How It Ends

Have you seen Big Fish? It’s a movie that also has a stage adaptation. If you haven’t seen it, I cannot recommend it highly enough. You will see glimpses of my Dad in the storyline. My Dad was a wonderful father, husband, manager, and friend.

I miss him every day.

If I can, I’d love to use this blog to speak with him…

Hi Daddy! Four years?!? How has it been four years… It feels like just yesterday that me, Denise and Jessie were sitting at your bedside, reminiscing about life with you. We watched your breathing… there were so many times that you’d go a long time without a breath. Each time my own breath would leave me. I knew you had to leave but, oh how my heart was breaking.

I arrived in Milwaukee on May 8th. It was my birthday and I had come to help Denise, Jessie and Dave watch over you as you lived out the rest of your life from your home, just like you wanted. That plane ride was difficult… I couldn’t get there fast enough but the heaviness of what would greet me was heavy. But, wouldn’t you know it, your Grandchildren arrived to meet me and had big “Happy Birthday” signs. I was home. I was loved.

That is the world that you created. Home. Love. No questions asked.

God… how I miss you!

Mice on Main was a favorite activity whenever you visited Greenville. Remember how many times we would walk downtown to find each mouse? Remember the scandal when one of the mice was stolen? We stopped for coffee or ice cream every hunt. I know it wasn’t about the mice, it was about us spending time together.

The gift of time is something we learned together. Remember how excited we were the first time I received your blood when I was battling leukemia? You gave as often as you could. I will never be able to adequately explain how it felt to watch your blood go through the iv line into my port. You literally helped save my life. We laughed. We cried. We prayed. We talked. We were silent. You never missed a day to come stay with me in the hospital. You put your life on hold to help me live. I have your notes from those days, do you know that? Every day you wrote how I was doing and what they doctors would say. Thank you for documenting those days.

Luna misses you, too! Every time Denise comes to visit Luna looks for you. Do you remember the day that you and I went to the animal shelter to rescue Luna? She fell in love with you instantly, which is how I knew she would be a loyal and smart member of our pack.

Greek Fest in Greenville – we had so much fun every year! You always had to make sure you got your lamb sandwich, Greek French fries and delicious lemonade. It was a tradition. Greek Fest is this weekend, do you know that?

Once you couldn’t drive your car anymore, you, Denise and Guy bought a fresh set of wheels for you to drive around your house. Do you remember all of the times we spoke on the phone and you would tell me how many trips you made around “the loop” – you had so much fun! I loved hearing you enjoying your time. You missed Mama so much… I know time was hard for you.

You loved your home! It was your desire to pass on at home. The days of May 8th – May 15th are some of my most cherished memories. They were filled with love, laughter, fear, doubt, visits from family members and hospice nurses… Then you became an escape artist! Do you remember that? You could get out of bed and try to go “somewhere” so fast it was hard to catch you. We never missed catching you, though. Dave, Denise, Jessie and I took turns sleeping in your room. Oh the shenanigans the other three got up to when wasn’t our turn to be with you, we would watch you two on the monitor and hide George around your house. Love and sorrow. Pain and happiness. Light and dark. Beauty and tears. We were living somewhere in between…

That last day, May 15, 2021, you weren’t talking. Your breathing was sporadic and the “death rattle” was there, the marbling was there… Denise, Jess and I were at your bedside and Dave had prepared to go for a run. He went out the door and then came back into your room, put his hand on you and said, “I’m going for a run, Dad. Thank you for giving me the gift of running. You don’t need to wait until I’m back, Dad. If you need to go, it’s ok.” Dad… you then mouthed, “I love you, D…” and Dave went outside for a run. He didn’t make it to the stop sign before Jessie called to tell him you were gone. I don’t think you took another true breath once you told Dave you loved him. All four of us surrounded you, told you how much we love you, and to please tell Mama we love her too.

Thank you, Daddy! For the life you created for me… My heart is broken and I miss you so very much. Please don’t worry about me, though. My Rock loves me and protects me just like you said he always would. You were right! My Rock is my soulmate. I’m so thankful for the wonderful relationship that you two had!

Four years. A moment. A lifetime. The blink of an eye. It all goes so fast.

Grief is a small price to pay for the extraordinary privilege of love. ❤️

Revisiting the Fellowship of the Afflicted

It’s March, my diagnosis anniversary month. March 30, 2004 – almost 21 years! That seems surreal to me.. given 3 days to living 21 years. It has been such a long 21 years all while passing in a blink of the eye.

The uncertainty has never fully left me – the Uninvited Guest has remained. There has never been even a few months without blood tests, bone marrow biopsies, CT-scans, MRI’s, Nuclear medicine scans, PET scans, bone density tests, EKG’s, EEG’s, injections in my lower back and knees, biopsies from several places on my body, countless trips to the dentist to try and save my dying teeth (arsenic is no joke!), a few fun hospital stays due to cardiac events, specialist appointments, etc. So many diagnosis’s: Dementia (incorrect, but that was a scary time!), MS (incorrect), and a few more that have brought me to full-circle moments where I have been reunited with the Fellowship of the Afflicted. A couple of new buildings, new humans, same smells that transport me back 21 years…

In 2023… no, we need to back up a little bit more… In 2014, I started having trouble with my bones. The pain was intense. A new drug trial was started, but it was stopped in just 4 short months due to complications. In 2015, my Core Four moved from Denver to Greenville, South Carolina. The move was physically difficult and I needed to quickly establish a new medical team. From 2015 – today I’ve had so many physical adventures and, to be honest, have believed myself to be a burden to my loved ones. Not looking for sympathy here… just stating my emotions. My Core 4 has NEVER made me feel this way! These feelings came from… well, come from a small but persistent voice in my head.

No one ever told me how to go on living after being a medical miracle.

No one prepared me for living in a body that had gone to war, which it won, but was now barely, and literally, limping along in uncharted medical territory.

In 2023, I began having unbelievable bouts of fatigue which prompted an extra visit with my oncologist. He ordered a large panel of blood test. The results showed that my red cells were no longer cooperating. That news was a bit surprising and, honestly, equally comforting and terrifying. It’s always good to know what’s wrong and have a plan to attack it… but terrifying that new transfusions would be necessary. This is was my first revisit to The Fellowship of the Afflicted and, thanks to Covid, I couldn’t bring my Rock to that first visit to the infusion room… I was quite apprehensive… it was scary

it was magical. Don’t get me wrong, it was still scary, but definitely magical. Turns out, my current oncologist had a long phone conversation with my original oncologist. Once they were on the same page, my current oncologist went on the hunt for the “perfect nurse” for me. So, once I was checked in and settled into my room, a sweet and energetic nurse wheeled over the crash cart, plunked herself down on a chair and said, “Hey Aimee! I recently moved here from MD Anderson in Texas and worked in their blood cancer department. I am very familiar with the chemo therapies that you were taking and have spoken with [current oncologist] and he has filled me in on everything he learned from [original oncologist].” She started the IV, hung a beautiful bag full of iron rich blood product and then stayed with me for the entire transfusion. She did this every week.

In 2024, my red cells were still not cooperating (they still aren’t, and have since been joined by my white cells – like they’re having a blood party and forgot to invite me… rude.) So, my oncologist wanted me to see my PCP about finding a Rheumatologist. Well, I didn’t have one of those on my team yet so… Flash forward a few months and we have a diagnosis that explains everything from 2014 to today.

Which leads me to my most recent return to the Fellowship of the Afflicted. It’s a new building, new room, new nurses, new patients… No, not new… The people are new but they have so much in common with the Fellowship I experienced 21 years ago. The same stories. The same love of family, of faith, of purpose. The same desire to live. Here there is no talk of politics, of current events – the time and space that exists between us is filled with hope, pain, dreams, fear and purpose. Some days there is a hush in the room and we all agree to keep the silence. Some days we talk, we laugh, we make eye contact and have a camaraderie that comes with shared experiences. My Rock drives me to each visit and then hangs out in the waiting room while I receive my treatment. Familiar? Yes. Different? Also, yes. Necessary? Without a doubt.

The past 21 years have been filled with much physical pain… and yet, so much love. Much uncertainty, yet so much hope. Much sadness, yet so much joy. My Core Four is truly my reason for everything! I love them individually and as my family unit. They are the best parts of me!

My life is filled with humans I love and a job that that brings me joy. Most nights I’m in bed by 7 pm, working, writing, or watching movies. Might not seem like much from the outside looking in, but it’s a life filled with miracles and love. It’s extraordinary. ❤️

Just… No More

This time last year I had the privilege of helping with Into the Woods at Greenville Theatre. This day last year was World Cancer Day. Light with darkness sprinkled with hope. That’s the tag line of my life.

Sondheim wrote complex themes and lyrics. The genius is that you hear and feel them where you are in life. It resonated quite differently with me last year. The song, No More, has become an anthem. If you haven’t listened to the song I highly recommend it. It takes place in Into the Woods when everyone is reeling from current events… They are, ironically, in the woods and are surrounded by giants, witches, loss of loved ones… The grief was overwhelming and hope was invisible…

Here are my thoughts… then and now, through the words written by Sondheim.

Baker	Me
No more questions,	What’s wrong? How do you feel? What’s your pain level?
Please.	It’s hard to answer these honestly
No more tests.	Testing fatigue
Comes the day you say, “What for?”
Please- no more.	Please… no more.

Baker’s Father
They disappoint,
They disappear,
They die but they don’t…

Baker
What?	That makes no sense, like most of life these days…

Baker’s Father
They disappoint	I disappoint those I love
In turn, I fear.	and my life is a burden
Forgive, though, they won’t…	they shouldn’t forgive that burden

Baker
No more riddles.	stop
No more jests.	trying
No more curses you can’t undo,	to
Left by fathers you never knew.	find out
No more quests.	what’s wrong

No more feelings.	I’ve turned my feelings off
Time to shut the door.	It’s easier to be alone
Just- no more.	Just.. no more

Baker’s Father
Running away- let’s do it,	Validating the idea of escaping into myself
Free from the ties that bind.	or literally running away
No more despair	Escaping will bring peace
Or burdens to bear
Out there in the yonder.

Running away- go to it.	Go ahead… shut down
Where did you have in mind?
Have to take care:	But, where to go?
Unless there’s a “where,”
You’ll only be wandering blind.
Just more questions.	I can’t escape my pain or worries
Different kind.	There will always be questions.

Where are we to go?	Is there a place to go?
Where are we ever to go?	Is there a time I should go?

Running away- we’ll do it.	Pulling into myself sounds right
Why sit around, resugned?
Trouble is, son,
The farther you run,	The solution never comes from running
The more you feel undefined
For what you’ve left undone
And, more, what you’ve left behind.	Shutting down will cause heartache to my Core 4 groups.

We disappoint,	Guilt
We leave a mess,	Guilt
We die but we don’t…	No one is alone… not even me

Baker
We disappoint	Truth
In turn, I guess.	and
Forget, though, we won’t…	time to chose what to do now…

BOTH
Like father, like son.	Can I become a better version of myself?

Baker
No more giants	I’ve feared the unknown
Waging war.	…the uninvited guest
Can’t we just pursue our lives	Can’t I just be happy
With out children and our wives?	with my Rock and Children?!!
Till that happier day arrives,	…when I’m whole
How do you ignore	How do I ignore
All the witches,	all the appointments,
All the curses,	all the hurtful things people say,
All the wolves, all the lies,	all the guilt for being a “miracle”,
The false hopes, the goodbyes,	promising doctor apointments, all of my friends who have died,
The reverses,	the wishing,
All the wondering what even worse is	but fearing something far worse is coming.
Still in store?

All the children…	Oh, my children and husband
All the giants…	Oh, the battles that are still happening…

No more.	The final “no more” is the thought that the Baker, our main character, will take no more of the destruction and his choice to return to the world that he doesn’t approve of… a world that has cost him dearly, to reconnect to those true friends/family and meet the challenges together. THIS is the lesson of Into the Woods. THIS is what I aspire to, but don’t always achieve. I’m grateful for those who stay with me in the trenches, who chose to love through the days I’m silent, who will laugh with me, cry with me and just be normal with me.

World Cancer Day: honoring the fighters, supporting the survivors, remembering the lost.

Living is complex for each of us. We carry hopes and dreams, disappointments and sorrow. We love, we laugh, we cry, we scream, and that’s how it should be. Do I wish the world was a better place? Yes, I do. Do I wish that sickness and pain were a thing of the past? Yes, I do.

Do I chose to pull into myself at times and escape? Yes, I do. Do I choose to step back into life, with all of the hurt? Yes, I do. I do because the causes are worth fighting. I do because my Rock and my children are my everything. I do because I love my little life. There may not be a solution for every problem, but there is always hope.

Anniversaries and The Cloak of Invisibility

Anniversaries can be a wonderful thing. A day to celebrate a special event with those important in our lives.

The Cloak of Invisibility sounds like a wonderful thing. The ability to walk around, undetected.

This time of year is when I celebrate an important anniversary, my cancerversary, March 30, 2004. It’s been 19 years since I was given 3 days to make memories with my family and get my affairs in order. Every year, as this date approaches, it casts a spell over me. Some years it’s been overwhelming gratitude. Some years it’s been overwhelming excitement. Some years it’s been overwhelming grief.

This year…

This year I’ve spent more time in doctor’s offices than I have in a long time. More specialists, more diagnosis’, more tests, more medical opinions. It’s been exhausting.

This year the grief has been stronger. Grief missing my Dad. Grief missing friends who have passed away from cancer. Grief missing a healthy life.

I’ve kept much of this year in silence. My Core Four knows all. My close friends know some. I’ve tried to walk in my normal life, acting as normally as I can… If I ever made plans I ended up canceling them, so I stopped making them. I had slipped on my very own Cloak of Invisibility and prayed to be able to walk around undetected.

HOWEVER

My Core Four always made sure I was taken care of. They saw me. They heard me. My close friends saw me. So, even under that Cloak I was able to feel love, laughter, hope and faith because people chose to see me, and I cannot thank them enough.

This year…

This year I have experienced highs and lows. I have felt invisible, but never truly was. So, when My Core Four celebrates my cancerversary on March 30, 2023, and we give thanks for these 19 bonus years that I have been given, I will choose hope. I will promise to see people in my life and remind them, when they put on their own Cloak, that they are loved… seen.

Happy 19 bonus years. Bring on year 20!

Different Kind of Christmas

As I write this, I’m sitting in my office at work, nothing but the Christmas lights and the glow from my favorite candle (Vanilla Pumpkin Marshmallow from WilsonHaus Candles) lighting the room. It’s quiet… peaceful…

It’s been a difficult year. Physically… medically… peoplly.

Being in a clinical trial that never ends has been exceptionally challenging this past year. I would not go back and change any decision that I’ve made, but, it’s hard to live in a body that just won’t cooperate. Looking back through the years it’s been easy to understand why my personal views changed from seeing everything either “this” or “that.” My life is filled with so many “ands” – and, it’s a painfully beautiful thing.

Back at home, in my closet, on the top shelf, is a clear storage container that has all of my mementos from my cancer journey. There are newspaper clippings featuring me and Victoria at a Relay for Life Rally. There is the paper tiara from my birthday in the hospital. There are gifts my children made me while I was so sick – you should see Matthew’s paper mache maraca – it’s wonderful. Paper copies of the online blog that My Rock started to keep everyone updated. There are all of my blood test results, bone marrow biopsy reports, year in review calendar’s from the cancer center, etc.

Then there’s the VHS tape, “Embracing Life with Arsenic.”

And the Daily Bread booklets that my Dad wrote in every day while I was fighting for my life.

There have been 7 constants in my life since the day of my diagnosis: Dennis (My Rock), Victoria, Matthew, Mom, Dad, Denise and David (My Priest). They loved me through every moment of those horrible days, then and now.

My Rock would update the blog while sitting by my bedside, ready to do whatever was needed. He still does that, every day. My heart is frequently overwhelmed by his selfless love and devotion. He freely supported me while I was helping to care for Mom then Dad in their final days. He listens. He loves. He’s a good man. I wish the world saw this…

Victoria sacrifices on a daily basis to help take care of me. She is strong, loving, fiercely loyal and thoughtful. If you are in her life, you could not have a better friend. I wish the world saw this…

Matthew understands me on a level few people do. He’s strong, loving, selfless, and one of the most genuine and talented people I know. I wish the world saw this…

Denise, my oldest sister, has never ever failed to show up in my life. She is loving, loyal, thoughtful, and cares more about the people in her life than anyone I know. She selflessly took care of Mom and Dad. Having lived Dad’s last 2 weeks on earth with her, I am in awe of her. Truly! I wish the world saw this…

My Priest, my only brother, has never ever failed to show up in my life. He is loving, loyal, thoughtful, loves life to the fullest and treasures family. Having lived Dad’s last 2 weeks on earth with him, I am forever thankful for his leadership and strong arms that just held me as I sobbed after Dad left us. I wish the world saw this…

Mama, we had a difficult relationship during my early life, but connected as adults. She never questioned to come if I needed help. She came after the birth of Victoria. She came when my children needed them. She took over the running of my household while I was so sick. She accidentally burned a perfect iron impression into the carpet of my house in Michigan… I miss that iron spot.

Daddy, we had a special bond. I do not ever remember a time that my Dad wasn’t there for me. Ever. When I was little he brought me Rocky Road ice cream any time I was sick. He took me on father/daughter dates on a regular basis. He literally helped save my life while donating his blood to me, on numerous occasions, during my treatments. I miss him so very much… so much… My heart is broken.

This past year I have felt quite lost, at times. My body is wearing out and most doctor appointments have resulted in news that isn’t great.

AND

My life is blessed beyond measure. I have a job I enjoy with people that I love. My Tribe is constantly checking in and showing true love and care. My medical team is excellent and always thinking outside of the box. My four doggos fill our home with laughter, snuggles and unwavering love. My parents are no longer here on earth, but they are with me every day. People, good, real and genuine people, are in my life and just make it better… Real is easy to decipher it, once you see it.

Beauty and tears. That’s my life. I’m forever grateful.

Have a lovely Holiday Season!

Aimée

The Rule of 3

The Rule of Three. There are several “rules” out there, and in this case I’m referring to events happening in groups of three. My Dad believed this, and I’ve followed right along in this belief. Patterns emerge in the most interesting places.

I also believe in the Core Four. You’ve heard me refer to My Core Four in several blog posts, and one astute human (yes, you, Caleb) asked why I used the number 4, since My Core Four referred to My Rock (Dennis), Victoria and Matthew. In case you’re counting, that makes 3. That was a great question, and I have a three-part answer.

One: It’s my nod to one of my favorite tv shows, “The Middle” and their use of “The Core Four” during a famous New Year’s Eve toast by the refrigerator. Trust me, it’s hilarious!

Two: There’s another member of My Core Four, me. Throughout my diagnosis and treatments, I came to realize how important it was to listen to my inner voice. It was quite a bizarre thing to be trapped in a body that was literally killing me. Being trapped and feeling the things I was feeling, well, the only way my doctor’s could help was by telling them. (This may seem like a no-brainer to you, but it was very difficult for me to do.)

Three: Everyone in a group is important. Everyone.

Greenville Theatre is a magical place, full of the best humans. It also happens to be my place of employment. To say that Covid-19 caused some difficult months, is quite the understatement. Our doors were closed for over a year and a half. During that time, I had the privilege of working alongside three of my favorite humans, Cory, Graham and Thomas. I fondly call them “the boys.” It was just the four of us working in the large theatre every day. Anything that came up, we dealt with together. Never was this more apparent than when Dad was diagnosed with cancer. Was it work related? No. Was it friend related? Yes. The boys frequently checked in on me, supported me, and made me feel less alone. The day before I left to help care for Dad throughout his hospice journey, they brought me beautiful flowers and the sweetest card. I cried. A lot. They allowed me the space to feel what I was feeling. That is a rare gift.

When I headed to Wisconsin, I took that card with me and read it every day. The card represented their friendship, and it continued to help me feel less alone during some pretty awful times. Their friendship meant the world to me. It still does. The boys make me laugh on a regular basis, and they still check in with me to see how I’m doing. My second Core Four was in the making long before I knew just how much they would mean to me. Some friendships sneak up on you like that, and I am proud to call Cory, Graham and Thomas my friends.

During Dad’s illness there were so many family members who came to visit. Each visit was a joyous event, and each happened at the perfect time. Dad loved nothing more than to be surrounded by family. Once the visits were over, and in the final days of his life, it was just David (my Priest), Denise (you’ll meet her soon), Jessie (ditto) and me. Dad declined so quickly it was shocking. We never had time to breathe and establish a routine because things changed almost hourly. Days and nights blurred together. Our hearts were breaking but there was no time to acknowledge that… we had work to do, care to give, meetings with the hospice team to have, and micro-naps to take. Frankly, this was the most difficult thing I have ever done, and it would have been impossible without this group of people.

We lived this journey together. Every heart-wrenching, laughter-educing, memory-making moment, together. Dad never lost his ability to communicate, even though it was more subtle. He was most at peace when we were all in the room together, laughing, reminiscing, and badgering each other. We stayed with Dad until the hospice nurse arrived to confirm that he had passed, and that was an hour after his last breath. We stayed with Dad until he left with the funeral director. It was at this point that we split up for awhile… Dave went running (a pastime that Dad had started with him years ago), Denise and Jessie took care of some family who were visiting, and I left the house to get sick.

We came back together and soldiered on… we had work to do, care to give (picking out clothes for Dad, writing the eulogy, and continuing to carry out his wishes), meetings with the funeral director to have, and micro-naps to take. It never ended, until it did, and our hearts continued to break.

We are now a bonded group. We lived so much together in those few weeks. My third Core Four was a lifetime in the making. They are not only family, I am proud to call Dave, Denise and Jessie my friends.

There it is again… The Rule of Three. I have three Core Fours. It’s almost like Dad reached out and provided exactly what I needed when I needed it most. Thank you, Daddy! Grief is a small price to pay for the extraordinary privilege of love. ❤

Life Without Father

The words just haven’t been coming to me to try and explain what it was like to take care of and sit by the bedside of my Dad… Things changed so quickly that it was impossible to adapt before the next change. Honestly, my heart still feels like there is something that can be done to help the situation… It was like living in a fight or flight response for 9 days straight…

Then came the memorial services and graveside military service.

Then came working in the house and starting to organize everything.

Then came the trip back to South Carolina and trying to return to “normal.” (I truly dislike that word!)

Then came me wondering how Daddy was doing so I picked up the phone, only to remember…

Life without Dad is an ache unlike anything I’ve every experienced before. I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl, the baby of the family, and quite proud of those facts. Growing up I had “Daddy dates” on a regular basis, and after I got married and moved away, Mom and Dad stayed very active in my life. We visited them, they visited us, we talked on the phone, and I wrote letters and cards. After Mom died, Dad would come and stay with My Core Four for months at a time. I’ve never had a period of time that didn’t involve my Dad.

Today is Father’s Day.

I’m heartbroken.

I’ve cried more in the past month than I ever have before.

I had the best Father in the world!

And yet…

My head is unable to give language to all that I feel, so I will just say this: there is no “without.” I do not live a Life Without Father. He lives on in the lessons he taught me and the love that he showed me… He lives on in the best parts of me. He lives on in the lives of my Rock and Victoria and Matthew, because he loved them so very much.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy! I love you and am so very thankful for you!

Life with Father

I had a pretty idyllic childhood. My earliest memories are of living on a corn farm in Illinois where my days were filled with climbing trees, exploring along the creek, picking wild blackberries, helping plant and then harvest our large garden, walking through the old cemetery next to our house, and hanging out in my favorite spot, on top of the old pig pen. So many good memories. Are all of my memories wonderful? Certainly not. There was the time several wasps decided to attack my back, literally. There was the time I taped our cat’s mouth shut, though I’m not sure who that gives more of a bad flashback for, me or my Priest. (He suffered the wrath of the very unhappy cat as he removed the tape.) But, the majority of my memories are wonderful.

When I was in 3rd grade my family moved “into town.” Town wasn’t a booming city, but it certainly was different than the large farm. It was there that I learned to mow the lawn and plant strawberries in our smaller garden. I was still able to climb trees, well the one oak tree that we had in our yard. Dad always knew he could find me there if I wasn’t hanging out in the basement by his desk. Mom and Dad loved gardening, and it became a favorite pastime, though I still remember the time we were eating some fresh broccoli only to find little worms in there. Now THAT was a fun family dinner.

Dad would frequently bring me home something from the office, my favorite being Chuckles, a sugared liquorish candy. The times I was able to visit Dad at his office were the best because he would let me hang out in the break room where I would use the sugar cubes to build forts and tall buildings. Those building blocks were delicious.

When I was in 10th grade my dad was transferred to Wisconsin and we moved there the summer before my junior year of high school. That was a tough transition for me, but family sticks together. It was there that I learned to thoroughly enjoy mowing our big yard, it was my favorite chore as it gave me lots of time to think or escape into my own imagination. It was here that Dad taught me how to fix up old furniture and paint my own room. We went to the Pabst Theatre every Christmas to watch, “A Christmas Carol.” This is where my love of theatre began.

After high school graduation I left for college where my Dad helped move me into the dorm, gave me a big hug and, with tears streaming down my face, told me he was proud of me. Dad wrote me every single week. Phone calls were few and far between because, as this was the 1700’s, there were no cell phones or reasonably-priced phone service. I went home every Christmas and summer, and one summer brought home a young man for Mom and Dad to meet, my Rock. Mom and Dad LOVED Dennis, and there are so many stories I could share here, but I’ll leave those for the comical chapter in the book I’ll write “some day.”

I married my Rock and we rode off into the sunset to start our happily ever after.

But life doesn’t always work out like we think…

My diagnosis came out of left field and I was given 3 days to make memories with my husband and children before entering a new clinical study. Mom and Dad were sitting with Dennis and me in that dreaded purple room when we were given the news. They immediately put their life on hold and moved to Michigan to help take care of my Core Four. Mom helped out at home and Dad came to my hospital room every single day, all day. My parents watched me sign the DNR orders and begin treatment. Those were some dark times, but they were also times that created wonderful memories. It’s the time I first began to observe paradoxical living, the duality of emotions…

I survived, and life – well it didn’t go back to normal, but it took on new meaning. Mom and Dad returned to Wisconsin. They visited often, as we did in turn. They were thrilled when we moved to Colorado. Dad loves the West! When our life took another turn and we transferred to South Carolina, Dad would often joke that he didn’t know why we moved, and I was quick to blame my Rock. Truthfully, I don’t want to be anywhere my Rock isn’t, because that’s home. We do miss Colorado and Dad and I would talk about going back together some day.

Dad loves South Carolina. He enjoys the warmer spring weather and overall lack of snow in the winter. He visited often and never missed a show at Greenville Theatre. Dad would drive downtown and spend all day walking from coffee shop to coffee shop. (He would start at one, order a cup of black coffee and then fall asleep in one of their comfy chairs, wake up and then head to the next coffee shop and repeat the process.) Dad has his own room at my home and loved having a place to belong. My dogs also adore Dad and always compete for his head scratches, belly rubs and scraps of food from his plate.

Dad and Denise came for a visit this past March, once he was vaccinated and it was safer for him to visit. Denise drove with him from Wisconsin and we had 10 wonderful days together. It had been over a year and a half since we had seen each other. It had been far too long.

A few weeks ago Dad started having some aches in his shoulder. My sister, as always, stayed on top of everything Dad related and made sure that he had the doctor check it out. The pain began to grow and Dad’s appetite began to decrease. This past Friday he was incredibly sleepy and had no energy. Saturday was no better so Denise took him to the Emergency Department where they ran some tests. His x-rays showed several tumors in his lungs. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for Denise to receive that news all alone in that hospital room, and then have to tell the rest of us.

There are moments in life when there simply are no words and the emotions are too foreign.

This cancer is fast growing and Denise has witnessed a steady decline every day. After a few tests, and with confirmation from Dad and his doctor, he returned home. Denise brought him home just a few hours ago where she will continue to watch over him, and where Dave (my Priest) prepared Dad’s home for this new chapter in hospice. While my heart is broken and I cannot stop weeping, I know it is a privilege to head to Wisconsin and be with Dad and my family… to sit beside him and tell him stories about the pig pen, the sugar cubes and reflections of growing up in the Sanders Family.

It’s time to watch over Dad now.

Deconstructed Lemonade, Litter, and Loyalty, Part 2

Did you really think I would leave you hanging? I promise that we will talk about litter and loyalty, and then put them both together with deconstructed lemonade. Today is all about litter.

Litter bothers me. One of the things that puzzles me about where I live is the abundance of litter that is alongside every road. It’s everywhere. It’s one of the first things I noticed when moving here from Colorado and, quite frankly, it bothered me quite a bit. Every single day I see the litter – the round trip to work, to the doctor’s office, testing appointments at the hospital… Some days I feel sadness and other days I feel anger.

What is litter? Oxford defines littering, “[to] make (a place) untidy with rubbish or a large number of objects left lying about.” I see so many pieces of rubbish along the road and have never understood why anyone would think it’s ok to simply roll down the window of their car and throw something out, not even slowing down to see the destruction they are causing. Small objects, large objects, harmful objects, etc. that will land, stick, and start to decay and change the very soil. One of the oddest things is that the biggest piles of litter seem to be near the “fines for littering” signs.

So why do people litter?

Tomorrow is my cancerversary, the date that I first heard the words, “You have cancer.” March 30th, and the days before and after, bring such a whirlwind of emotions for me. This year it is a tad overwhelming. So many emotions… Having lived this past year, as we all have, in a pandemic, has intensified so many feeling and memories that I have suppressed for a long time. As I reflect back on how my oncologist told me about my cancer, I realized that words are like objects that can be thrown from a car window… they can be helpful or harmful, and they are rarely neutral.

So often words are just thrown out of a moving life without any thought of how/where they land and the effect they have. My oncologist and most of my nurses were able to speak the truth, in love, with the motivation being one of help and assistance. Those words were not rubbish, but a gift. Unfortunately, there were exceptions to that, and those words hurt and haunted me. It’s amazing that repeatedly hearing, “you can beat this” or “we’ve got your back” can be overshadowed by 1 or 2: “your quality of life will be poor so why bother” or “I hope your affairs are in order because you don’t want to burden your family WHEN you die.” Harmful, hurtful and toxic words carry a bigger weight… I’m not sure why that is…

We can never fully know what is going on in the lives of those around us. So, how do we know what to say? That’s the tricky part, finding the right words. I certainly haven’t mastered this yet. The truth is that we all continue to grow and evolve, to learn how to do better the next time. I am not that same 36 year old who was given 3 days to make memories with my family. Lots of life has been lived since then. Sometimes I got it right and sometimes I got it wrong. That’s the beauty of life, that we get to grow, change and become better humans.

My hope is that I become more sensitive to knowing when and how to say something to those in my life. I do not want to give a quick drive by of my own thoughts without stopping to think about how the words will land. My hope is that my love for those around me will always play a part in my word choices… that when my word choice or desire to be heard causes harm that I will ask for forgiveness and strive to do better. The rubbish we throw at each other causes so much more harm than we realize.

My Core Four, I love you and am thankful for you! This has not been an easy journey and I am beyond grateful for each of you and know that the price you’ve had to pay for being My Core will never be fully understood. I cannot imagine this life without you and am blessed beyond measure by having you in my life.

My Friends and Family, I love you and am thankful for each kind word and action! The meals, housecleaning, words of encouragement, gifts of time… they have not been forgotten.

No more word litter. No more rubbish. Let’s all work together to leave each other better after every encounter. Truth + love = flourishment 💖

Deconstructed Lemonade, Litter, and Loyalty

Lemonade is a delightful beverage. Cool, crisp, refreshing, and a classic drink that has become a staple in households across the world. The complexity is in its simplicity. All you need are lemons, sugar and water. Yet, lemonade also pairs perfectly with other flavors: strawberry, blackberry (my personal favorite is blackberry and sage lemonade), peach, etc. The possibilities are endless.

So, when life gives you lemons… you freeze them so they hit harder when you throw them at people. Wait. That’s not right. Let’s try that again…

So, when life gives you lemons you never know what you’re going to get. Wait. That’s a box of chocolates, not lemons. One more time…

So, when life give you lemons… Ok. I’m not a big fan of the traditional lemonade analogy, though I certainly concede that it has its merits. I guess my “issues” with this saying is simply because I’ve heard it quoted AT me so many times. My favorite time was when a well-meaning, clever friend said (I’m paraphrasing here), “Wow, you have so many lemons handed to you in life, you sure must love lemonade!” Well, it’s true that I love lemonade, and I can understand how someone would look at my life and see a big box of lemons, but that’s not how I see it. Not at all.

I’m deconstructed lemonade.

Lemons: cancer diagnosis, chemo, cardiac arrest (x5), bone fractures, teeth loss, migraines, disappointments, loss of loved ones, career changes, heartaches, medical tests, hopes turned to disappointments, constant “new normal” living, pandemic, being misunderstood by others, shouldering more responsibility that I feel I can take (personally and professionally), physical inability to keep up with the lifestyle I’d prefer, etc… The list goes on and on. But, we all have a list of lemons. Every single one of us. I imagine that if you sent me a list of your lemons that I’d think, ‘Wow, what a big box of lemons!’

Sugar: My Core Four, loyal and loving family and friends, fabulous medical personnel, cancer research arriving just in time, a lovely home, fur babies, students, watching my children grow up, good books, movies, camaraderie with other cancer survivors, the Rocky Mountains, chocolate, sweat tea, theatre, great co-workers, fulfilling job… The list goes on and on. Some days I may have to look a little bit harder to find the sugar, but it’s always there.

Water: This one gets tricky, so I’m going to make one caveat here, and that’s that the water is good. Good water adds clarity and dilutes the sour lemons just enough so that the sugar can work its magic. Bad water clouds and alters the flavor to the point where the magic just can’t happen. So…

Good Water: Time and space

My life is magical. I shouldn’t be here, yet I am. My clinical trial group had 30, yet I’m the sole survivor. The lemon is the guilt that I carry for surviving when the others did not, the sweet is that I’m alive, and the water of time has allowed me to be joyfully thankful with a hint of sadness. It’s not lemon water or sugar water, it’s lemonade. It’s a combination of things, experiences, reactions and emotions that have made my life what it is today. So many flavors and nuances that I couldn’t begin to describe them to you, though I do try. Life as a whole is good, and it’s hard, and it’s complex. I try to remember this every time I meet someone new, to remember that their life is made up of so many different things and experiences that it would do them an injustice to pass judgement and put them in a box… a big box of lemons is not where any of us belong.