietly, in the lap of a new friend. She looked so content and calm. "Hope you come back next week!" we heard, as we left the toddler room. Next came Nori in the nursery. I peeked in to find my little "mama's baby" as happy as she could be. She was being carried around and doted on by the beautiful young volunteer. "Hope to see ya'll next week!" we heard as we left the nursery. My eyes then went to my mom. She was in the lobby receiving hugs and love. I noticed her tears were gone. Her smile was back. Even her color looked better.

 The car ride home was much lighter. Instead of talk about hair loss and medicine, we rehashed the words we had heard that morning. There was a new level of calmness and optimism about us. Today, was definitely a good day for church. As will next Sunday.

George Said It Best

Over a decade ago my mom walked in David's Grocery desperate for a job. Knowing her as a customer, Mr. David (the owner) hired her on the spot. My mom quickly fell in love with the Walters' and the Christian atmosphere of the store. She proved herself to be a loyal and dependable employee. She really was one of those cashiers that LOVED her job and LOVED her customers. It was obvious to everyone she greeted. A few years later, knowing that I was looking, Ms. Sharon (Mr. David's wife) offered me a job. I had a blast working at David's. Most days me and mom worked well together, although there are a few days that went "not-so-well" too. Working with a relative is not an easy task, but I sure left with alot of good memories. There is just something about David's. It was and still is a feeling that mom and I share. We love everything it stands for. We found ourselves pitching the burgers and meat market even when we were off the clock. We truly wanted the store, Mr. David and Ms. Sharon to succeed and we worked hard to prove that everyday. Mom, of course, was there long before me, and long after me. Unable to work (for the moment), Mom still fantasizes about the day she will return to her second family at Davids.

Thursday started on a scary note. We woke up, once again, fearing the unknown of the hours to come. Mom had to have a "port" put in. For those of you that are like me-you have NO idea what I'm talking about. In lamens terms, a port goes just under the skin of the chest and prevents my mom from having to get an IV every time she needs meds. Instead, they can use the port. In addition to not getting "stuck" so much, her veins will be protected from burning out. Luckily, that procedure was the easiest so far and Mom did GREAT. We then headed home and waited for the "little" fund raiser that the employees of David's had organized.

Mom went ahead of me. So I took my time, dressing the girls and myself  in the oh so cute "Brenafit" shirts that had been provided for our whole family. Michael, the girls and I got to David's around 5:30 and were astounded by what we saw. Three parking lots full of cars with people steadily driving up. When we walked in, there was barely standing room. My eyes immediately fell on the volunteers sweating away in the kitchen. Most of them had already worked a full day and had committed a full night to my mom. I was overcome by my emotions immediately and began fighting my tears as I looked at the faces in the room. I felt so proud of my mom. What a woman. People told me their stories and I told them mine. I got so many hugs and prayers. I kept looking over at my mom. I was worried about her, and wanted to whisk her away home to rest, but I could tell by her smile for the first time in a month-she was home.

Afterwards, I laid in bed thinking about everyone I saw. Today, I saw sympathetic moms who had lost children. I saw beautiful daughters that have lost their dads. Today, I saw children who had experienced the loss of a grandparent. Today, I saw people come in straight from work and wait effortlessly for their time to donate. I saw people crying and I saw people laughing. Today, I saw my mom overwhelmed by joy and love. Today, I saw that I don't have to feel alone. Today, I saw hundreds of people joined by a common thread. Today, I saw the beauty and strength of a community. Today, I saw the love of a second family lift up a fallen member. My heart feels so light, yet full, because I feel with all of my being, "I saw God today".

The Lady and Lil' Bit

I know that I have previously mentioned "misplaced anger", but I don't think I realized just how prevalent it was until today.

I sat there in the waiting room of the dentist. I'm pretty sure this is going to be a visit that requires follow-ups. I have had a tooth that, lets just say, "needed some attention"- but i have been putting it off (i am my mother's child). Anyway, I found myself flipping through old magazines and looking at pictures of dream kitchens and thinking to myself- "if that was my kitchen, I'd totally cook all day everyday". Before I could mentally enroll myself in culinary school, a lady and small child came into the waiting room and interrupted my thoughts. I found myself drawn to watching the little girl.She was gorgeous. She appeared to be around two yrs old. She nonchalantly pranced around. She was dressed in the cutest ladybug outfit accompanied with a bright red bow. I noticed the lady was older, so I wasn't surprised when I heard Lil Bit refer to her as "mawmaw". The wait was short and the Lady and Lil Bit were called back very quickly. I could still hear her little voice in the examination room. "Look Mawmaw!" "Mawmaw what are you doing?" "Whats that Mawmaw?" For whatever reason, the selfishness in me took over. What I, a few seconds earlier, had found cute- now had me very angry and sad.

This anger is tricky. It lures you in with one little thing, then EVERYTHING else comes rushing to your head and you find yourself furious. I am mad at my mom. I don't want to be, but I am. I'm mad at the Dr's and researchers. I am mad at the tobacco companies. I'm mad at the "If it was me, I would quit smoking NO PROBLEM" people. I'm mad at the "Let me tell you what you need to do" family members. I'm mad at the "I know a guy that got cancer and never smoked a day in his life" enablers. I'm mad at my kids because they expect mommy to be the same way she was a month ago. I'm mad at my husband because he he still needs clean clothes and supper. And just now, as I find out that I need a root canal,  I am MAD at the Lady and lil bit.

Why? WHY????? Will that ever be MY mom and MY kids? Will she ever be able to take my kids to the dentist with HER? My pity party of negative thoughts was broke up by the realization of what I was ACTUALLY thinking. NO ONE takes a two year old to the dentist with them, unless it's out of necessity. Perhaps there is a whole story behind these two that I know nothing about. Maybe it's sad. Maybe not. What if the Lady, is ALL that Lil Bit has?

I found myself not mad anymore (for the moment). I was anxious to get to home to my mom (who actually felt good enough to babysit for me) and my girls. I had an uncontrollable urge to hug them. All 3 of them. And, I actually felt something I have not felt in about a month. I felt thankful. I have my mom TODAY. She feels good TODAY. My girls have the best grandmother ever, TODAY.

Thank you to the Lady and Lil Bit. I may never know your story, but you brightened my day.

Angels Do Exist

I'm not gonna sugar-coat the thoughts that have been running through my mind. While I do not doubt the existence of a higher power, I have found myself very lost the last few weeks.Why my mom? Why?

 See, my mom is a "good ole gal". A working class, check to check, stand on her feet for 10 hrs straight good ole gal. She made lots of friends and even more acquaintances working at our neighborhood grocery store/deli. I don't think I quite realized how she had touched people's lives until word got out about her illness. Word also got out that she was uninsured. Cards, money, goodies, gift certificates, food,  and visitors started flooding in. My mom had mixed emotions about taking money from people. My whole life she's never been a person looking for hand outs. We have fell on hard times too often to recollect-but she somehow always made sure we didn't do without. Never on welfare. Never on food stamps. She cried inconsolably when she got the first card stuffed with money. Then when she walked in her old job and saw a collection jug with her story she cried as well. It took some convincing, but I think my brothers and I have showed her that taking money that is offered to us in our time of need is not failure.

Which brings me to my initial thoughts. I've been praying. I really want to understand the statement: "everything happens for a reason". I do. I want to believe "there is a plan in motion". But it is just very hard right now. I will continue to pray. I am actually attending church this Sunday. I wasn't raised a member of a church. I was just raised to believe. I am looking forward to learning more about who I am praying to.

While I am in a state of religious confusion-there is one thing I DO NOT DOUBT. That is the fact that angels exist. You know who you are. you are the people that offer to throw benefits and fund raisers, though you really don't have time. Your the people that stop by to say "I'm thinking of you" even though you're late for work. You are the medicaid employee that tries to rush our case. You make the phone call as your cooking supper just to say "if you need ANYTHING....." You take the time to make a banana pudding and walk it over. You give us the opportunity to cry on your shoulder. You share your story to uplift us. Your the receptionist that breaks the rules by saying "you can just make payments-it's fine" with a sympathetic tone. You are the hospital that gives $8,000 shots even though we cant pay. But most importantly, you are the ones that have kept us in your prayers nonstop.

Thank you, you beautiful angels on earth.

The UNDESIRABLE Club

So, just like everyone, I have entered (and exited) many clubs or groups in my life. At 3yrs I entered the "Spoiled Pageant Kid Group", In 4th grade I joined the cheerleading squad, At 15 I joined the Student Council. On April 25th 2011, I became a member of the "Kids Whose Parents Have Cancer" group. Except I'm not a kid at all. I'm a 28 yr old mother of 2.

 Although the 22nd is the actual diagnosis day, the 25th is a day burned in my memory forever. My mom (struggling to breathe) sitting beside my aunt and my brother in the examination room-refusing to sit on the table reserved for patients and instead sitting in the "guest chair". I found my spot on the floor. Through all of these appointments I realized sitting on the floor gave me the opportunity to wrap my arms around my knees and sort of ball up. This position did and continues to offer some sort of protection from the information I am listening to. So, there we were. My mom, her big sister, her oldest son, and me-her only daughter. The Dr. walked in and introduced herself. Noticing that all of the seating was taken, she climbed up on the examination table. Her words, though sympathetic, were very blunt and straight forward. "Its small cell cancer. It is in the extensive stage. You are looking at months left untreated and a year WITH treatments." We sat there stunned. How does that happen you know? How do you go from worrying about "what am I going to cook for supper tonight?" or "when am I going to lose this freaking baby weight?" to "Will my mom be here to help me get my kids off to their first day of kindergarten?" "will my kids remember the most important woman in my life?" The rest of the words spoken were very muffled. I remember bits and pieces "no cure" "brain, lungs, liver", "chemo and radiation", "miracles happen".......You kind of have that moment where you feel sorry for the Dr. How horrible it must be to deliver this news for a living. I sat there watching my big brother with tears in his eyes. Looking at my mom. My strong, beautiful mom sobbing on her sister's shoulder. Then I watched my own tears hit the floor. I didn't even attempt to wipe them away.

So far, we are one chemo treatment down, 2 to go. Luckily, this super aggressive cancer responds very well to chemo. My moms quality of life was dramatically improved with only one treatment. Her breathing is 100 times better. Its nice to not have to listen to her gasp for air. The chemo schedule is M, T, W, TH -CHEMO. Then she gets 2 full weeks off and we repeat. She has already had one brief hospital stay due to a sodium level drop (who knew low sodium was a BAD thing???). She is still battling her smoking addiction. I find myself in a difficult position because I want so badly to scold her and ride her about her habit that has brought us to this unfortunate place-but I don't want to spend this precious time (ever how long it may be) being rude to my mom. I have so much anger. I find myself snapping at undeserving individuals. My kids and husband are not exempt from this.

 My misplaced anger is why I am here. I figure that if I can join, yet another group: "bloggers", perhaps it will be therapeutic for me. Perhaps I will figure out exactly who I am mad at or what I am mad about. I am so fearful that I will lose time dwelling on the past or fearing the future.

Anyway, feel free to comment. In fact- PLEASE do. I need help. I need advice. I need to find a middle ground between optimism and reality.