Stripped of Invincibility

Today's post is not a happy one.  In fact, it's far from it.  I'm digging deep into my heart.  What I'm about to type are my true feelings.  My raw emotions.  It's just one of those days for me.  I feel I'll have many more like this throughout the holiday season.

Thanksgiving afternoon I went with my family, including my Grandma, to visit Grandpa.

As we drove through Jefferson Barracks Cemetery, I was getting nauseous. I hadn't been to visit him yet.  The last time I was here was at his burial, which was held under a tent.  I didn't know where his grave site was.  We were following my family.  They pulled over and Nick pulled our car over in front of them.  I began crying.  Nick got out, waited a little bit, then came to my side of the car and opened the door.  He told me my family was out of their cars and waiting.  But I wasn't ready. "I can't do this.  I don't want to do this."  He rubbed my back and whispered, "I know."  I took a few deep breaths, wiped my eyes, and put on my strong face.  I needed to be strong for Grandma.  

Grandma, who hadn't seen us since August, greeted us with a hug and kiss, held my hand, and we made our way to Grandpa's headstone.

Seeing his name.  On a headstone.  It wasn't right.  He shouldn't be there.  It's not his time.  This cannot be real.  I just wanted to run back to our car, drive to Thanksgiving, and walk in to see my Grandpa smiling at me, giving me a big hug.  Knowing that wouldn't be happening, that it would never happen again...it took everything in me to not buckle and fall to the ground.  Grandma came to stand beside me and held my hand.  Hard.  I love this woman so much.  I'm hurting far beyond words.  Yet, I cannot imagine how badly she is hurting.  Which makes me hurt even more.  It just seemed like a nightmare.  A living nightmare I will never wake from.  Grandpa is gone.  Forever.

I will be 100% honest and tell you I'm not doing well with his passing.  I feel many emotions.  The strongest of two being anger and sadness.

I'm angry.  Angry that he was taken so suddenly.  Angry that the doctor told us we'd have at minimum one to two years, if he didn't respond to treatment.  We had two months.  TWO MONTHS!  I was confident he was going to beat this cancer.  But in the off chance I was wrong, I had told myself to thoroughly enjoy Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, summer vacation, etc with him.  To call more often.  To take more photos.  To write down more of his stories.  To walk in the Survivor Lap that April.  He promised.  He promised me he'd walk that Survivor Lap with me, holding my hand.  The "Cancer Buddies".  Grandpa with his "Cancer Coach".  But I was stripped of all of that.  I didn't get any of it!  Why?!  I'm so angry.  I was supposed to have at least one more of each holiday with him, at minimum.  I feel robbed.  I don't care that he was in my life for 29 years.  Yes, that is a long time.  But I want more.  I need more time.  I need my Grandpa.  Yes, I'm beyond grateful for the many years, I had.  I know it's more than a lot of people get.  But that's doesn't mean I'm okay with death or feel I had enough time.  Because I'm not and I don't.
How do you move on in life without one of the strongest, most intelligent, and definitely most kind-hearted people you've ever known?  I just don't know how.  And that just fuels my anger.  I shouldn't have to figure out how.  He should still be here.

I'm angry that Grandpa's last few months were awful.  He was in so much pain.  So much discomfort.  I'm angry because he's the type of person who shouldn't suffer.  Ever.  But just go peacefully in his sleep.  Back in June, when he went in for surgery, we knew the severity of his surgery (they removed half of his lower jaw).  We knew life after surgery was going to be very rough.  And we knew cancer treatments would be even more rough.  And this sounds weird and awful, but we prayed that if he wasn't going to beat cancer, to just let God take him during surgery.  From a heart attack or something of the like.  No pain.  No suffering.  But he made it.  And we are a family that strongly believes in prayer.  We took this answering of a prayer to mean Grandpa was going to beat this.  Of course he would.  He was the strongest person we knew.  And when he bounced back form surgery so well we all thought,  "He's got this".

I'm angry at the nurse for brushing his symptoms off.  I'm angry at us for not taking him to the hospital sooner, even when we knew the nurse was wrong.  I'm angry when we finally got him to the ER, his infection was too bad and he was already in septic shock.  

Anger.  Lots of anger.

I'm overcome with guilt.  I should have come home more often.  I should have called more often.  I should have taken more pictures with him, of him, and him with Grandma.  I should have recorded his stories.  I should have written down all the advice he's given me.

But I'm new to this.  You see, my Grandpa is the first person I was incredibly close to that has passed away.  {My Dad's mother passed away when I was in high school.  And I loved her dearly.  I miss her greatly.  But we were not as close as I am with my mother's parents.  I hadn't matured yet by the time she passed.  I didn't get to sit with her and tell her all about my life and laugh and joke with her the way I did and do with my maternal grandparents.  I wasn't old enough to bridge that gap between Grandma and friend like I had with my Mom's parents.  My (maternal) grandparents babysat us.  Took us out and about all the time, doing fun things all over St. Louis.  We got together for so many family gatherings.  We vacationed with them.  We had a very close and unique bond.

But what I'm about to say is the main reason behind why I am having such a hard time with his death.

As I said, my Grandpa was the first person I was very close with to pass away.  And while I am deeply saddened by his death, it also stirred up a lot of other deeply saddening emotions.  It wasn't until now that I realized my family, my loved ones, are not invincible.  Everyone near and dear to my heart will leave this earth.  Sure, I know we as human are not immortal.  But in my world, until Grandpa's death, we were.  I had never lost anyone I was this close to.  It truly wasn't a thought I had.  Grandpa's passing was a hard realization that this sadness will not stop here.  Instead, it will only increase.  Grandpa was the first person I lost, but not the last.  In time, that number will grow.  The nauseating emptiness I feel from not having my Grandpa anymore will only grow as I lose more loved ones.  My Grandma is going to pass away.  My own beloved parents.  My aunts and uncles.  My siblings that also double as my best friends.  My cousins.  My best friends that have become family.  My own sweet husband.  This thought, this realization that my family has now been stripped of it's invincibility, fills me with so much sadness that it's literally nauseating.  I can barely handle the loss of Grandpa.  I will not have recovered from his passing before another loved one passes.  I know that for a fact.  The hole in my heart is going to grow larger and larger.  And there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. I'm hopeless in this battle.  Loss has been the hardest thing I've ever dealt with.  Because it's inevitable and infinite.  And knowing I will do it many, many more times fills me with feelings that are incapable of being put into words.  I want to retreat back to the time when I had my entire family on this earth and I lived in a fairytale where we were invincible.  Where death could not touch any of us.  I'm having a hard time accepting this reality of the world we live in.  A world that steals our loved ones.  A world where my family is not invincible.

One Month: Grandpa

Today marks one month since this world lost my Grandpa;  a man this world would have been much better off keeping.
I say it's only been a month, but I have to check my iPhone calendar to verify that's correct.  It feels like forever that I was hovering over his body, thanking him for the last 28 years of amazing memories, telling him so deeply I loved him and how badly I would miss him.  It feels like forever ago that I held his hand and gave him one last kiss and told him goodbye.

My world has not been the same.  Thankfully, I've been able to keep incredibly busy with house hunting, packing, and moving.  It's kept my sadness at bay.  But when I lay down at night, when it's just me and my thoughts, the emptiness and pain take over.  I'm completely ridden with sadness and the tears begin flowing.  I miss him so badly.  It's as if the darkness of night also brings in the darkness of my heart.  I can't shake the thoughts.

I knew things would not become easier with his passing for a long while.  But I didn't expect them to get harder.  The calls and texts from friends checking in on me has stopped and it's left me feeling even more empty.  At the same time, I wouldn't want them to continue to harp on my sadness.  It's a lose-lose really.

I just want to talk to him.  I want to share my life updates.  He always loved hearing about our Navy adventures.  It's so hard to call their house and not hear him answer "Yellow?" (He never said Hello").  Or to call, talk to Grandma, knowing I won't end our conversation with my usual "Can I talk to Grandpa?"  I will admit, and am ashamed that I did not call Grandma for a while after I returned to Pensacola.  I was an awful granddaughter.  On the surface, I told myself it was okay because she still had some many family members in town.  But then they left and she was trying to adjust to normal life.  I didn't call.  It took me two weeks to call her after leaving St. Louis.  And it was 100% selfish reasons.  I was scared to call.  Scared to call and get their answering machine, with Grandpa's voice still on it.  Scared to call and talk to her, knowing I would not be talking to Grandpa like I've done the past 10+ years when I call.  Scared that I wouldn't be able to hold it together while talking to her.  The last thing she needs while dealing with this is to comfort me.  So I held off.  For too long.  She needed me.  She enjoyed our phone calls.  I finally realized I needed to suck it up and call her.  Thankfully she answered and the phone call wasn't as hard as I thought.  I did tear up a few times, but not the bawling I thought would occur.  And hearing her sadness eased my mind.
I'm happy to say that since then, I've gotten over my fear to call and talk to Grandma often.  Our conversations brighten my day, especially to know she's doing fairly well, given the circumstances.
But when the conversation ends, I'm stricken with sadness of not talking to him.

Some say, "You can still talk to him".  That's very true.  And I do.  Often.  But it's most absolutely not the same to hear his excitement when I update him on our lives.  It's not the same to hear his encouragement and advice.  It's not the same.  At all.

I miss him.  It hurts.  So badly.  I try to tell myself that it hurts so badly because he was such an amazing man.  Because he was so close to me (and all my family.)  But it doesn't really bring me comfort.  It just angers me that he was taken too soon.  I wanted more time with him.  I wanted my children to meet him.  I didn't want him to just be a story and photos.  I wanted more time with him.
I do realize I was lucky to have him for so long.  But 28 years was not enough.  Honestly, no time would have been enough.  He was truly the best man I knew and no amount of time would have been long enough for me.  It's like that Train song "Forever would never be long enough to feel like I've had long enough with you."

I'm not sure how this healing process should happen.  My grandfather is the first person I was THIS close to pass. I lost my (paternal) grandmother when I was a senior in high school.  But I was prepared for that.  She had been sick almost all of my life.  We had many months and possibly even years of her declining health.  Not to mention, I was nowhere near as close to her as I was Grandpa.  Nowhere near as close.  So this is my REAL first loss.  (Don't get me wrong, I love my Grandma Sally dearly. And I miss her. A lot.  But I cannot deny that I was much closer with my maternal grandparents than my paternal grandmother.)  Being my first real loss, I don't know how to cope.  I don't know what's normal.  I don't know if my constant aching is normal.  I don't know if my constant tears are normal.  I don't know if this pain and nausea from missing him is normal.  I just don't know.

All I know is I miss my hero.  More and more each day.  Each day feels like it becomes harder than the last.  I want him back.  I want to hear his voice.  I want to hug him.  I want to hear his silly jokes.  I want to just sit with him, doing nothing.  I want more time with him.

It's been one month.  Undoubtedly the hardest month of my life.  I miss Grandpa more with each passing minute and he's always on my mind.  Almost everything reminds me of him.  Sometimes it doesn't seem real that he's gone.  But phone calls to Grandma quickly reinforce my reality.  I have never, ever felt a pain and emptiness like I feel now.  I just want my Grandpa back.

Breezeway Home Anniversary

Two years ago, at 5:30am, Nicholas, Yadi, and I pulled up to our new home here in Milton, Florida on Breezeway Circle.

This might sound crazy, but we quickly came to love our new home of Milton.  I know a lot of people hate it here, but honestly, it is what you make it.  If you keep telling yourself you hate it and it's awful here, then it will continue to be awful.  That's not how Nick and I live life and that helped us to come to love our last two years here.  Life is an adventure and it's all what you make it!

One of the reasons we have loved our time here is because of this house.  We truly spoiled ourselves here.  There were so many things we loved about our home, that we added to our "must have" list for our new home in Jacksonville. (Which made house hunting in Jax so much harder.)
This house has no carpet, all hardwood and tile.  It has three bedrooms and two bathrooms.  A separate office space.  A ginormous walk-in pantry.  An open floor plan with a huge living room.  A two car garage.  A huge, privacy fenced backyard.  A fantastic neighborhood with a really convenient location.
We learned that finding all of these things in a new home was difficult.  We are truly going to miss this home.

Just as we reached this two year mark, we're packing up our belongings and getting ready to say goodbye to our first real home.  I'd be lying if I said I haven't teared up as I've pulled photos off the wall and taken down curtains.  We have thoroughly loved this place.  If these walls could talk, they'd have stories full of love and laughter.  Our marriage started here and flourished!  We added our second "child", Vino, to our family in this house.  We learned what a marriage is all about, growing together as husband and wife, but also continuing to grow individually.  We grew stronger in friendship and love inside these walls.  I can still vividly remember the giddy, newlywed bliss as Nick carried me over the threshold, saying "Welcome home, wife" when we arrived that early morning on September 11, 2011.  I wondered how long that "honeymoon phase" would last.  I'm happy to say that after over two years of marriage, we're still in the phase.  And I don't see it fading anytime soon.
Of course these walls didn't always see perfection.  We faced some difficult times with illnesses, military stress, homesickness, and general uncertainty of life, but together we overcame them.
This house will always hold some of my fondest memories and I know I'll cry when we say our final goodbye and drive away from Breezeway Circle.  But I'm happy to have so many memories  and so many pictures, of the last two years here.
We moved into what was just an empty house, but it very quickly became a home.  These have honestly been two of the best years of my life.

We met the new family moving into our home; a husband, wife, and very young girl.  I can only hope these walls provide as much joy to them as it has to us.  I hope they too leave this house with deeper love and understanding of each other and themselves, just as we have.

I'm going to miss you Breezeway Home.  Thank you for all the amazing memories.  May you continue to bless each new tenant with the same wonderful experience we had.

Grandpa Update: Complications and the Start of Treatment

It's been a while since I've posted an update.  A long while actually (which means this will be a long one.  Just warning you now.)  My family hasn't wanted vast details posted on the internet and I hate thinking about my Grandpa going through this all so I've just been holding off.

I gave an update a while ago, but after over three weeks in the hospital, Grandpa was FINALLY released.  He faced a few issues that kept holding up his discharge such as the drain that just wouldn't stop draining (a quick, simple surgery fixed the apparent thoracic duct that was cut during surgery), delayed eating, rise in blood counts, etc.  Nothing major but with a surgery so severe and the intensity of his cancer, any small thing was a hold up.
Needless to say, he was very excited to get out of the hospital.

Being home was an adjustment but he and Grandma handled it well.  Unfortunately, shortly after getting home (the very beginning of July), he got shingles.  Thankfully, they weren't painful and didn't bother him.  (I think he's just trying to mimic my cancer journey ;)   I went into the hospital to get my portacath put in.  The IV was in, I was just about to go to the OR, when they asked if I had any bruises, cuts, or scraps.  I mentioned that I got bit by a bug and had developed a rash.  Come to find out, it was shingles and surgery {and thus chemo} had to be postponed until it was cleared up.  But mine was like his and we are both fortunate.  No pain, no itching, no discomfort.  Just a nasty rash.)

Grandpa then had to go off his heart medicine for a week to prepare for his feeding tube surgery, which was scheduled for July 16th.  (As you can imagine, blood thinners are not conducive for a surgery.)

That week, July 12th, Grandpa met with his medical oncologist (the ones responsible for chemotherapy).  They have decided to change up his treatment plan.  Originally, Grandpa was going to be hit with a very intense, very debilitating radiation treatment scheduled for five days a week for seven weeks followed by chemotherapy.  Now, they believe the best route is to start with chemotherapy.  This is a very aggressive cancer and they need to try to get any remaining cancer cells in his body (chemotherapy is the intravenous drug that circulates throughout the bloodstream seeking out fast growing cells, such as cancer cells, and destroys them.)  It was determined that Grandpa will start with chemotherapy on July 18th.

Two days later, the 14th, I was at the National Museum of Naval Aviation with Nick's family when I got a call from my brother.  Grandpa was on his way to the hospital because he was having a stroke.  It took everything I had to not buckle at the knees and fall down the IMAX stairs.  I couldn't breathe.  I just wanted to hop on a plane and be by his side.  Was he going to be okay?  How much would he suffer from this?  How would this affect him physically?  Especially with already having so many issues on the left side of his body?  What if this greatly affects his mobility?  Strokes can have awful effects.  How would this affect him emotionally?  He just seems to keep getting pummeled by complications.  At some point he'll break, right?  What if it's now?  What if he loses his strength and decides this is too much and he gives up?  This can't happen.  I had so many questions and it's so hard to not be there and get updates via text message.  Thankfully my amazingly awesome cousin, Teeny, text my siblings and I updates every 5 minutes for the next hour plus.
Thankfully, shortly after getting to the hospital, his stroke started to reverse itself and he was starting to regain the feeling on his left side.  It was the best text I got all day.  He underwent a few tests to see how severe the stroke was, or if it was another TIA like back in the spring.
As always, Grandpa recovered from this like a boss.  And he's still in amazing spirits!!!!  We also found out the cause of the stroke.  Essentially, him going off his heart medication in preparation for the feeding tube caused the stroke.  It, for lack of better terms, (this is how the doctor explained it to us), branched off from the older TIA.  The doctor described it by saying the brain will give off TIA symptoms because it is an addict in withdraw and is missing it's drug, aka his heart medicines.  It was good to know the cause but we were worried that it would continue to happen.
Thus, they decided to keep him off his heart medicine and keep his feeding tube surgery so we don't have to chance this again (because he needs this feeding tube.)
Thankfully, Grandpa was discharged from the hospital the day after the stroke....because he's such a strong determined man.  And then the very next day, the 16th, he went in to the hospital, again, this time to get the feeding tube put in.

That surgery went smoothly.  Quickly and smoothly.  Thankfully.  It seems to be the very first thing to go well (speaking relatively in a medical sense that is) so we're happy about that.  He did have to stay overnight for observation but we knew that weeks before this so that wasn't any new change.  The next day he was out and I'm sure Grandpa was happy to not see that hospital bed for a while.

The next day, July 18th, Grandpa went in for his very first chemo treatment.  His treatment plan is as follows:
He'll have treatment on Thursday, get the next two Thursdays off, and return again.  After two chemotherapy treatments, they will perform a scan and see if the cancer has grown.  If it has grown any, then we know his cancer is not responding to treatment and chemo will end there and he will go straight into radiation.  If the cancer has not grown, he will continue with chemo for another two treatments (a total of 4) and then start radiation.
The radiation is still going to be very intense and will still be every day for seven weeks.  It's going to knock him out pretty badly.  They suspect he'll lose about 30ish pounds and eating will become a very difficult task for him seeing as radiation is going to completely fry his esophagus and throat.  (I experienced this same thing and it was horrendous.  I only had the bottom of my esophagus radiated and even that was unbearable and I was unable to eat.  It was just insanely excruciating pain.  I dropped from 120 pounds to 100 pounds, which is obviously not ideal when you're 5'8".)

Chemo lasted about 3ish hours and he did well.  He didn't really feel anything while there.
I called him that afternoon and spoke with him and he sounded great!!!!  I called the next day and he was still feeling and sounding great!  He said he hasn't experienced any side effects of the therapy which is great!  In time, he might start feeling weak and he will lose his hair in about 14 days, but thus far, things are great!!!!  Medicine has advanced so much and hopefully with his intravenous anti-nausea meds in conjunction with his pill form to take at home, he won't experience any sickness.  (I didn't get sick too often.  I would get waves of nausea but I never actually threw up because I had some awesome medicine!  Thank you scientists, research and all that donate to it!!)



I want to thank my friends and family who've continued to text, email, and call me check on Grandpa (I do apologize for the lack of updates) and on myself.  It truly means the world to me to know that my Grandpa has remained in your thoughts and prayers.  PLEASE keep praying for him.  His road is only going to get worse and eating is becoming more of a difficult task for him.  He needs to continue to eat food and not just rely on his feeding tube to keep his strength up and beat this awful disease.  So please, please, please keep praying for him!


As for me, I'm doing okay.  Right before the stroke I hit a rough patch.  Grandpa and I talked and he asked me lots of questions about treatment, life with cancer, and life after cancer.  It broke my heart.  I do this a lot.  I have and continue to help so many people with this.  I've talked with so many people about these exact same issues and concerns.  But when it's your own Grandpa?  Your own Superhero?  You don't ever expect to be trying to ease your hero's fears and concerns.  I was happy to do it and I know I helped him a lot, but it was difficult.  It was difficult to hear the fear about side effects of treatment.  It broke my heart to hear him ask me when he would feel normal again.  It wasn't so much his question that hurt, but that I knew I was about to give him the answer he didn't want.  That he would never feel normal again.  His life, like mine, has changed.  A lot.  And will continue to.  Our bodies have changed.  It's affected us mentally.  I tried to ease his mind that he'll soon find his new normal and in time, he'll forget what his old normal was.  I will admit, I still long for my old life at times.  It was simpler.  Filled with less worry, fear, discomfort, and pain.  But I find myself thinking, "I don't even remember what _____ was like?"  He'll get to that point.  It sucks that the new normal is not a pleasant one.  And for him, he had his normal for 83 years, whereas I only had mine for 21 years.  I was still learning and growing.  Grandpa will have a harder adjustment.  But he can do it.  I'm confident in that.  Thankfully, he took our conversation well, like he does everything.  By the end of it, the fear had left his voice.  He was optimistic again and ready to fight the world!!!  And that is the reason he's my Superhero.  His moments of fear and concern only last a short while and then they're gone.  That is why I know he can tackle this.  He can and will win this fight!!!!

MSAD 2013

A lot of you might be saying, "What the crap is MSAD?"  I'm lazy so I'll only type this once; it stands for Military Spouse Appreciation Day, which occurs every year on the Friday before Mother's Day.

This is only my second "official" MSAD seeing as we've only been married just shy of two years. But previous to our wedding, Nick would still send me a sappy email about how even though we weren't married, he still appreciated the sacrifices and support I provided him.

Yesterday morning, I woke up early and found a card awaiting me on the kitchen table.  I opened it up and inside was of course a sweet message from Nick along with a Starbucks giftcard!!!!!  Now, this might not seem like a big deal, but it's HUGE!  Nick despises Starbuck's.  I mean, he hates coffee (anything even remotely coffee scented or flavored...even a mocha candle!), but he truly hates Starbuck's because he thinks they charge WAY too much for their drinks.  And I agree....they are pretty expensive when you think about how little you're actually getting for that amount ("I could get a 24 pack of Mountain Dew for what you pay for one drink").  But the sad truth is, there's just not an alternative.  I definitely cannot make frapps as great as theirs (which is what I order 95% of the time).  And there are no other coffee places around here, except gas stations, which are not anything to brag about.  That being said, I don't get Starbucks often because when I do, I hear his voice and see my medical/student loan debt and then I'm overcome with guilt.  "If I add up all these coffees, that's a monthly payment."  (Not to mention, I try to not have coffee more than three times a month.)
So anyway, all that to say him getting me a giftcard to a place he LOATHES means a LOT!

When Nick got home from work that evening, he offered to make dinner.  (Thankfully this wasn't just a MSAD thing.  Nick makes dinners for us about 50% of the time.  I just got lucky like that.)  After dinner, we watched the Cardinals game and he played with my hair AND scratched my back!!!  I don't know about you all, but those are two of my absolute favorite things!!!!  Again, he does these things often but this night, I got it for a good solid hour!!!!

After dinner, Nick took me out for dessert and drinks!!  And unbeknownst to us, it was 2 for 1!!!  As always, we had great conversations and I just love talking about our exciting future!  I still get butterflies and all giddy just as I did when we were dating and we first began talking about possibly getting married and having a forever together.

I feel blessed that Nick remembers this day and does something to make it special.  But I feel blessed that I married a man who constantly appreciates me.  Almost daily, Nicholas will tell me how much appreciates all that I do for him and the support I provide.  He truly understands that while I'm loving this life with him, it's incredibly difficult for me to be away from my family and friends.  He understands the struggle with nursing school and that I've had to delay that next step for my professional future.  He understands my concern and worry with not having my doctors just down the road.  He understands the hardships associated with finding employment.  He recognizes all the little things I do for him, our dogs, and our house so that it's one less thing for him to worry and stress about, spend time doing, or occupying his mind when he's flying.  He knows I do these things to make his demanding and exhausting career easier and worth it.
I know I am incredibly lucky to have a man who not only recognizes these things, but thanks me daily for them.  Sure, today I got a gift for it, and I'm grateful for that.  But every other day, I get his random from-behind-hugs while I'm doing dishes, his random pull-you-off-the-couch embraces, his random forehead kisses, etc accompanied by a "Do you know how much I Love you?" and "Thank you for everything you do for me and our family."  Not a day goes by that I don't thank God for giving me such a loving, caring, and appreciative man.
The thing is, I don't do these things for the praise. I do them simply because I Love him.  I'm proud of him.  And I love our life together.  I'm dedicated to making this life as easy and as best as it can be.  He works so hard to support us and I want to do all I can to show HIM how much I appreciate his hard work and dedication to our family and our country.


And now, I'd like to wish a VERY Happy Military Spouse Appreciation Day (okay, so I typed it twice) to all my fellow wives (and fiances, girlfriends/boyfriends, and husbands) out there!
Some of you have become my best friends and you make this crazy life not only bearable, but enjoyable!!!!!  You've helped me turn an unknown town into home; a place I've come to love and will be sad to leave.  Others of you, some I've never met, (yet someday hope to), have offered support and advice on anything and everything, been there for me during the rough times, and prayed for me in my times of need.  I feel blessed to call you all friends because you are by far some of the strongest, most dedicated, resilient, and independent women I know.  It's most definitely not an easy life, but you all handle it with such ease and grace that civilians might wonder why some complain about it!  I hope you all know how special you are and that your support and love to not only your spouses and families is appreciated, but your friendship is appreciated as well!!!!



I'm just one month shy of being a two year Navy Wife.  While I do not define myself solely as a "Navy Wife", I am damn proud to be one!!!
When Nick and I began dating, I was hesitant to take the jump and fully commit to him.  I kept saying "I don't want to marry a military man and live that lifestyle."  (Thank goodness for my best friend, Jessie.  Had it not been for her knocking some sense into me, I would have lost the best thing to ever happen to me!)  I finally decided to take a risk, knowing this life would be far from easy.  I wish I could report I was wrong, but I was right.  This life has been difficult at times.  It's never easy to leave a family that you're ridiculously close with, the best friends on earth, a city you adore, and a job you love.  I left the only life I knew behind to start a new (and somewhat scary) one with Nicholas, in a whole new city where I knew no one.  In just these two short years, I've come to love this lifestyle.  Sure, I miss my family and friends, St. Louis, and my old job, but I no longer cry when I think of them.  Committing to Nicholas was most definitely the absolute best risk I've ever taken!
The experiences I've had, the places I've lived, the amazing people I've met, and the knowledge I've gained have made this all worth it.  My marriage has grown stronger than I ever imagined possible and we have a Love and friendship I did not know could truly exist.  Although I did not think it was possible the day we left St. Louis in a moving truck, I can honestly say there are an infinite amount of positives to this lifestyle.  My pros now outweigh the cons.  Both of them have made me a better person and I cannot imagine my life any differently.  I know we'll hit bumps here and there, and things will test my strength, our marriage, and my faith, but with Nicholas and my amazing military wives, I know I can overcome anything the Navy throws our way!  Our journey is far from over, and I look forward to seeing where our next chapter will be!!!!

Forms Apparently Induce Tears & More Fears

Today has been so many back and forth phone calls.

My St. Louis Oncologist's nurse called and said that they're no longer going to order any imaging.  The main reason being it will take 2-3 business days to get it run through Tricare and that would bring us to Tuesday at the earliest, and my appointment is Tuesday morning.
The second being, Dr. Adkins (my St. Louis oncologist) doesn't want to begin this all with the new oncologist feeling like Dr. Adkins is stepping on his toes.  Which I understand, but it makes me nervous.  I want Dr. Adkins to be involved so I'm really hoping my new oncologist (Dr. Patel) will actively seek his knowledge and input.
The last reason they want me to wait is because Dr. Patel might have his own imaging center within his cancer center, or his own tests he wants run.  She also mentioned that imaging centers might not be the best place to go for something of this nature.  That a radiology department within a cancer center is more equipped with people who deal with oncology related things on a daily basis.  I agree and would feel more comfortable with this.

This afternoon, I drove to my new oncologist's office to sign the record release form.  The facility (The Woodlands) is very, very nice.  There are concierges to greet you as you walk into the building and help you find your way or assist you with anything else you need.  I asked where Dr. Patel's office was and he told me the second floor, walked me to the elevators, pressed "up" and then told me to have a good day.  When I got off the elevator, another concierges was there and asked where I was going.  I told him Dr. Patel's office and he walked me right to the counter.  I informed the girl I was there to sign the record release.  She got that for me, along with new patient paperwork to bring back on Tuesday.  While I was filling out the record release, I began crying.  After I was done, I handed it back to her.  The receptionist (probably a year or two younger than me) asked if I was okay and I said "I just never thought I'd be doing this again."  She then began tearing up (which didn't help me), I said "Thank you, see you next week" and left.  And the tears streamed down my face.  I looked around saw too many familiar sights.  A woman with a scarf wrapped around her head passed me.  It stung and made me sick to my stomach.  As I waited for the elevator, I noticed that the opposite way of my doctors office is the Infusion (chemo) center.  The waiting room wasn't too crowded.  It had a few cancer patients (recognized by their lack of hair or their weak and sick appearance.)  It was also easy to pick out the worried family and friends with them.  It brought back too many memories.  I don't want to be here again.  I don't want to see this.  I don't want to go through this.  The elevator opened up and I was able to escape those sights.
When I existed the elevator, I briskly walked to the front doors.  The concierge's tone had changed (obviously in response to my tears) and gently said "Have a good day ma'am."  I squeaked out a thank you and exited the building.  The sidewalk was blocked by another concierge helping an old, bald, frail man into a wheel chair.
Another punch in the stomach.  I don't want to get back to that.  I don't want to be bald again.  I don't want to wear a wig.  I don't want to drop 15 pounds.  I don't want to have to use a wheelchair again.  I don't want to lose all my physical strength.  I'm already fighting so hard to keep my mental and emotional strength, I don't know if I can keep doing it if it comes down to relapse.  I don't want to depend on others for everything.  I want to continue to grow my hair to the long length I'm wishing for.  I want to be able to walk anywhere I want, and not need a wheelchair to simply walk down a hallway.  I don't want to sleep away another 6+ months of my life.  I don't want this.  Any of this.

I sat in my car and cried.  And cried.  Nick didn't come with me.  I told him I didn't need him to.  Why would he?  All I had to do was fill out my information and sign my name and leave.  That doesn't require support.  But I didn't even think about what being back in that element would do to me.  When I got home, I told him how I cried while there.  I immediately wished I hadn't told him because he wrapped me in his arms and felt so awful he didn't go with me.  Just another person I felt guilty and horrible for provoking negative feelings.

After I calmed down, I decided to fill out the new patient forms.  I know myself well enough to know that as the appointment draws closer, I get more nervous, don't think as clearly, and my hands get really shaky.  The first few pages were simple.  Just basic information about myself, my family history, and my history.  List of current medications, previous surgeries and hospitalizations, etc.  One of the last pages was a list of current symptoms, categorized such as "Constitutional Symptoms, Endocrine, Gastrointestinal, Cardiovascular, Psychological, Neurological, Integumentary" etc.  What has me worried is that the "Constitutional Symptoms, Gastrointestinal, and Neurological" all have half or more of the symptoms circled "yes".  Some are not everyday, but frequent.  They could be nothing but they could point to something.  I just hating seeing so many yeses circled on this sheet.  It's just unsettling.  And it's just more things to cause me to worry.

The Hardest Part

The hardest part of all of this is telling your loved ones.

My parents both know what's going on.  When I went to visit my sister this weekend, I told her I had the fever and the doctor was running some tests.  I hadn't yet told my brother.
But now with the news of needing to see an oncologist, I knew I needed to fill my siblings in.  My sister handled it well but she was also aware that something was going on.
Telling my brother was much harder.  I knew he was going to be blind-sided because he didn't have a single clue that anything was going on with me.  I asked him to call me after work because I needed to talk to him really briefly.  I didn't make it seem as though anything was wrong because I didn't want to worry him all day at work.
When he called, I was so nervous.  I absolutely hate telling people any sort of bad or potential bad news.  Not to mention, I wanted to put up the front that I was okay.  That I was strong.  That I wasn't scared or worried.  It was so hard to fight back my tears.
I told him everything that was going on and that they were sending me to an oncologist here and I was going to be getting a scan done this week.  As the conversation unfolded, I could hear him sniffle every so often.  I told myself he had been doing that at the beginning of the conversation, but reality was that I didn't notice it until I told him what was going on.  He mentioned he wished he would have waited to call me until he was home and not at the gym.  Which only led me to further believe that he was crying.  It broke my heart.
My brother is seriously one of the strongest people I know.  He doesn't cry.  I can count the very, very few times I've seen him cry on one hand.  He's always laughing, making jokes, and keeping things light-hearted. But not today.  Today, I could sense his emotions.  I could feel his fear.  His worry.  Which only made it harder for me.  For many reasons.  I cannot stand to know I'm the reason people are hurting.  I know this situation is not my "fault" but I am the cause of it.  I'm the one causing my family so much worry and stress.  I'm the one causing their tears and hurt.  I know it's only because they love me.  I completely understand why they feel as they do.  I would if I were in their shoes.  But it hurts me.  So badly.  I don't want to ever cause my family negative emotions.
Knowing Ben wasn't his usual happy, joking self made me more worried.  He's the one I could ALWAYS count on to make light of the situation.  Make it seem like it's not a big deal and it's all going to be okay.  But when he can't even do that, it shows just how scared and worried he is.  Which then only fuels my fear.
As with my mother, I lied to him.  I told him I wasn't all that worried.  Just worried to see new doctors.  I made it seem like it wasn't a big deal.  I wanted to save him from negative feelings.  So I lied.  And I feel awful.
When we got off the phone, I told him I'd keep him updated next week.  As we said goodbye, he said "I love you."  I told him I loved him too, hung up, and just lost it.  While my siblings and I are very, VERY close, we don't say I love you to one another.  I'm not really sure why though??? My parents and each of us say it ALL THE TIME.  But us siblings don't.  When I was battling cancer in 2006 and life was full of unknowns, we said I love you all the time. It's as if we knew that might be it.  And we weren't going to let a day pass without saying it.  But it stopped when I got my first clear scan. As if we realized we were "safe"  so we didn't need to say it anymore.  But hearing him say it again, brought me back to that time in 2006.


The hardest part of this is the feelings and emotions I know others are experiencing.  I hate that they are worrying, stressed, upset, and scared.  I hate having to tell them these things.  I wish I could just wait and not tell anyone other than Nick.  Wait until we have clear answers.  And hopefully positive clear answers.
I just sit here thinking that it HAS to be good news.  Because if it's not, I honestly don't know how I'd tell my family and best friends.  My first thoughts aren't of me and what I'll go through or what the outcome might be.  My thoughts are my loved ones and how I don't want to hurt them.  Don't want to tell them anything but positive news.  I can't put my family and best friends through this again.  It was so hard for them last time.  So hard.  My little sister shouldn't have to watch her big sister suffer and fight for her life.  Not just once but twice.  I'm supposed to be someone she can look up to and always know I'm here for her.  She can always count on me and know I'm strong; not lying in a hospital bed weak and broken and fighting.  My parents most definitely shouldn't have to deal with this. Not again.  Once was too many.  Parents should never have to watch their children suffer.  Especially with a disease like cancer.  In life, you just assume your parents go before you.  As parents, I think they assume that too...that they won't watch their children pass away.  It's not "natural" and I don't want my parents to have to fear that again.  This time would be soooo much harder because I'm here, in Florida, away from them.  And the decision would need to be made on what to do, where to have treatments done.
I just can't do this again.  I refuse to put my parents through that.  The hardest part of it all is not anything physical I will endure.  The hardest part is hurting my family with the news.

Feb 14: Not As Bad As I Thought...

Today was nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be.  It's 3pm and I'm still alone.  But thanks to my amazing friends and family, I don't feel so alone.

My goal of staying up super late to sleep half the day away was a giant fail.  The last time I saw the clock it was around 4am.  And at 7:30am, I was wide awake.  I laid in bed for a good hour or so just browsing through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest.

While on these sites, I was overwhelmed by the love I saw.  I do truly love love.  I'm not the jealous type so seeing so many posts of gifts, flowers, cards, messages, etc just makes me smile.  And even though February 14th is a day I very much despise for my own reasons, I'm happy so many others can find it to be so special.  Sounds corny and fake, but it really does make my day better to see so many friends and family members happy.

Because this day is all about love, my thoughts obviously go to my husband, family, and closest friends.  Especially those with me on this day seven years ago.  Instead of wallowing in my sadness, I decided to voice my love while I was laying in bed this morning.  I contacted a few of my best friends and my siblings to just let them know I love them.  To thank them.  Seven years ago was the hardest day of my life.  And every day since has not been a cake walk either.  I struggle, I fall down, I cry, I grow weak.  But because of my husband, family, and friends, I'm able to get back up.  I most definitely would not be here today without them.  They prayed for me.  Sat with me in ICU.  Visited me in the hospital for 14 days straight.  They helped to take care of me.  They provided laughs when I felt like I had forgotten how to smile.  They were my strength when I was weak.  They carried me and pushed me.  When I look back on this day seven years ago, I know it was harder for my family and friends than for me.  While I was "conscious" after surgery, I only have one memory.  I remember waking up, in excruciating pain, and sensing an elephant in the room.  I knew something was not right.  And I knew what it was.  I asked, "Do I have cancer?"  The tears began rolling down my mother and brother's face and I was told "yes."  Then nothing.  No more memory.  That's it.  Other than pre-op earlier that day, that is my only memory of February 14, 2006.

The reason it was harder for everyone else is because of what they had to see.  My poor family and best friend had to see me hooked up to all kinds of wires and machines.  They had to get the news from the doctor that my tumor was malignant.  Not only was it malignant, but the cells were dividing at a very rapid rate (something very bad in terms of cancer, which put me at testing highest grade.)  They had to watch me scream out in pain.  They had to watch me go crazy, every machine going off when I was told I had cancer.  They had to watch as I was taken back in for an emergency surgery just three days after my original surgery.  I honestly think this all was harder on them.  It's always harder to watch a loved one suffer and know you are helpless.  100% completely and utterly helpless.
But they all remained strong.  I honestly cannot recall my times at all that I saw my family or friends cry.  I know they did.  They've told me.  But they never did it in front of me.  They remained strong for me.  They took turns taking off work and skipping classes, driving to St. Louis to sit with me during chemotherapy or radiation.  They took care of me when my parents weren't around.  They hooked me up to my feeding tube each night, cooked me meals, got me anything I needed.  I am here because of them.

So instead of focusing on the negatives, when I start to cry, I think of all the love I have surrounding me.  Back then and today.  My support system has only grown.  I cannot thank you all enough for the emails, text messages, phone calls, Facebook and Twitter comments and private messages I've received thus far.  I know I'm where I am today because of the love and support I've received.  So today, while it still has many horrible memories attached to it, is also filled with love for more reasons than just Valentine's Day.  A love for my amazing friends and family.  Thank you.  You all will never truly know how much your words, prayers, and thoughts mean to me.  Thank you for making this day a little easier.  I just hope the rest of the day continues to go the same.

D-Day

When most people think of February 14th, they think of Valentine's Day.
That is not the case for me.  On this day seven years ago, I went into the hospital to get a "benign" tumor removed from my stomach.  And I woke up, missing a portion of my stomach, and learned the biopsy had been wrong.

I had cancer.

The next 9 months were the worst of my life.  And the years following have not been that easy.

I cannot shake that horrible day from my memory.  I will never be able to.  Instead, I try to keep myself busy on this day.  I've always relied on my family, friends, and Nick (from afar) to keep me happy and smiling.
The day isn't about hearts and chocolate and love to me.  Those things most definitely help ease the emotional pain.  But they don't erase the memory.  To me, I enjoy celebrating Valentine's Day, a happy day, to forget the bad one, just for one day.  If my Diagnosis Day had fallen on a random day in August, I'd do just the same thing....take this day and try to make it a fun and happy one to take my mind off what it truly means for me.  Valentine's Day just makes it easier.

I'm lying here anxious.  I can't sleep.  I know tomorrow I have to face this day alone.  Something I haven't done before.  I've always had someone to distract me.  But Nick has class all day.  And then tomorrow night, he has to spend his night studying for an important test Friday morning.  Completely understandable and he feels awful.  He's already witnessed two break downs from me tonight.  Crying.  Scared.  Shaking from anxiety.

"Celebrate a day late."  That doesn't work.  As I said, we aren't really celebrating Valentine's Day.  That is just the perfect excuse to forget this day.  But celebrating Valentine's Day on Friday does nothing for me today.  It doesn't get my mind off it today when I'll be sitting all alone.

I think what is bothering me more than anything, is knowing this will become a regular thing.  I knew when I got married and moved away, I was losing a huge (physical) support system.  I used to know I could rely on my large extended family and a large group of friends.  Now, I have only Nick.  He won't always be around.   There will be years he's half a world away.  Some years he might not even be able to call or send an email.  And I won't have my family and friends who truly understand the hardships today brings.  Sure, I have friends here.  But my guess is they're all spending Valentine's Day with their husbands.  And those whose husbands will be deployed with Nick, I'm sure will be more than willing to spend the day together.  But not because they understand what this day is for me.  Merely because who wants to be alone on Valentine's Day???  So while I knew this would become a regular occurrence for me, spending today alone, it doesn't mean I was prepared for it.  It doesn't make it any easier.

I know this might seem silly to some.  And I've written this blog post about six times today and tonight. I've deleted it because I know so many people are rolling their eyes.  "What a cry baby.  Get the eff over it."  People are judging me.  And that's what hurts.  It's not that easy.  I know those thinking that truly don't understand what I went through.  It can't be accurately described in words.  Even my poor husband doesn't truly understand.  He wasn't around then.  Only those who witnessed it all, saw me lying there in the hospital, watched my year long battles throughout surgery, recovery, treatment, and the years after understand.  Or those who have had to sit by a loved one and watch them go through this all understand.  Nick understands a little.  He sees the pain I'm currently in.  Sees me in tears occasionally from pain or just simply from frustration and exhaustion of it all.

"It's just a day in the past.  Move on."
It's not "just" a day.
This is the day my entire world flipped upside down.  For some reason, I'm still holding out hope that one day, it'll right itself again.  That I'll return to the "normal" I had seven years ago.
This day is the day I started living in fear and worry.
This is the day that causes me to hear my doctors voice "If it comes back, it will take her life" over and over again in my head.
This is the day every little ache and pain cause me to start freaking out over relapse.
This is the day I could no longer look at my body without cringing.  The sight of my scars still sting my heart and make me sick to my stomach.  I still tense up when Nick touches them or kisses them.
This is the day I realized eating was a stressful and frustrating task for me.
This is the day I realized I miss half of the table conversations because I need to actively concentrate on eating...on swallowing.  I forgot what it's like to eat without actually thinking about every single process of it.  Chewing...swallowing...breathing during it all....sitting up ridiculously straight...not drinking too much.
This is the day I had to give up on hot food and soft bread.  Because after waiting for food to move down or spending long periods of time dislodging food in the bathroom, I return to cold food, or bread that's started to harden.
This is the day I became nervous to eat in a restaurant.
This is the day I became nervous to eat in front of people.  Because no one understands why I visit the restroom multiple times a meal and return with a little less eye makeup and watery eyes.
This is the day I realized I will spend more time with my head in the toilet, dislodging food, than actually at the table eating the food.
This is the day I became embarrassed of my body's new way of handling eating.
This day, early that morning, was the last day I had a 100% pain free day.  Since this day 7 years ago, I cannot honestly say I haven't had a pain free day.
This is the day that I had to sleep in discomfort every night.  Choosing my poison...to sleep sitting up at a 45 degree angle or sleep lying down knowing my acid will hang out in my esophagus all night causing me so much pain.  Both of which produce very little sleep.
This is the day I had to start worrying my greatest fear might come true...that I might be infertile.
This is the day I became broken.  Emotionally and physically.



I know this day has been made worse because of recent events.  Without too many details, things have not been right with my body.  A few worrisome symptoms have presented themselves in the past few weeks.  None that immediately point to cancer.  But today I finally visited a doctor.  I'm waiting on lab results.  That is weighing, heavily, on my mind.  I won't get my results until early next week so I'm playing the waiting game.  I'm trying to remain calm and tell myself it's nothing.  I am not feeling any bumps.  My physical exam checked out great.  But then again, seven years ago, on January 6, 2006, I checked out fine, physically.  Only when my labs came back did they indicate something was very wrong and I was immediately told to head to a hospital to be admitted.  And that started the entire horrible journey.  I just can't seem to shake that memory.  Especially with what tomorrow brings.
{I realize my recent symptoms and doctors appointment this morning is news to most people.  Realistically, only Nick and my mother knew I had anything going on.  I was too scared to mention it to anyone else.  Afraid if I voiced concern, I'd only jinx it and cause it to become something serious.  I put it off for far too long out of fear.  And fear is what kept me from mentioning anything.  So I'd appreciate some prayers now that I've put it out there.}

I just keep thinking, "I can't do that again."  I know everyone thinks I'm so strong.  And I am.  Most the time.  But right now, I'm weak.  I'm beyond weak.  I'm embarrassed to admit it but it's true.  And I promised to always be 100% honest in my blog.  I feel so shattered and more broken than ever.  I just want my results to come back tomorrow morning and know everything is okay.  I don't want to wait a week for results.  I don't want to spend the day alone.  I want to smile and be entertained.  I want to have something that prevents me from thinking about what tomorrow means.

I wish I was the cancer patient who was diagnosed, treated, in remission and done.  Nothing more than simple scans.  I feel my life would be easier.  But for me, I have so many complications that are constant reminders.
Every time I eat and my head is in a toilet...I'm reminded.
Every time I sit at the table in discomfort as my esophagus is trying to decide if it will open to allow food down, if it push my food down or just let gravity take it, or if it bring it back up...I'm reminded.
Every second of every day when my esophagus and throat are in pain from acid reflux...I'm reminded.
Every pill I pop each day....I'm reminded.
Every cough, sneeze, and hiccup...I'm reminded.
Every procedure...I'm reminded.

I long for a life where my only reminder are the scars left on my body and the one simple office visit following a scan once a year.
I'm jealous of my friends and fellow cancer bloggers who live these "easy" life-after-cancer lives.  I long for that.



I'm really hoping tomorrow isn't as bad as I'm thinking it will be.  Do you ever feel like sometimes the days leading up to the horrible day are the worst part???  I know that's true for my scans and procedures.  Especially the night before.  Like right now.  My hope is that tomorrow when I wake up, it won't be as bad as my mind is thinking it will be.  I'm sure my day will consist of lots of phone calls to my mommy.  And I know she'll welcome them because this day isn't easy for her either.  Sometimes, I think this is all harder on her than me.  It's harder to watch loved ones suffer than to actually do the suffering.  And I can't imagine when it's your own child.  And now knowing that child is states away, hurting, sick, scared, and anxious.  I'm sorry, Mom.


It's 2:35am and I should really go to bed.  I'm not tired from anxiousness.  But I'm only putting off sleep.  The longer the stay up, the later I'll sleep tomorrow, which means the more of tomorrow I'll miss.
I've spent the night baking Nick his favorite cake, writing him a little love letter, signing the cards from the dogs, cleaning, and now blogging.  I'm out of things to keep me awake.

Luckily, after Friday afternoon, my mind and time will be occupied until I get my results.  Nick is free after Friday afternoon.  We're heading to Alabama to spend the three day weekend with my sister and Kyle so I'm pretty pumped.  I haven't seen my sister since Christmas back in St. Louis and I miss her and Kyle.  Thankfully, I'll only have to wait one night and a wake up to get my results after that.


Thanks for listening to my rambling. Thanks for all the prayers and support.
And if you're judging me, I truly hope you never experience a hardship that leaves strong and long-lasting emotional scars on your body.
Until you've walked in someone's shoes, you really shouldn't judge their emotions.  I've learned this the hard way.

Goodnight followers.  Happy Valentine's Day to all of you that have no reason to dislike February 14th.  I LOVE love and love seeing my friends and family happy, so I hope you have a great day filled with wonderful memories and long lasting friendships and love!

Occurrences, Not Coincidences

In my previous post about Nick's selection, I mentioned that I received a surprise package in the mail that calmed my nerves and put me at ease.

You see, Nick's selection was a really big deal for us.  I was so incredibly nervous.  While getting ready to leave for his selection, I went out to get the mail.  That in and of itself is weird.  I never get the mail.  It's only ever bills so why bother???  Nick is ALWAYS the one to get the mail.  (Ask him if you think I'm making this up.) But today, after finishing my hair and makeup, while standing in the closet looking at my clothes getting frustrated over what to wear (I felt I should be dressy since it's a big day but it's always a SUPER casual event), I suddenly thought "You should go get the mail." So I walked outside to the mailbox and inside, there was a package from Shutterfly.  I knew I didn't order anything but thought maybe Nick made something for me for Valentine's Day?  (How silly of me to think that lol.  Nick?  On top of holidays?  No way!)  I walked inside, "Did you order something from Shutterfly?"
"No...I don't even know know that is."

It was addressed to me so I sat on the couch and opened it.  And then began bawling my eyes out (in the end causing me to run late because I had to redo my makeup.)

I received this book:

It was FULL of pictures of Andy as a baby and then throughout his life, ending with many, many photos (a lot of them being some of the ones I took and gave away!).  In addition to the photos, there were many little stories of Andy's silly antics growing up.  It was the most amazing gift ever.

Included was also the Penny poem I had lost over the years!!!
We were given this poem after Andy had passed and I have many of my own "penny stories".

(For those that do not know, Andy is a friend of mine that was tragically taken from us in our junior year of high school.  I've blogged about him a few times.)

It was in this moment that I was calmed.  This book could not have come at a better time.
Seeing Andy's face smiling at me, I knew he sent me out to the mailbox.  He wanted me to see this before we left.  It was his way of saying, "I'm here for you.  Like I always am.  I will take care of you and watch over you.  No matter what today results in, you will be okay because I, along with God, will be by your side."  It was Andy reminding me that no matter what Nick selected that day, God has a plan for us.  It might not be the plan we would like, but He has a plan.  And we need to just trust in His plan.  And Andy would be there to guide us through it.

My nerves were calmed.  I let go of my nervousness (although it returned when it was Nick's turn to take his shots and find out his platform.


Andy's mother was the one who sent me this book.  She had read my post about Andy on the anniversary of his death and said she would send me something.  I just assumed she'd mail me a photo of Andy that I could put in a frame.  This was far beyond anything I could have imagined but it means the world to me.

I sent her a message thanking her for the book and explaining to her that it came right when I needed it. I was shocked to find out that the book was not actually scheduled to arrive until Friday!!!
Donna explained it perfectly:  "These are not coincidences but rather occurrences."  And I could not agree with her more.  Our Andy Angel sent that book a day earlier knowing I needed him.  (He probably thought a penny would not be enough!!!)  And our Andy Angel sent me to that mailbox.

Donna, thank you, so much.  There are no words to express what this book and your generosity mean to me.  Thank you for taking the time to write that book and send it to me.  I will cherish it forever.

Andy, once again, you've pulled through as the most amazing Guardian Angel ever.  You never cease to amaze me or be there for me.  I need to remember to lean on your more instead of waiting for such blatant signs!  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.




(I know I do not speak often of God and my beliefs.  I am very much a private, spiritual person.  I believe my relationship with God is just that...MY relationship with God.  I pray privately and I talk to God privately.  But I am a strong believer in Him, the power of prayer, and His love for us.)

Andy Mann: Eleven Years

Today marks 11 years since Andy left our world.  Eleven years of missing an incredible man.
I can still remember it all so vividly.  I wish I couldn't.  It always brings tears and heartache.

There are no words to describe the type of person Andy was.  He's was only one of the most amazing people ever.  It's still hard for me to understand why he was taken from us.  So young.  So suddenly.  And in such a tragic way.  It just doesn't seem fair.  At all.  I know I need to stop questioning it because we'll never understand. But I do keep searching.  The only thing I can come up is that God put Andy here on this earth to show us how to live life.  A life full of love and acceptance for everyone.  A life full of nothing but laughter and living for others.  I tell myself Andy was put here to be an example for us.  And God thought Andy had accomplished that in his short 17 years here on earth.  And by His taking him, has made all of us stop and think.  We all knew how amazing Andy was, but it was by his death that made us realize that we too should be living a life like his.  (Although I'm still searching for why he had to be taken in the horrible way that he was.  That I will NEVER understand.)
Is this the reason Andy was taken from us?  No one knows.  But I think this makes perfect sense.  So it's what I chose to believe.

Today I woke up and thought a lot about Andy.  Andy is always on my mind.  But especially today, on the anniversary of his death.
I laid in bed crying, feeling guilty I didn't visit him while I was home.  I know I don't need to be sitting at his grave to talk to him or feel him around me.  But I feel better and closer to him when I'm there.  When I touch his stone, it's like I can feel him touching me...as if he's sitting right there next to me.  I feel I can talk more openly and honestly there.  I also just feel it's a sign of respect to visit people at their grave.  But I didn't go.  Christmas leave is always so busy.  We were running from here to there and back again.  But I should have made time.  And I feel so guilty and like a bad friend for not visiting him.  I'm so sorry, Andy.

Today I laid in bed thinking about Andy and all our fun times during high school.  But I suddenly realized, I can't hear his voice anymore.  It brought me to tears.  So much time has passed that I cannot recall his voice.  I can't call his cell phone and hear a voicemail.  Back then, we didn't have digital cameras and smart phones we carried around all the time with video capabilities.  I have no way of replaying his voice.  And this saddens more than I can express.  Because his laughter was one of the most contagious laughs you've ever heard.  You couldn't help but smile when he laughed.  And his voice always sounded so excited.  He could be telling you the most boring story but he had a way of making it exciting just by his voice.  So full of life and happiness.  That's just Andy...in all things.  But that voice is gone.  I can't recall it.  I tried.  I laid there and tried so hard.  But I failed.

His face is also fading from my memory.  I can no longer close my eyes and envision him.  I picture his dark hair and a smile, but the details, they're missing.  It's a blurred image.  It literally pains me.  When I try to picture Andy, all that comes to mind is his picture in our yearbook.  A still, non-moving, school photo.  I can't picture a true, detailed and clear, moving, life-like Andy.  No matter how hard I will my brain to remember his smile and his face, it just comes up with that one still detailed image or a blurred more animated image.
I don't even have my own photos to look through.  When Andy died, we all collected our photos to create giant poster boards full of photos of him to be displayed at this visitation and funeral.  Back then, as I mentioned, we didn't have digital cameras.  Those were my only copies.  I gave away my only memories of Andy.  I didn't even think to scan them or make copies.  I knew Andy's family would want them.  And they deserved them.  I wish I had made copies but I am not mad I gave them up.  Andy has an absolutely amazing family and they deserved every single photo of him.  I know if I were a mother or sister, I would want any and all photos as well.
I just wish I had a photo that I could frame for my house and others to keep in a small album.  Or something of his to be displayed and stand as a reminder of such an amazing man.  But he was a guy.  It's not like girlfriends who share things and give gifts to one another.  If any of my girlfriends passed away, I'd have many things to remember them by.  But it's not the same with a guy friend.
I used to have a penny from him.  After his death, his amazing mother gave all of us juniors at St. Pius this poem about pennies from heaven.  In all of my moving during college, to back home, to Maryland, to Florida, I've somehow misplaced not just my poem, but also my penny.  I wish I could find it but basically, the poem says that when you're feeling down, your angel tosses a penny down from Heaven to cheer you up or let you know they miss you.  One day I found a penny, and it sounds crazy, but I just knew it was from Andy.  I carried that penny with me everyday for a year.  Then I kept it in my jewelry box.  And then suddenly, it was missing.  I was devastated.  Because I realized, I lost the only physical thing I had "from" Andy.

And now I've lost my memory of his voice and face.  It's just so hard.  I keep wishing I had a framed photo to talk to (crazy as that sounds) or a penny to hold as I talked to him.  Andy, if you're reading this, I'd really appreciate you sending me another penny ;)

Although this all saddens me, I need to focus on the positives.  That's exactly what Andy always did and what he'd want me to do right now.  So here it is:
I'm happy that I was able to know Andy.  To call him a friend.  I feel very blessed for that.  Even though it was only for two and a half years (my high school was so small, you quickly grew close to people).  While short, they were powerful.  He touched and changed me more than I could accurately describe.  I'm happy to have seen the man he was and the way he  made everyone feel they were his best friend.  I'm happy that I was able to grieve his death while also taking his amazing life and trying to model mine after it....as I think was God's plan.
I'm happy that while I've forgotten his voice and face, I have not forgotten all the memories and times we had together.  All the "Good Morning High-Fives", the parties, the sporting events, the cheering me on during soccer, the before and after school gatherings in the parking lot around his beloved Jeep.  I have not forgotten a detail about the amazing man of God he was.  The amazing friend, student, brother, son, athlete, and teammate he was.  Those are the type of memories that never vanish.  Because someone like Andy doesn't just touch your heart, they leave a lasting impression.
Thank you, Andy, for the impression upon my heart and my life.  Thank you for watching over me the past eleven years.  Thank you for listening to me and helping me through 2006.  You are always, always in my heart and on my mind.  I love and miss you, Andy.


If you like to read more about Andy, please visit his Memorial Grant page {HERE}.
I had never actually sat down to read this site until just now.  I realize that the Mission on the page is almost exactly what I've written here in this post.  And in previous posts.  Whomever wrote that Mission page for his website was thinking identically to me...about leading a life as he did...about imprinting on our hearts.  Absolutely crazy to write this blog post, then to go and read it there.  Just proof that he truly was an amazing man!

6 Years Remission

Today marks 6 years of remission for me.  {Some call it a Life-aversary, meaning they were given their second chance at life because it really does change you and your outlook on life.  Others call it a Remission-versary or just Remission Anniversary.  I'm sure there are other names.  I usually just stick with Remission Anniversary.}

Six years ago today, I received my first clear scan.  It's the moment I knew I was truly "cancer-free".
Some people count their remission from the date the tumor was removed.  For me, the date my tumor was removed did not mean good news.  It was an awful day.  It was day we went from what we thought was a benign tumor, to a very bad, malignant tumor.  The day our lives flipped upside down.  The first day of the most grueling and horrible year of my life.  It was then that we learned my tumor had tested highest grade, meaning the cells were dividing at a very rapid rate.  This led my doctors to believe that the cancer cells had already entered my blood stream.  They feared they were floating throughout my body, just looking for a place to attach and begin growing again.  Because there was a strong chance I had cancer cells in my blood stream, I do not count that as remission or "cancer free".
Other count their remission starting on the date of their last treatment.  Again, I didn't feel safe doing this.  There are plenty of cases where the treatment doesn't work and the cancer is not completely gone from the body.  I felt if I told myself I was "cancer free", I might be jinxing my body.
Therefore, I waited until a little over a month after my last chemotherapy treatment to start saying I was in remission.  And that was November 20, 2006.  That's the day I KNEW I was "cancer free".

Why do I keep putting "..." around the words "cancer free".  Well, honestly, because no doctor will ever call you cancer free.  They can never know that.  They will  never know if a teeny tiny cancer cell is in your body somewhere.  Instead, doctors will say NED, "No Evidence of Disease."  This covers their butt but also makes you realize that's all we can really say.  All doctors can tell you is that with the testing done to you (scans, x-rays, blood work, etc) all of it shows that there is no evidence of cancer in your body.  All tests came back negative and margins were clean.

Some people ask me if I'm "cured".  With some cancers, once you reach a certain number of years with no recurrence, doctors will considered you cured. Unfortunately for me, my cancer is too rare and aggressive that they will never consider me "cured".  I will always just be in remission.  Either way, as long as I have no signs of cancer, I'm okay!  Call it whatever the heck you want to call it, I'm "cancer free" in my eyes!!!  I just don't focus on all the negative associated with my cancer such as the "oh you will never be cured!"  I don't care if I'm never "cured" as long as it never comes back!

To some, it might seem silly that I still want to "celebrate" this anniversary.  But to those people, they truly don't understand my cancer and all I went through.  My cancer is very rare and it's severe.  The odds most definitely weren't in my favor.  On my third year in remission, a doctor even admitted they didn't expect to see me sitting there, having beat the odds.  (Comforting, right?)
To me, this is worth celebrating!  I mean, we celebrate birthdays and I didn't do a damn thing on that day. (Mothers should be celebrated...they're the ones going through the hard work!)  So if I can celebrate my birthday where I didn't do anything, then I sure as hell can celebrate a day that I worked very hard for.  I went through hell and back, emotionally and most definitely physically, so I think I deserve to celebrate!  It's a day where I reflect where I was, what I went through.  And when I reflect on that, I KNOW this day is worth celebrating.  Every single year.
There are far too many people whom I sure wish their lived ones were here to celebrate these days.  They weren't fortunate enough to win their battle and celebrate their life each year.  I am fortunate to have a story of triumph.  And I will celebrate.

It's been six years since my first clear scan.  And about six and a half years since my hell.  I still have very strong emotions when those memories come flooding back.  {When I allow those memories to fully come back.}
There's no rule book for this.  I don't know how I'm supposed to feel now.
Closure?  No, not really.
Relief?  Sure, for the most part.  (Until I'm sick, in pain, or have a scan or doctor appointment coming up.)
Gratitude?  Most certainly!
Appreciation?  Absolutely.  I wouldn't be here without my family, friends, doctors, and nurses.
Blessed?  More than I could express.

So here's to today!  A mix of good and bad emotions, but mainly good ones!  Here's to a day worth celebrating!!!!  Here's to the past 6 years, while not easy, they were and are "cancer free".  Here's to a lifetime more of years to celebrate!!!