Here stands the good

I remember the day, the hours, the moments.

We believe she has cancer.
We must do more tests.
She requires chemotherapy.
We need to move quickly.

I remember that afternoon, in the OR.
Desperately trying to calm her.

She was screaming at the doctors.
Name calling.
Pure terror.

I remember holding her.
Tight.
Down to the bed.
Still.

Begging her to calm down.
Telling her she would be ok.

I remember.
I can't forget.

On Monday, I was fortunate to experience this.


Brookie as she boarded the boat for OuR Island, Camp Trillium.































My beautiful girl.
Healthy now, and two years older.
So wise and mature.
Yet so young and unknowing.

I want to go.
I can do this alone.
I'm not nervous.

Off she went.
Stone-faced.
To camp.
Alone.

The girl who held me so tightly, two years ago, is now free.

Free to grow.
Free to trust others.
Cancer-free.

It's such a beautiful gift, and such an amazing new memory to hold.

Next to the bad, here stands the good.
The opportunity.
Her life.

My God, we are so blessed.

They need so much less than we think

Tonight we had an extra long dinner as a family.
It wasn't a fancy meal, or a well-planned all-natural organic creation.

It was just food, on plates.
Knapins and water cups.

Some ketchup for good measure.

But tonight our meal lasted for what felt like forever, because we sat down and planned our bucket list for the rest of this year, using a simple prompt sheet I had printed four months earlier (with good intentions).

It took us until today, but we did it.
And it was worth every minute of conversation.

We laughed as we brainstormed.
Teased each other.
Cracked jokes.

We opened our minds and hearts to new possibilities.
Shared with each other the things we'd love to see and do.

It filled my soul.

Three hours later all I keep thinking about is this:

We trade time for money,
spend it on piles of accumulation and call it wealth.

We work so damn hard,
exchange it for so little quality family time and call it a life.

We dedicate ourselves to higher education,
then fail to revel in the words of a four year old because we are rushing and distracted.

Our kids need us now.
Today.

They need our presence.
Not presents.
They need to sit around a table of people who love them.

They need to SEE US.
Be with us.
Be held by us.

No amount of wealth, no advanced education, not even a burgeoning career can provide for our children what they need right now, as little humans.

They need us.

Their mamas.
Their daddies.
Their aunties and uncles and grandparents and special relatives.

They need time.
A relaxed, positive space to speak openly and honestly about their hopes and dreams.

They need love.
Unwaivering, always-present words which clearly articulate the depth of our affection for them.

They need peace.
Space in their hearts and minds which is uncluttered by accumulation, overscheduling and unrealistic lifestyles driven by must-have brands and toys.

They need so much less then we think they do.

Less.
Is.
More.

Tonight, over an extra long family
 dinner, I was reminded of this.

Don't believe me?

Give your kids more time, more cuddles and more opportunities to speak freely.
You'll see what I see, I promise.

You are alive today

A cold morning walk with 90s tunes blaring in my ears.

An old retriever dog, white face and golden body, walking down a busy street with a giant branch in his mouth.

A postal worker picking up an empty garbage bin rolling around on the street.

Amazing lunch conversation with a dear friend and long-time mentor.

 

What do these all have in common?

 

Well...

 

they brightened my day,

made me smile,

reminded me of all the good around me.

 

They were free,

unplanned,

spontaneously noticed on an average day.

 

The question is, would I have noticed if I wasn't bringing mindful awareness to my day?

Probably not.

 

How much in our day to day life do we miss by thinking so far in advance?

How much passes us by, when we are busy analyzing the past?

 

The past leaves us depressed.

The future gives us anxiety.

Why do we continue to live like this?

 

Eckhart Tolle says, "Realize deeply, that the present moment is all you ever have."

 

Think about that.

Really reflect.

 

Why spend the next day, hour, minute even worrying about something that hasn't happened?

Why lose a week, a month, a lifetime feeling angry or holding a grudge about something which cannot be undone?

 

Our life is not meant to be perfect.

But we can appreciate it regardless.

 

There's no moment but now.

And it's up to us to live it.

Breathe it.

Love it.

 

Find the good, in today. In your now.

Whatever or wherever, it just is.

 

You are alive today.

And that is a gift.

 

xo

 

 

Scanxiety for the child who lives

Once again we find our bags packed and nerves frayed.
Tomorrow is Brookie's next MRI.

All week long we were quietly preparing ourselves.

Saying extra prayers.
Making plans for the boys after school.
Choosing a movie for her to watch.

We talked about Alex, her cancer.
Why she was lucky. Why she wasn't.
She asked for a detailed account of her first and second hospital stays.
A story that never gets old.
Except it does.

I even caught her reading a hospital book to her dolls.

When I woke up this morning, I felt the dread kick in full throttle.
I didn't want to get up.
I felt sick to my stomach.
(I've been in and out of the bathroom all day)

Brookie and I were eating breakfast, when the first wave of tears fell.

She expressed that she didn't want to go, tomorrow.
Didn't like the goggles she will wear while watching her movie.
Feels like the MRI takes too long, and the bed is too hard.
Hates being at the hospital, and driving there.

She cried.
I did, too.

Then I felt guilty, knowing some parents don't have their child alive for this test.
Two years later, and we pray Brooklyn is still cancer-free.
Guilt for the child who lives.

The afternoon moved along, though I felt heavy and sad.
My eyes stung with tears held away from the surface.
My heart pumped with scanxiety.

Cancer still lives in my head.
And the what if's came on strong.

While I was making dinner, Jay and I embraced for a moment.
Both of our hearts hurting in synchronization.
When our eyes met, we shared the same exact fear.

WHAT IF.
What if it actually came back?
What if Alex reappeared?

More tears.

Every single MRI throws us right back to the day we heard those words,
We think your daughter has cancer.

What if this time we weren't so lucky?
What if me telling her after this MRI she has an entire year break is a lie, because there is a mass, a shadow, a lymph node swollen larger than six months ago?

This is scanxiety.
This is survivorship.
This is the reality of cancer.

And yet the guilt, so palpable and thick, reminds me how damn lucky we are to have her in the first place.

Listening for what we really need

I've been thinking a lot about a meme I shared to my Facebook account earlier this week. It's a Brene Brown quote, posted by a blog I really like called Becoming Unbusy.

Shared from @BecomingUnBusy (FB)

Why the heck do we run our butts off, trying to do and make and support everyone and every thing?
Are we really avoiding our true selves?

As my kiddos get older, I am finding it harder and harder to find the intersection of supporting their passions yet still creating enough space for downtime cuddles and lazy puzzle days. It's never been harder.

Sports teams.
Dance lessons.
Birthday parties.
Obligatory family gatherings.
Friends to catch up with.
Board meetings.
Work commitments.
Self care appointments.

When did we decide this was all so normal? To be 'crazy-busy'?
Is it worth it?

This week I attended a funeral for a friend's mom, who passed far too young from the bully that is cancer. As I sat in the church pew listening to my friend and her sister share stories about their mother, I was overwhelmed with reflection.

They spoke about how their mother was always there for them.
By their side.

They spoke of family time and their mom's happy place.
The backyard, a bbq and laughter.

They spoke about their mother's love of sunshine and warm weather.
A simple truth most of us forget  to appreciate in the daily busyness of our lives.

I was truly overwhelmed with emotion, tears streamed down my face, as I realized right there, in that pew, that all my family really needs to focus on right now is creating space.

Not crazy-busy.
Not hours spent driving from event to appointment to commitment.

Just time.
And space.

To breathe.
Laugh.

And listen for what we really need.

The choice written on your heart

There are two kinds of stress in my life.

The kind I can control.
And the kind I cannot.

Two years ago, when Brooklyn was diagnosed with neuroblastoma, I didn't have a hope in hell of controlling a single, solitary moment of doctors saying the words, your daughter has cancer.

I was raw.
My heart crushed.
My soul hanging on by a thread.
I couldn't walk away.
Terrified.
No control.

In those moments, as weak as I was, I found strength deep inside to continue, though admittedly it was hour by hour, moment by moment a great many days.

I made it through.
Slowly the stress lessened.
I moved through the 'new normal' of her survivorship.
Most days I am perfectly able to cope, even through scanxiety and recurrent nightmares.
Even carrying massive survivor guilt, a heavy load I am yet to set down.

More recently, however, I experienced a different kind of stress. It was big and mean and took the form of bullying, a passive aggressive relationship.

It ate at my heart.
Crushed my soul.
Left me feeling one inch tall.
Unable to breathe.

At first, I stood still.
Frozen once again in fear.
Terrified.

But then, I noticed something.
I became aware of the chance to make a choice.

Scary and disheartening and difficult as it was, I actually had some power over what I subjected my heart and soul to, this time around.

I could make a choice.
I did make a choice.
And slowly I am beginning to find my way back.

Once again I reflect.
Massage the wounds.
Look for healing.
Learn.

On this journey called life, we have so many stresses.

Career.
Family.
Friends.
Children.
Finances.
Health.

Some of these are in our control.
Most are not.

But why be stressed out and miserable with anything in our lives, if there is an option to choose?

We must be brave.
Warriors of our heart.
Protectors of our spirit.

The days are long.
But the years are oh so short.

We must stand up and choose.

Love.
Safety.
Peace.
Fairness.
Justice.
Self care.
Integrity.
Joy.

Enough eating around it.

Take a deep breath.
And make the choice written on your heart.
You already know the answer.

Soul on Fire

Dear Soul on Fire,

I see you.
I noticed the way you radiated heat, today.
Burnt soul, scorched heart.

Your soul is angry and hot, afraid to consider this new life.
You cannot change it. Push on it. Ignore it.

Though you cannot look at me, I know you are hurting.
Your soul is crushed by the newness of your situation.
Despite your best efforts to avoid it, you landed right there.
Deep inside your soul.

Hot.
And angry.

I know that you feel lost.
Alone.
Wondering what the world thinks now.

I know that you didn't want it to be this way.
That you never imagined it could happen to you.
Or your greatest loves.
But here you are.

I see you.

I notice your hesitation to speak freely, for fear of sounding weak.
I know you are exhausted and entangled.
It's not supposed to be this hard.

All.
The.
Time.

But you are not alone.
I see you.

And suffering is part of our shared humanity.

For I am suffering too.
And I, too, am scared to speak.
But even in the silence, I think of you. Pray for you. Hope for you.
I see you.

We cannot change this journey, but know with brave hearts, it can be endured.
We cannot become so self-consumed that we land in the very situation we fought so hard to solve.
We cannot quit.
We cannot stop trying.

The fire within creates conditions for our own greatness.
New life. Soul's growth.

The fire within begs us to rise.
To stand tall, hearts fully engulfed and exposed for all to see.

Our souls were made for this.
We will endure.
Together.
<3