The past two days have been spent working on forms, applications, and communicating with colleagues and family. (The mountain of paperwork is mind-numbing . Who would have guessed that the pre🧟♀️apocalypse would require so much paperwork.) As an introvert it’s been exhausting. It’s also been rewarding. I’m surrounded by extraordinary humans and that makes all the difference.
I’ve also been thinking about a specific type of my fellow humans… One of the joys of being a cancer survivor, who has participated in 2 drug trials, is that I know a fair amount of people in the medical profession. When I say a fair few I mean like a ton, a lot, more than anyone could guess, too many to count… you get the idea. These doctors, nurses, technicians, assistants, receptionists, allergists, researchers, dietitians, custodians, counselors, pharmacists, clergy, EMS, bookkeepers, medical students, surgeons, specialists… they are on the front lines every single day. We are all just a bit more aware of that now.
As an “at risk” human I’d like to shout a big THANK YOU from Quattletine. Thank you for working tirelessly on behalf of us all! You are thought of and prayed for many times a day. ❤️
It’s been a day. A crazy day. Let’s just say that when I watch a movie later tonight it will most definitely be something about the zombie apocalypse. That way I’ll feel solidarity with the characters on the screen. 🧟♀️
However, right now we are sitting outside on the deck, like Ma and Pa Walton, watching Victoria and the dogs play fetch and keep away. 😂
Yup. I’ve caved. Quarantine blogs have commenced. Don’t get me wrong, I love reading everyone’s quarantine blogs. They bring a smile to my face after a crazy day (check out my friend, Beth Munson, her blogs are fantastic!).
So, here’s blog #1. Today was crazy busy but we did have time to sit outside and play with the doggos. We had a lovely dinner of wings from our new favorite restaurant, It Don’t Matter. (Support your local businesses, y’all.) The wings are out of this world! Tonight I ate their Spicy Bourbon Wings and had their fresh lemonade. Yummo!
Now we’re just sitting outside watching the dogs play. It’s a beautiful evening. The type of day that makes my Coloradan heart feel just a bit lighter. It almost feels like we’re in Colorado. The sky is clear, the sun is bright, it’s not too hot, the birds are singing and there’s a blissful calm. It’s practically perfect.
I hope you and your loved ones are well. The calm gives me a heightened sense of others – like we’re all connected a bit more. Not by social media but by a common purpose. When we look after each other we are our best selves. ❤️
ShadowAxel and LunaOdin
Oh, and Amy… I got your card today. It’s perfect. 😊
Today is my anniversary. A day I look forward to but I also dread. Today is the anniversary of when I knew there was “An Uninvited Guest” in my life.
It’s been 16 years since my world – my very life – was turned upside down. Some days it feels like it was 100 years ago. Some days it feels like it happened yesterday.
Honestly, I have felt a bit melancholy this past month. So many memories, and some new issues, create a paradox for me. Without going into too much detail it was several weeks ago when my doctor said that a CT Scan revealed a soft tissue mass that needed further study. I have had trouble with my legs since chemo, but they hit an all time high about 8 months ago. In those 8 months I’ve had doctor appointments, specialist appointments, X-ray, ultrasound, more doctor appointments, CT Scan, etc… How do I say this? I’m not complaining or overwhelmed because this has been my life for 16 years. There’s always a test, a new symptom, new doctors that want to start from scratch with their tests.
The issue with my leg is nothing to worry about. My knee is a mess and will require surgery. Yes, the damage is due to chemo. So, we start on steroids again to help hold off fixing the knee when it is safe to do so. I’m classified as “at risk” so my time spent in a hospital has to be minimized.
This scenario has played out dozens and dozens of times these past 16 years. My hearing, vision, teeth, bones… It’s normal. It’s my new normal. There are some perks. I’ve developed a wicked sense of humor. Ask my Core Four, my Priest and the rest of my siblings, my Amy friends, Brian V, and pretty much anyone who really knows me. I’m great with dark humor. The fact that we are all living in the “pre zombie apocalypse” era has me cracking many a good joke these days, but now isn’t the time to post those.
I’m physically tired and just plain weary of feeling tired, being in pain (most nights I would like to chew my leg clean off!), constantly going to a doctor, waiting for test results or a referral to a new doctor, waiting for new meds to be figured out… So, while I’m thankful to be here it’s hard to be here this way.
BUT life is so much better than it was 16 years ago. I’ve been irrevocably changed for the better. I believe laughter is excellent medicine, that family is one of God’s greatest gifts, that true friends are a treasure, that the simple things in life are unbelievably valuable, that memories are made every day, and that there really is no highway called “MyWay”, and that’s a good thing.
So, now that I’ve bored you with a trip down the Life After Chemo Memory Lane AQ, what does today mean to me? It means life is good and every moment is worth living. Bam. That’s it. I like life – I like my life and I’m thankful for every single person (and animal) in it. I’m thankful for every drop of chemo, arsenic and drug trial thrown at me. It’s made me who I am. And we all know that I’m…
March is always an emotionally tricky month for me. It’s the month, 15 years ago, when I started feeling the physical effects of cancer. I didn’t know I was ill, but the effects of cancer were showing up at an alarming pace.
During my time in isolation in the hospital I received dozens and dozens of blood and platelet transfusions. These were the only thing keeping me alive. Honestly, they were also difficult to endure as not 1 transfusion went without issues. My blood type is O- with Rh+. Not an easy blood type to find.
These life-saving transfusions were available to me because strangers took the time to donate their blood. People I had never met helped save my life. That fact is never lost on me. I wouldn’t be here except for the gift of blood from strangers.
I wish the donors knew how much their sacrifice meant… that it not only saved my life but directly impacted the lives of my husband, children, parents, siblings, and many more. I wish they knew that their donation helped me live and fight. Most likely they know the importance of blood donations but went on with their lives without giving much thought as to how their gift of time and blood would change my life – turned my 3 day prognosis into something unimaginable.
15 years
I’ve been blessed with 15 years (and counting) because perfect strangers gave of their time to help a stranger. I am thankful. ❤️
I can’t do much to help in this bizarre world I find myself in, but I can self quarantine. It doesn’t seem like much, but I know first-hand just how powerful it is to help shield those who need to be shielded, even people I’ve never met. I learned this lesson from my blood donors.
It’s been awhile. Far longer than I intended. Life has been… full. Full of stuff. Things. Events. Feel free to insert any other words that we use in today’s vernacular to describe events that hold great personal weight, but also implies that they don’t. Confused?
Welcome to 2019.
Wait! What?
Let me try that again: Welcome to my 2019.
Yes, I do know that it is February 2020. This blog was started in December 2019 when I was reflecting back on the year and looking forward to all of the promise of a new year. That’s what we do in December & January, right? How does one reflect back on a year that was full of wonderful, horrible and blissfully mundane events? I know, I know, the easy answer is that everyone has the same type of year: we all have wonderful, horrible and mundane times. I am not the sole owner of those events. That’s very true. That’s kind of the point.
2019 brought changes: new job, new friends, new doctor’s added to my team, new fatigue, increasing physical challenges, new schedule, etc. One thing 2019 did not include was a new doggo for our home. (Yes, we are stopping at 4 for the time being.)
2019 brought many wonderful times spent with my Core 4, family, friends, co-workers.
One thing 2019 taught me quite clearly is that this world is full of strong opinions, agendas, feelings, platforms, ideas, dreams, assumptions, accusations and ultimatums. The question I keep coming back to is this: with many voices getting louder and louder, who is truly listening?
Let me share an experience that I had in September. It was a Friday and I stopped by a store to run a quick errand on my way home from work. I parked my car and saw a man who seemed in need of help in the parking lot. I got out of my car and hurried towards him and offered a hand. He declined but I kept him company as he made his way to his destination. This took about 3-4 minutes. Right before we reached his destination a lady came up to us and told us that, “you are what’s wrong with this country and it makes me sick to watch you both. Get your *** lives together and stop being a burden to society.” Many more loud words were spoken, but I do not wish to relive that experience. Let me try to explain what I imagine was her viewpoint: a woman who parked in a handicap parking space runs over to a large man who was obviously not walking well due to the condition he had gotten himself into, and then, to top it off, they were walking to CiCi’s Pizza, which will only increase the problem. (Well, this is the “kinder” version of what I suspect she saw.)
Here’s what I experienced: I parked in a handicap parking space (I have a handicap permit) praying for the strength to walk into the store and finish the errand before I wouldn’t be able to move the rest of the day. I looked up and saw a man having great difficulty walking across the parking lot. His walking was painful to witness as he could take a tiny step with his left leg and then drag his right leg. He was quite large, as am I. It was lunchtime so the parking lot was quite busy. A few cars swerved around him. So, I got out of my car and hurried over to him to see if he needed help. He declined because this was his daily exercise and he really wanted to do it on his own. Here’s what I learned while keeping him company as he made his way to CiCi’s: he lives by himself on a very fixed income, he has several health issues but knows the importance of keeping the body moving. So, on this day, he decided to get a ride to CiCi’s and get left off in the parking lot several feet away from the door. He explained that this would motivate him to keep moving. He had $7.00 and wanted to get a meal. He wanted to combine exercise and his 1 meal of the day. He never complained, not once. He declined my offer to help him either financially or physically.
You see, to this man, this slow walk across the parking lot was a significant event. He was moving. He was independent. In all of this, he was also a kind and lovely human. He didn’t talk much as his walking was so labored, but he was grateful for the company. To me, this was a significant event. It reminded me that in a loud, loud world where people draw hasty conclusions filled with assumptions, we miss out on so much. We miss the ability to grow, to understand, to truly be compassionate. Compassion isn’t always something that is given out in large gestures, though those are important and life-changing. Compassion is sometimes the little things that show we can be quiet and listen.
2019 was a wonderful, horrible, mundane year and I am grateful for every part. Here’s to 2020 where my goal is to keep the spirit of Christmas in my heart all year long – to love more, assume less, be constantly thankful and look for opportunities to speak when I should and listen even more.
Dennis (aka My Rock) and I met in college. He was an interesting man and to say that I didn’t like him at all is an understatement. He just “snuck in through a back door” and won my heart and he has stayed with me through every step of this journey. He stayed. He loves me. I am blessed. ❤️
My Rock and I are polar opposites. He is the smartest man I know and the best boss I have ever had. He is compassionate, even-keeled, wise, kind and has always had the back of his faculty. Dennis is a born educator and is loyal to his people. Many, many times he would go to bat for someone (faculty, student, parent) and those people never knew. He doesn’t think he is extraordinary, but trust me, he is a good man who is beyond extraordinary.
Upon my diagnosis Dennis instantly became a single parent. Yes, my parents put their lives on hold in another state and moved into my home to take care of my family, and we would have been absolutely lost without them. Dennis never lost faith. Never. But that doesn’t mean that he wasn’t lonely. The past few years I’ve had many chances to look back at how my Rock handled the abrupt change in our life, and how others treated him. These chances that I’ve had – well, they came at a high price – walking through it with friends, seeing their struggle and pain. I would not wish this journey on anyone… anyone.
My man still went to work every day, knowing that I was in the fight of my life. Imagine doing that?! I can’t… and any time I attempt to my heart is overwhelmed with such pain that tears roll down my face. It is incomprehensible to me. Some days while he was at work he would receive a call from my oncologist or one of my nurses, and that call would be to get Victoria and Matthew and come to the hospital as soon as possible. Some times that call was because I was having an amazingly good couple of hours… sometimes that call was because I wasn’t going to make it through the day. Can you imagine being on the receiving end of that call? I can’t…
While I was in the hospital my Rock still had to pay the bills, deal with the day-to-day issues at work (and, wow, does a school administrator have many things on that list), check in on our children to see how they were doing (many, many times they had no idea he did this), talk with the social worker I was assigned… Yes, I had a social worker. Everyone who is assigned to the DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) floor got one, as well as a nun to check in with us every morning. Many stories from those encounters, and overwhelmingly positive.
One visit from my social worker was quite a blow: checking to see how much my health insurance would cover the expenses. You see, it’s not “cheap” to be in a drug trial about 1,000 miles away from the hospital that is conducting the trail. I was too ill to make it to that hospital so they approved me being treated in my town and they would work through my oncologist for the treatments. (They did fly their own pharmacist down to administer my first arsenic treatment, but that’s another story for another day.) One portion of the treatment that I was taking was roughly $900 per day, and I would be on that as long as possible, and if I lived through the entire treatment plan I would stay on that portion of the treatment for a few years. Years. Do the math… I couldn’t comprehend how much that would be (chemo brain is real, ya’all) so the social worker gave me a rough estimate for 30 days. She then launched into finding a group to help us sell our home to help pay for the treatment, but that would only cover us for a short time. She was our advocate. I didn’t really hear much after that, but may I say that that is the first time I felt an overwhelming amount of guilt…
My Rock had to hear the news from our social worker… while he was trying to hold his work life, family life, and spouse life all together. Can you imagine? I can’t. During this time he was also told that if I became ill again, after this time, that my salary would be cut off on the last day that I worked before entering the hospital. He was told this while I was on the DNR floor, while my oncologist was telling us that it didn’t look good. Can you imagine? I can’t.
These moments are not shared because I am angry or bitter. They are part of our story. My Rock never told me what he was going through every day. He came to see me, encourage me, made sure that I knew he loved me for better or worse. Can you imagine? I can’t, and I lived it. He held me when I cried, encouraged me when I was losing hope, and started an online blog so that he could let everyone know how I was doing. He loves me, unconditionally. He loves our children, unconditionally.
The spouses/caregivers of those with illness are truly the unsung heroes. They carry so much weight on their shoulders, but they always keep going. How many of these people do you see in a week? A month? A year? I guarantee you that it’s a lot. We live in a reactionary world. Oh, how I wish we could all just take a breath, slow down, stop judging and reacting in anger and just look… truly look at those around us. I have learned that you can’t judge a book by it’s cover because from the outside looking in, my family didn’t look “that bad.” I never looked “that sick.” My Rock never looked “that lonely.” My kids never looked “that overwhelmed.”
I had 2 significant times of “snuck in through a back door” that is in the song, She Used To Be Mine – one was My Rock and one was Cancer. Cancer took my breath, and almost my life, away and I had to find the fire within me to fight. My Rock took my breath away and stayed.
Every single face we see represents a story, a life, a journey. We need to see. We need to listen. I am forever grateful for My Rock who showed nothing but unconditional love, and continues to do so every single day. Dennis, I love you and I wouldn’t want to go through this life with anyone else. YOU are MY ROCK. Always.
Dennis and I were told we wouldn’t be able to have children, but God had other plans. I still remember my shock at the news my doctor gave over the phone. Incredible. Unreal. Nine months later Victoria came screaming into the world. My first born. My miracle child. She has kept me on my toes ever since then.
Victoria was 11 when I was diagnosed. She became my favorite nurse when I was on the DNR floor. Days the kids were allowed to see me she would come in, check my port site and then bound off down the hall with my nurse to go get my blood or platelets for transfusion or go to the locked kitchen to get ice pops. She was quite proud of the fact that the nurses gave her the code to the door so that she could get ice pops for me whenever I (or she and her brother) wanted one. To my angels, my nurses and medical team who took their valuable time to make sure Victoria felt included in my care I say thank you. You not only held my life in your hands but you held something even more precious, my babies. You were a blessing to me then and are a blessing to me now, for I still see how your concern and care for Victoria helped shape her to be the woman that she is today.
Victoria was 11 when she had to learn what life was like without me. I was a very hands-on mom and we did everything together and overnight she lost me. Yes, my children had amazing adults who stepped in to help but no one can replace mom. Victoria was 11 when she would be at school and her dad would get her and her brother out of class to come see me… she was smart enough to pick up on the seriousness of those visits. Those “during the school day” visits were only for 2 reasons: I was either having a really good day and my oncologist wanted me to see my children or I was doing so poorly he wanted my children to be able to say goodbye. Trust me when I say we never told those things to our babies, but Victoria always seemed to know…
Victoria was 11 when she had to literally watch her mom struggle for breath, to be in extreme pain, to deal with the heartache of the changing landscape of life, to witness the evolution of relationships that come with life-altering events… life as she knew it forever changed. That concept is not lost on me. Through all of it, the good and the bad, I watched my girl learn about people and life. She loves deeply and if she trusts you it is with abandon. To her true friends may I say thank you for loving my girl.
We’ve been through a lot together, Victoria and I, and I am so thankful to be her mom. She was 17 when she moved over 1,000 miles away to attend college AND maintained good tabs on me. 😊 If I couldn’t find something in the house, Victoria would know where it was, even 1,000 miles away. Seriously, she would talk me through where things were… she never once made me feel stupid for having chemo brain (yes, it’s real and no fun). I’d be lost without her!
Victoria also volunteers at Greenville Theatre. She loves theatre but she loves her brother and me even more. She always helps out whenever there is a need: ushering, helping in the lobby, bringing me Starbucks during a rehearsal. 😁 She never sighs or hesitates, she just says, “I’ll be there.” That’s my daughter in a nutshell. Loyal. Smart. Sacrificial.
Victoria also loves what she does. She is passionate about education and she loves her kiddos. There have been so many nights that she spends looking up ways to integrate learning into everyday, normal, run of the mill stuff. She loves the little ones and wants to do what’s best for them and their families. To the rare and phenomenal teachers who took the time to invest in Victoria’s life, thank you! You are still impacting her life and the lives of her munchkins. To the parents of her munchkins, you are a blessing to me by how well you work together to make this world a better place one child at a time.
When Victoria was a baby I sang a song to her every night… I still think of it as “her song.” Here is part of the chorus:
“You’ll always be my baby, as perfect as can be. You’re still the child I carried, God’s precious gift to me. Though sometimes life may hurt you and your dreams may fall apart, you’ll always be my baby. Hold that thought deep inside your heart.” Little did I know, way back when, how much these words would mean throughout our journey.
One day my babies were, well, babies and now they are adults.
I’ll share Victoria’s video on Facebook. She’s a keeper, this girl of mine. I’m blessed to be her mom.
Yes, I’m not the girl I once knew, and life is physically very challenging, BUT I have a pretty incredible life! In 2004 it was incomprehensible to think I would see my children grow up, to celebrate Dennis and my 30th anniversary, but here I am. 😁
There is so much information we never shared publicly during those early years because we wanted to focus on hope… have our children experience the power of hope. I’ll share those stories one day, but for the next few posts I’m going to share what I consider to be my biggest blessings in all of this madness: my Rock, Victoria and Matthew.
I’m starting with my youngest, my baby, Matthew. This guy came roaring into life 6 weeks early. He was supposed to be a July baby but he wanted a May birthday. (If you ever want to hear the story of his birth make sure to have Dennis and I tell it together. It’s guaranteed to make you laugh.)
Matthew has always been a joy. He’s calm. He works hard. He feels things more deeply than most people realize. He was 6 when one of his friends died from cancer. He was 8 when I was diagnosed. He was 8 when he asked me many, many times if I would still be alive for him to visit me in the hospital the next day. He was 8 when he would have to stand back in the doorway of my hospital room to make room in the hallway for another body to be taken down to the morgue. He was 16 when he discovered his passion for acting and found a job to pay for a year of AMTC. He was 18 when he flew halfway across the country to attend college to study acting. He was 20 when he took a leap of faith and auditioned for a production at Greenville Theatre. He was 24 when he and I were able to work our first show together, just last month.
I was given 3 days to make memories with my Core Four and to say I have been blessed beyond measure is (in the words of my cancer-survivor-warrior-sista-colorado lovin’ friend Amy) the greatest understatement of the year. 🥰 I’ve had a front row seat to Matthew’s life and I don’t take any moment for granted. I’ve seen joy, pain, rejection, excitement… all of it, and I’m a proud mama! He loves deeply, so to his true friends may I say that you are a blessing to me because of how you are a friend to my son.
Matthew’s journey to the stage has not been an easy one. His college experience was not a good one, but thankfully he took that leap of faith and auditioned at Greenville Theatre. The community there has challenged him, loved him, helped him grow as a performer and a human being. There’s magic at GT. The magic is the people, it’s as simple and complex as that. So to his mentors may I say you are a blessing to me by seeing how you have and are investing your time, talents, love and care in my son’s life.
I have been blessed to help out at Greenville Theatre in 5 productions this past season and what a journey it has been. It’s challenged me while allowing me to take a small part in storytelling that is so unique to live theatre. To those who have taught me, encouraged me and showed grace and love may I say thank you for being you. Every rehearsal and every night in the sound booth was a privilege. Words fall short to describe how my heart feels when I’m there.
I’ve made a short video about each of my Core Four and will share them via my Facebook page, Aimee’ Q: a theatre lovers story of survival. I’m starting with Matthew’s video because it highlights our shared love of theatre. There are many pictures from the production that we did together at GT. Every performance I had the utmost joy watching him do what he loves, with a group of extraordinary humans. To turn a phrase from my last blog, “that place and its patrons have given much more than I gave them.”
“It’s not simple to say That most days I don’t recognize me That these shoes and this apron That place and its patrons Have taken more than I gave them It’s not easy to know I’m not anything like I used be, although it’s true I was never attention’s sweet center I still remember that girl
She’s imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won’t ask for help She is messy, but she’s kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine
It’s not what I asked for Sometimes life just slips in through a back door And carves out a person and makes you believe it’s all true And now I’ve got you And you’re not what I asked for If I’m honest, I know I would give it all back For a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two For the girl that I knew
Who’ll be reckless, just enough Who’ll get hurt, but who learns how to toughen up When she’s bruised and gets used by a man who can’t love And then she’ll get stuck And be scared of the life that’s inside her Growing stronger each day ’til it finally reminds her To fight just a little, to bring back the fire in her eyes That’s been gone, but used to be mine
She is messy, but she’s kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine“
I’ve loved this song from the moment I heard it. It resonated quite strongly. I had no idea what the premise of the musical was, and I didn’t identify with the concept of unrequited love and betrayal. My Rock is just that, my rock. He’s loved me through every step of my journey. I’d be lost without him.
So, why did this song resonate? I heard it when I was struggling with all of the changes that have occurred since I was diagnosed back in 2004. Most days I don’t recognize me.
The past several months I’ve been asked to describe what it’s like to live with “leftover symptoms” from the drug trial. I thought about documenting a typical day or listing the symptoms or number of doctor visits in a month but these ideas became overwhelming for me. I live it so it’s easier to break things down into small bite-sized pieces. Looking at a list was just… too much.
Then there’s the guilt (I’m not saying there should be guilt, but I certainly struggle with it) of not being the model poster child for those who struggle but bravely forge ahead, all while helping those around me… It took me years to figure out this was what I was doing. I’m still a work in progress on this topic.
“She Used to be Mine” – for me – is about the me before vs. the me after cancer. Physically I am so different but inside I still feel like the old me, just a bit wiser and, I hope, more empathetic. The drug trial helped save my life and I am thankful that it was available. If I had to do it all over again, I would. I wouldn’t choose it, but I would live it again to “fight just a little” for my family and those who would be diagnosed after me.
I was only 36 when I was diagnosed. Active. Highly involved in life. I still remember that girl.
It’s been an amazing 15 years since then (not bad for a 3 day death sentence) and I’ve had more chemo, tests and arsenic than a gal should have. All of the others in my group in the trial died, most from heart attack/cardiac arrest (arsenic is bad for you). I’ve gone into cardiac arrest 5 times since 2004, the last time happening in 2015 and that one was a whopper. (Right, Brenda?) The EMS crew, the ER doc’s, the cardiac ICU docs and all of my medical team still don’t know how I survived that one.
Six years ago I started having tremendous pain in both legs. A year (and many scans later) they found micro-fractures in both legs, tibia and femur. That brought another drug trial of which there were 3 of us involved. Six months in and my teeth started falling out. Many more tests later and they found that my bone marrow wasn’t producing correctly so the drug was robbing calcium from my teeth. So, no more drug trial. Those fractures are still there. I feel them every step I take.
Honestly, I have a host of other “leftovers” from that drug trial. New ones pop up all too frequently. That’s the new me.
The new me misses being able to kneel and get toys from under the couch for my doggos, or cleaning the baseboards… I also miss taffy, caramel apples and hard candy. I miss bike riding, ice skating and running. I miss hearing and seeing better. BUT I have life. Life with my family and my tribe. So, the times I look at the things I can no longer do I try to stop and think about what I’ve gained instead. Fifteen years. That’s not a bad trade off.
The days I don’t recognize me I try to find the fire and keep on living. I’ve learned to count the cost of the things that I spend my time – the things I choose to spend my time on. That girl that used to be mine, she’s still here. I just have to adjust my focus from time to time. I’ve learned it’s okay to mourn for the girl that I used to be, to remember her. Then I try to bring back that fire and return to this life that I am blessed to live.
The Time that is Given 