Darkest Before Dawn

The Beginning

August 1, 2010

Someone, namely my British friend Andrea (who we affectionately refer to as Sharpy), suggested I start a weekly diary to detail my new fight with cancer. Most of you know I’ve been battling Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma for the past two years. I hesitated to start this diary, because I feel blessed to be better off than some and as you know, it took a long time for me to even say the ‘c’ word. I also feel like I’m whining when I say how hard the battle is. But as Sharpy pointed out, we all laugh a lot, the support of friends is what makes the fight bearable and we all need a good whine every now and then.

So…it’s with those thoughts in mind I start this written account of random thoughts from myself and all of you who read.

Just a brief bio of me . . . I am, at time of this writing, forty one years old. I’m a red head with brown eyes. I have three children, a girl and two boys, ages twenty two, twenty one and eighteen and 1 granddaughter almost a year old. I have been a widow for six years. I am director of a child care center in North Carolina, in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. I have lived in North Carolina (NC) all my life. I am in college to complete a Bachelor of Science degree in Birth through Kindergarten Education with public school teacher licensure and a minor in child psychology. I drive four hours round trip twice a week to classes, because in my area there is no university which offers this degree. I will graduate with honors from Appalachian State University (ASU) on the day I was diagnosed with cancer, three years later. I was diagnosed with cancer, or as I commonly call it, 'the Big C' the Saturday before Mother’s Day, May 2008.

I have undergone three surgeries, four rounds of chemo and two rounds of radiation. Twice my med team has told me there was no hope, I had weeks to live. Twice I have proved them wrong. This third time, it was a choice between finishing my degree and more chemo. I choose my degree. And alternative medicine.

I credit my friends, who are my family, with saving my life and making it possible for me to still be here, a ‘miracle’ in the medical profession’s eyes. I call this group of friends my family, and also My Gold Team. They are Reasons for me to continue fighting, who keep me going when I want to quit. True Gold in every sense of the word. When my Gold Team is added to my determination to graduate and my inborn stubbornness, I think we’re all unbeatable.

Sharpy said if my words help even one person stay strong and keep fighting, it will be worth my time and effort.

And she is correct.

Heroes and Heroines

August 6, 2010

I was thinking a lot about this the last couple of days. What’s the definition of ‘hero’? I love the song, ‘Holding’ out for a Hero’. But I realize each time it plays, I realize don’t need to hold out, I am surrounded by heroes.

There’s a six year old in our area battling terminal cancer, which just went into Hospice (this is the final stage, where nurses take over for the last days). Her parents are amazing, asking for donations not for them, but for the funding to find a cure. They are heroes.

Talking to a dear friend, hearing her battle with injury, she’s my hero, too. I had no idea how extensive her injury was; she never once complained. She’s amazing, her outlook, and her strength, her ability to give and love. To not be bitter. To not give up. I made her a promise, and Hades or high water, I will keep that promise.

Then there’s our everyday heroes, those who go to work and do so much for so many for so little…this is beyond the teaching profession. One friend in particular works behind the scenes, making sure we are safe, that his corner of specialty makes the rest of the ‘bigger’ wheels turns. He’s a career EMT/Medic who was a fireman. Twenty years ago, a burning building fell on his team as they rescued the homeless from a burning warehouse. His backbone was crushed. Three of his team died. And still he goes to work every day, fighting to save lives. He’s a hero, too.

Fellow cancer survivors, who are now caregivers, are huge heroes to me. They are quiet heroes, because it’s harder, to me, to watch someone you love fight and not be able to do anything but be there for them. I once prayed God would give me the illness attacking a friend, and I would have taken it, gladly. That’s not ‘hero’ to me, it’s part of who I am. I can’t say enough about those who work for RFL [Relay For Life]. Or who just simply listen.

That’s a hero to me: someone who listens patiently and endlessly. I have so many who do that for me, especially this certain Captain in a Second Life themed Cruise ship. We’re friends and he always has time to help me and listen to me. I hope I do that for them.

My Dad says, You have two ears and one mouth, listen twice as much as you talk. Since I’m a known talker, (a teacher I had in school once dubbed me, Mouth of the South, which I realize now affected me deeply with the resulting jokes and teasing from my peers and is a large reason I withdrew into a Hades for a long time). This is a lesson I am slowly coming to understand: to Listen.

I have so many stories. We forget heroes aren’t those who do something extraordinary, they are the ones who fight the fight daily, who brighten the lives of others, and ask for nothing in return. Every time one of you posts a funny comment on FB [Facebook] or to someone that makes someone else thinks or smiles, that’s a hero. I surprise people when I call them heroes, because they don’t see themselves that way. And maybe that’s the true definition of hero.

And by the way…I’m not a hero. Yet. But I wanna be :)

Wallowing. . .and Not wallowing

August 12, 2010

I needed IV fluids to replace what I can’t put in myself over the weekend. I hate needles. Y’all probably heard my voiced objections over receiving these fluids even as I knew I needed them. And I wallowed about the unfairness of life. I sank into self pity. Because I do that now and then. I hide it a lot. Previous post on heroes? It’s why I’m not a hero. Because I whine, because I wallow, because I complain about the hole inside me that I realized today isn’t going to be filled by anyone else but myself.

As I wallowed dark and dreary, and in self pity tired and weary, a friend told me to, "get busy living or get busy dying". I told him he’s the only one who could say that to a person in stage 3, told she has six to eight weeks tops, and not have me rip his head off. Because the tiny little non wallowing part of me saw the truth in his words. He wasn’t being mean. He was being honest, just as I asked him to be when I first told him about the Big C. I asked him never to sugar coat anything to me, to kick my butt good when I did wallow and ‘poor me’ vent.

I owe him a great pair of kick butt boots.

He’s a good friend. And yes, those of you wondering F-R-I-E-N-D. Nothing romantic, because his heart, as mine, is definitely captured elsewhere. Ever see the movie ‘When Harry Met Sally’ where Harry says men and women can’t be friends? Well, we are. If I need blunt honesty, I ask him. And boy, does he give it to me!

I’m blessed in so, so many ways. I know that, I see it, I feel it. But I’m also human and tis human nature to want more. I once said I want someone for once in my life to put *me* first unconditionally and totally. But I realize…I’m the only one who can do that. I have to put me first and that doesn’t mean by wallowing about how unfair life is, or how I’m broken I am, or how a part of me is missing or how I want a romantic someone or how I want 10 more years instead of 10 more weeks.

Being first doesn’t mean totally ignoring those around me. It means truly Seeing those around me and all I have. My Gosh, I have friends, so many, so different, so caring and concerned. Y’all pray for me. You listen to me. You read my ramblings and my stupid jokes. You relayed for me, play requests for me, shop with me, help me find things I lost, send me jokes and funny stories, email me and IM me. Even as some of you sit in pain I can’t comprehend, or going through Hades I can’t walk through, you listen to me. That’s first, isn’t it? Maybe if I did that more, I’d have more peace.

The glass isn’t half empty. It’s half full. Every freaking second is a miracle. I have friends who are gold. That’s first. That’s everything. I have a granddaughter who looked at me, smiled and reached for me. For *me*. That’s everything. And while I know I can’t say I won’t ever wallow again…I can say I’m going to recall this morning and the big Why of why non wallowing is better.

Time

August 14, 2010

I’ve been thinking a lot about Time lately, some may say for obvious reasons. We joke the weekend flies and the week drags, that trips to the dentist take forever and vacation is over barely after it’s begun. Kids are grown before we stop complaining about the ‘terrible twos’. I’ve discovered my Time is precious, and maybe I should have known that all along.

I love Star Trek: The Next Generation. Deanna & Riker, human seeking androids, sexy bald guy, sighs. Ok, back on track: In the first ‘crossover’ movie, a character says, Time is the fire in which we all burn. But fire can be a good thing: Cooks, warms, lights. Sure, it destroys, harms, kills too. Sounds a bit like humans, eh?

Not sure where this is going, but I’ve realized this week I made work my life. The Time there is immeasurable, and since I’m salary (any who isn’t, Don't Ever Be, just saying, salary = slave, sure you get paid, but the company owns All your Time), these hours are extremely low paid. What benefit is there when the work isn’t recognized? But…then I see the reasons why I’m in this field and it almost makes all the Time worth it. Almost.

Time can burn in a bad way. If we let it slip away. And that kills the soul more than any disease ever could.

Two weeks ago, I met an older couple leaving the treatment center as I was entering. She forgot her focal point (an object we’re encouraged to keep during treatment, to focus on, a bit like ‘natural’ childbirth, supposedly to take your mind off what’s happening). While she was gone, her husband asked me why my special someone wasn’t there with me. I gave monotone answers. He leaned into me and whispered, I love my wife. What can I do to help her? Give me some things you’d want.

I said, "Leave her notes and little gifts where she doesn’t expect them. Take out the trash and put the toilet seat down without her asking. Then get her a maid. And spend a lot of time doing whatever she wants, even if it’s watching True Blood or All my Children. (Note: These are US shows, one about vampires and the last a soap opera) Or reading Nora Roberts books to her (note: if you don’t know this author, shame on you, run and get her books). Even the sex parts."

He looked kinda stunned, and then he laughed. He was still laughing when his wife returned. They left with her wearing a puzzled smile, because he was still laughing.

A friend whose wife is going through treatment didn’t ask, but I volunteered the same info for him. I used to make little heart notes for my kids and leave them about the house, or slip into book bags. I do the same for coworkers now just to brighten the day. I’d love to have that. The maid and cook go without saying. But I’d rather watch True Blood alone so I can drool, I mean, see Erik and fantasize, I mean, watch Erik. Nora books are best read in a bubble bath.

I was telling both these men that Time is all they can give right now, because it’s all that helps. Time is a gift.

Every second is a gift. Even the bad ones. As I cried through treatment this week (so much I had to stay late, per the staff’s demands, to calm down) I thought how I was wasting time. It made me angry. And that made me cry more. Which made me feel dumber and know I was wasting even more Time? This then made me think of my own advice I gave the two men. Give your Time, I was saying. Give your Time.

So, though I had reports due, and files due, and too many other work things due, and I felt like crawling in bed and staying there, I sat and watched the original Buffy the Vampire Slayer with my son. We’ve seen it so much we quote lines ("You broke up with my machine? Oh man, she wasted my dog Get out of my facial"). After it was over, he hugged me. Just hugged me for the longest Time (Moms with sons know, after the teen years start, sons do not hug Moms for long periods, it’s not ‘cool’ and besides, Moms are old). I gave him my Time. And I got back so much.

A friend asked my advice. I was tired, sick and weepy. But I gave her my Time. Because she needed it. There was nothing else I could do but listen and be there with her. In the scope of things, it was thirty minutes. To her, it was a week.

Maybe I’m too focused on material things I could give and not enough on what really matters: My Time. There’s a reason to "live like you’re dying and never waste a single second of any single day". Time. I plan on making the best use of this gift, even if it means reports don’t get done, I stay up past normal bedtime or I’m a few minutes late somewhere.

Oh… I saw the older man this week. He was grinning when he said, So, Erica is some businesswoman in tight skirts and Nora Roberts writes murder mysteries with a cop heroine. The wife loved her notes, even if she couldn’t read half the writing. But I draw the line at that vampire guy. He’s just too weird for my blood.

I’m going to laugh through my treatment time next week.

Bonds

August 24, 2010

I’m not talking bail bonds, though that might be fun. I’m surrounded by bonds that hold and sustain. Ones I’ve had forever, ones newly created, ones I made and ones made for me. All of them strong. Ever notice how we take them for granted, those bonds which get us through the day? I did. Sometimes I still do. If 90% of the battle against the Big C is emotional/mental/spiritual/attitude, Bonds are what determine that 90%.

Child parent bonds are usually the first. I learn this, teach this, study it. I’m adopted but my bonds with my parents are strong even if I once joked there’s a reason I live seven hours from my family. We’re Scot-Irish, Welsh, Italian & Cherokee blood, all mixed up, which means we’re loud. Greeks have nothing on us. We’re also a fascinating blend of Rebel & Yank (South & North US to those in the not know), so we’re a slow loud. I love my family. I’m every bond of family a female can have, sister, cousin, daughter, granddaughter, aunt. Knowing they are there for me is my safety bond.

Sibs…I have two brothers and sister by adoption, way older than me. My younger sister (by blood) is my closest bond. Ever. She died in Jan. 2007. Of cancer. She was 27, the same age our birth mother was when she died from the same cancer. I miss her every day. I hear her laughter, see how she lit up a room just walking in it. She remains the sole Good Person I know, not perfect, but genuinely Good. She was, is, Light, all I want and wish to be. I thank God for her. Death didn’t break this bond. Nothing will.

Friends. . can’t say enough. I have Real Life friends, virtual online and Skype friends. I don’t deal in ‘real and non real’, the bonds are just as ‘real’ over a computer or telephone as they are in ‘real’ life. Sometimes they are stronger.

A quick note about what Second Life is: It's a virtual online 'world' where the players make a life. Many people compare it to a 'cartoon world'. You choose an 'av', or a person which can be personalized in thousands of ways: hair, clothes, tanned skin, pale skin, tattoos, freckles, tall, short, fat, thin. It's everything you are or aren't in your 'real' world. You can build a house, have a shop, go to the mountains, and sit at the beach. It's everything 'real' life offers.

And more. For those of us, like me, too weak to go out in the 'real' world of clubs and malls, it's a way to still be around people, to have adult conversations, to dance, swim, run, laugh, joke. I can't go to a Dublin, Ireland club and dance in high heels in 'real' life, but I can in Second Life. I will never be able to afford to go on a Cruise, yet I spend several times a week walking, dancing and chatting at the premiere cruise ship in Second Life, named the SS Galaxy. I have built a world there, in my Second Life. And many of my Gold Team family share this world with me.

Virtual, real bonds.

My best and longest friend always has coffee and brownies waiting, even when I drop by unexpected; I always take her fudge and an angel (she collects). Yet there are friends I have online who are just as close, who always make time for me, laugh, cry, joke, scream and dance with me. Bonds this strong hold me up, don’t falter, and kick my butt to make me keep going.

Lover bonds…I want to be blessed by that once-in-lifetime soul mate love. It exists. I have seen it. In others. I hope everyone reading this has that someday. It is the Reason to fight, to live, to breathe. Vital bond.

Parent child. I gave birth, raised children I look at now and think, My Holy God, those are mine? How can these adults be mine when they were babies yesterday? My daughter gave birth three months ago. And that bond…wow. It’s true, that each child is a different bond, and truer that each grandchild is, too. If I leave nothing else, I leave a legacy in children I’m proud to call mine. Since I teach, I have lots. Ones that grabbed my heart and don’t let go. They taught me more than I could ever teach them. Bonds that show Life is worth it.

I also have a deep abiding bond with…chocolate. Sighs, yes, shocking, I know. It’s my secret lover, my best friend, my child, my parent. Deanna in Star Trek: "I never met a chocolate I didn’t like. Too much chocolate is not possible" (this is why she’s my favorite character, although Riker (Yum) is close). I must admit, though, Carrabra’s chocolate dream is too rich to finish in one seat even for me. So I eat it slow and lingering, over a couple of days. Bonds that are just simple fun.

I’m going to be leaning and counting on these bonds a lot in the next weeks. News from the team isn’t good, and I have a bio tomorrow morning. Bonds are going to pull me through, just as I will pull them through when they need me.

Have you hugged your bond today?

Pure Joy

August 26, 2010

I had good news yesterday. There’s no new growth and no new spreading of this disease. It’s not Remission, but it’s a good solid step. My med team credits the chemo, steroids, etc. I credit All of You. Without your support, love, laughter, tears, I couldn’t do this. I wouldn’t want to.

I sent a dear friend an email yesterday early morning saying we were celebrating moments of PURE JOY. You know, those moments, like Hitch says in the movie of the same name, "That take your breath", leave you giddy & happy and let you know why Life is worth living. We emailed pure joy things all morning. I was already ‘flying’ before I went to chemo and got this news. It was almost secondary, because I had spent the morning laughing, joking, celebrating all the good things I have and reliving a fun night of jokes, laughs & talking with friends.

(A quick side note: To that special Captain friend joking with me Monday night, you won’t ever know how much I needed to laugh & see beyond the darkness. But I know. You sent me to bed with a smile & started the Pure Joy trend I continued yesterday & will not forget again. Thank you.)

PURE JOY: births, graduating (Associate degree first; higher degree in nine months!), weddings, my grandchild, talking to friends, chocolate (y’all had to know chocolate is in there). My sister & I have a favorite place here, a small waterfall off a side street where we would go, and I still do, just to sit & think, or not think. Looking at that water, hearing it, that’s Pure Joy.

Seeing a full moon. Walking in the rain. Dancing down the hallway at work (yes I really do that sometimes, and coworkers think I’m nuts, but they laugh too, and we all feel better). Finding clothes that fit. Losing weight. A good meal. A good book. Finishing writing a chapter that gave you fits. Jazz. BB King. Good music. Good hair days. Listening to friends. Good friends. Pure Joy.

Children are Pure Joy. They may drive me bats sometimes, but their outlook, their Joy is contagious. Ever notice that? You have to laugh when a child does. Pure Joy.

I have Pure Joy through others’ joy. Maybe that’s the best kind, for me, because it adds the element of knowing I can be so very happy for someone else’s joy.

I saw my older friends yesterday (William & Sadie, by the way). She had one of his notes in her hand and a gorgeous new scarf on her head. They both hugged me. Pure Joy.

Meeting online friends in real life, seeing how they look at each other & little hearts spin about (ok, hearts didn’t really fly, but y’all know what I mean). Pure Joy. Hearing friends who are now a couple, watching my best friend celebrate thirty years (!) with her husband (they met when she was fifteen), news of a wedding with a couple who are like a fairy tale, another friend’s graduation, another’s promotion, one who finally closed on her dream house, one who got a new car, one who got his dream motorcycle back from the repair shop. So many things. So much PURE JOY.

During SL RFL (Second Life Relay for Life), I laughed so much my sides hurt. I stayed up thirty six hours. I realized the importance & value of friends who care & support me in ways I never dreamed. Pure Joy (and pure exhaustion, but that’s a different story). I will make SL RFL 2011 and keep a Promise I made.

It heals. Never doubt for a second Pure Joy heals. It’s better than conventional medicine. It’s second only to Love as the Best Thing Life can give you. No matter what ails you, Pure Joy will heal it. I’m not in remission. Yet. But I have Pure Joy, even when I wallow, even when I feel horrible, even when my heart hurts as I watch friends struggle.

My Facebook quote: Love never given is Love never received. Pure Joy is the same way. To get it, Give It. You don’t have to do anything unique; you just simply live, really live, and really Give. It comes back to you 100 fold when you give it. I promise it does. I’ve seen it. I’ve experienced it. I’ve given it and received so much more back. It’s healing me.

When (see? Positive PURE JOY thoughts here, when, not ‘if’) I go into remission, it will be Pure Joy that healed me. And that’s from All of You. So thank you in advance for your healing. Don’t stop giving it. And I won’t stop giving, either.

Take time to remember Your Pure Joy today. And Give it to someone else.

Why, What, & Warriors

September 1, 2010

I love to debate. Not argue, but a good rousing debate where I present my side and hear the other’s. A friend & I debated Sunday. What started as a simple question (Do you think magic exists?) became a debate on philosophy & higher creator intelligence. Among his points against, he said something like, I can’t believe in any ‘loving’ being who allows people, especially you, to go through the things you do and suffer. It’s bs.

Wow. It humbled me he thought so well of me but at the same time, I’m not unique. We All have things we go through. The Big C is just one. Life is a card game; we have to play what we get dealt. Sometimes it sucks. Royally.

Why, what if, & wth (what the heck) are sisters that will strangle you if you dwell on them too much, card hands that can’t be beat. I could say, Why is this happening to Me? What did I do to deserve this? But would it change anything? Help me fight? Bring me peace?

My Dad jokes my first word was why. ‘Why’ was a friend at first, when I wanted to know the answers to everything. Then, I battled Why. Boy, did I battle Why. We battled when my son thrived within me yet never took breath in this world. We flat out warred when my husband died. Why almost killed me when my sister died, when my soul shattered. A thousand other battles and fights.

A lesson few of us ever learn: Why is one of those Life mysteries that has no answer and therefore can’t be won.

But it can be ignored. And it should be when there’s no answer.

I received my diagnoses the Saturday before Mother’s Day two years ago. We did ‘watchful waiting’, meaning we waited to see what the Big C was going to do. And I asked Why? I had let Why win. I had backed off the battle, stopped asking Why, Why Me, What If, Wth. I let Why just be. I was at peace with Why. But Why isn’t content with peace.

I ask Why every time a member of my support group dies, when another is diagnosed, when my friends struggle through huge mountains Life throws at them, when I hear news of senseless cruelty & stupidity, when I hear a country in debt whose senators vote themselves a huge raise and lay off teachers who make peanuts (ok, I’ll hush, that’s another soapbox entirely). Why stands & laughs at me, taunts me, haunts my steps. It’s always going to be with me.

So…I’ve made Why a Friend again. Of sorts. You know, ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’. I let Why & her sisters What if & WTH rear up, but I don’t fight with them. Much. And I see the different sides of Why.

Yesterday, I went shopping with friends who both bought me gifts ‘just because’ (huge hugs Ish). A coworker brought me iced ginger ale because she knew I was feeling like crap. Those are a Why that’s powerless. A Happy Why, as it was. A ‘just because Why’. Y’all know I still ask Why. A lot. About almost everything.

Except Why, What If, Wth for this disease. It’s part of me now, like the red hair and brown eyes. I can change either of those if I want, and I can change the way I regard Why & her sisters. It’s all about Support & Attitude.

That’s where all of you play such a vital part. You battle Why for me, without even knowing it. I like to picture all of you in amour like Zena & Apollo. For some of you, wow, That’s an image to keep me smiling for hours. Try it sometime. Picture those who fight for & with you in Life as ‘Warrior Why Busters’ in amour with swords & shields, sunlight glistening off finely tones muscles, hair waving in the breeze, blue eyes narrowed with purpose & handsome face looking down at me with this glint of purpose & promises to—

Opps…shakes myself. Sorry. A, umm, private fantasy—I mean, Why Buster Image.

But when I hurt, when I can’t sleep, when I long to be normal & loved, when depression threatens, when poison to ‘help’ me enters my veins, Why tempts me. I don’t always ignore it. I can’t. No one can. It’s always going to be there. But I can draw on my Warrior Why Busters, and I do. And Why, while not defeated, is pushed back to the boundaries I can live with. I won’t let why take over me, just as I won’t let the Big C consume all of me. Both may, one day, win the Ultimate Battle. But it will never be said I gave up everything. Never. Ever.

Never underestimate the powers of Warrior Why Busters (also called Friends). And shopping. And especially chocolate. And a good debate.

The One

September 9, 2010

WARNING: In the movie, The Wedding Date, the main character says after learning of an unthinkable betrayal, "This is one time it’s not ok, that I’m not going to smile and say all the right things, that I’m saying it’s not ok. Tomorrow I will smile and laugh and say all the right things, but tonight, it’s just not ok." This is that one rare time I’m allowing myself to not be positive, to not be upbeat, to just say thwi(the Hades with it), to say it’s not ok.

Skip this chapter you don’t want to see my dark side.

In our last support group, one member asked me, "Wtf are you so fing happy about all the time? You have Cancer. Quit being such a darn Pollyanna all the fing time. It’s irritating as Hades to those of us who live in the real world." [Note: I told the team leader after I won’t be attending anymore meetings. While I fully understand the frustration that led to such an outburst, there was nothing ‘supportive’ about it, and I need support, not criticism, even if I do seem like a Pollyanna].

It was an eye opener, really. I’m been accused of Pollyanna behavior before, of pessimistic behavior, of living in a fantasy world, of the Eeyore syndrome (the donkey from Winnie the Pooh who is always down and complains about all). Just never quite so bluntly in front of so many people. He’s hurting, he’s scared, but he’s still an idiot. It’s not ok.

What he doesn’t see, what I show few people: I’m tired. The physical miseries anyone in treatment is warned about: you will be exhausted. You will be so exhausted you will collapse and sleep for hours. You will be weak. No matter how many times you hear this, nothing prepares you for the utter bone weariness. Nothing. It’s something I can’t even describe beyond simply blinking takes a huge effort. That’s the utter exhaustion. Of course, what few tell you are you will also be too tired to sleep. You will collapse from the weakness than lay awake or wake up and be unable to do anything but lie there. Your mind will run with all the things you have/want to do, and your body will refuse to do them. It’s not ok.

This leads to exhaustion of the spirit. I’d rather be 100 times exhausted in body than 1 time exhausted in spirit. It’s why I’m allowing me this rare chance to say I’m just freaking sick of being tired, of being sick, of not being normal, of not being able to do what I want, of having things that should roll off bring me to weak tears I can’t stop, of having people treat me different. It’s not ok.

My older friend, Sadie, the one whose husband asked me how to help…she passed away Tuesday night. The 6 year old child battling cancer passed this morning. I know they are free from pain, in a better place, happy and cancer free. I *know* this.

I still grieve, still have tears flowing, still think why them and not me.

Yeah, I think that a lot. Sadie’s got a husband who loves her, who needs her,