My hero. My mentor. My Mom.

When I think back to when my Dad first got sick there is an image that always pops in my head. It's a simple picture. But it resonates within me as a profound symbol of so many things. Love. Friendship. Strength. Hope. Togetherness. It rocked my soul. It well...It made me view life a little differently. I wish I could put into words all the things I felt. I watched the moment unfold before my eyes and I just had to capture it. I knew then that it was a moment that would define the rest of my Dad's journey. I'll just let you see it and let you decide what you get from it. 

They say behind every great man is a great woman but this picture shows why my Mom is the exception. She's never been the woman behind my Dad, she's always been beside him. Because of that my Mom is my hero.

 A lot of people have a misconception about who suffers from cancer. To them, it's the patient, but it's also the one who is doing what my Mom is doing, standing beside the patient. Since the day my Dad was put into the hospital my Mom has been a rock. There have been times when they had to give us bad news but my Mom always stayed positive. She would always say that God was in control and He would take care of everything. And she meant it. I don't know how she does it. I have doubted God so many times through this, been angry at Him. Yelled at Him, even cursed. But never her. She's always praising Him, giving Him thanks for the things they do have. My Mom is incredible.
I think of how common Cancer is these days and it scares me to think of my husband getting it. It breaks me down. These days it seems more people do have it then don't, and it scares the hell out of me. Just thinking about it has me in tears. But my mom lives my biggest fear. And she does it with such strength and grace.
She might not be superhuman but she is as close as it gets. We've had some pretty deep talks, talks where she is worried, where she cries, and where I don't know what to say or how to console her, but she's not asking for that. She's just getting her feelings out, which is true strength.

  There have been times where I have asked her how she's doing and she says things like, "You're Dad is having a really good day today." or "We've had a rough day, but we'll get through it." When I ask how she is, she tells me how he is. She always puts herself second. She is vigilant in her cares for my Dad, the love of her life. Even in the middle of all of her duties as a wife, a Mother, a Grandmother, and a caregiver she finds time to fill this world with her love. She's taken time to stop and make sure a local homeless man had ways to get food and something to drink. She updates everyone on her and my Dad's adventures and heartaches. A week or two ago a man came to our house to see my Dad and was speaking of the Melanoma he has and all the different radiation treatments he's had. He told us he's not complaining though, because what my Dad is going through is far worse. Instead of leaving it at what he said my mom said, "No, that's your journey. Your battles are just as tough and just as important. We all have things we fight and they are just as important as the next person's." I loved hearing her say that. I loved knowing that woman with such wisdom was my mother. She doesn't get caught up in the "pity me" mindset. And she never belittles anyone's problems they are facing. Instead she lifts them up, with words and with prayer. 

My Mother is a warrior. She is the woman spoken about in Proverbs 31. She's the woman who spends her days reminding Dad to drink his water. To not go out without his mask when he's neutrapenic and to make sure he doesnt overdo it when he's weak. To others it might sound like she nags at him about all the rules he has to follow. To me, she is being firm in her efforts to keep my Dad alive. And I will forever be thankful that she is so persistent on her "nagging." 

My mother does so many things just to help my Dad get by day to day that no one sees. She does things that don't make sense to other people, but to her they are things that are necessary for my Dad to have a good day. And she might not think that anyone sees them, but I do, Mom. I do. 

I Dont Know How to Answer Your Question

I have a love/hate relationship with a question that I get asked every day. "How's your Dad doing?". And I cringe when I hear it. Not because it annoys me. I think it's very indicative of the amazing friends and support that my parents have. It makes me so happy to know that so many people care.
What I hate about it is that I don't know how to answer it. Usually I say, "oh, he's doing good" or "he's Ok." But then those answers started to bother me. What do they even mean? What is "good" when it comes to having Cancer. I truly don't know. And when I say that, I guess I'm saying it in terms of his health, but he also has a spirit inside of him that I find to be just as important as his health. He could be getting worse but God and his faith are carrying his burdens and his pains and giving him good days. Or he could be doing alright in terms of the cancer but getting tired and broken from having to deal with the daily tolls of battling it.

And like I said before, what do words like, "Ok" "good" and "alright" mean? To any other person those might mean that life is going smooth maybe a few bumps here and there but nothing to complain about. But when someone has an incurable disease like Multiple Myeloma it probably has a different meaning. Sometimes I wonder what goes through my Dad's mind when he answers that question. I'll hear him say, "oh...ya know, I'm doing good."

And the way he pauses makes me wonder what went through his head in that brief amount of time. Does he think of the pain he's in? Or maybe the exhaustion he has from the chemo? Is he thinking of his mental state and how fickle it can be. Possibly how yesterday was a really bad day for him but today is better. He could even be thinking that things are actually not good, but he needs to keep a positive outlook, and thus his answer.

I don't know. I just know that it's almost impossible to answer that question. And please don't think that you can't ask me how he's doing. I truly love knowing people care enough to take the time to ask. Just know that this is scary and it's ever changing. Dealing with seeing your Father fight cancer is a contradiction, it's odd in the fact that this isn't a normal person's life, yet it's normal for us now. And because of that I don't really know how to answer so I say "he's Ok." But I don't even know what I mean by that. I suppose I mean, he's not about to die, but he's very much still fighting for his life. I guess that's what I mean. I guess. I'm sorry, I just don't really know.

My Dreams Aren't Your Dreams

Most girls dream of their wedding day. Or the day they have their first child. The day they buy a home to start their family in. I dreamed of all those things. But I also dreamed of the day my father would go into remission. A year ago today, that dream came true. I cried and thanked God in the middle of the break room at work. That whole day I was on such a high. I felt invincible. I felt like my Dad was invincible. He did it! Goodness had overcame. That day was one of the greatest days of my life. But it's hard for me to wrap my head around. Mainly because here I am, a year later, and I'm still waiting for that same dream to come true. A year later. His remission didn't even last a year. Just a few short months. Months. How can that be? He fought so hard and we were all riding on this high of life and defeating death only for it to come back and give us all terrible come downs.
Today we should be celebrating together or having a big pig roast. But we're not. Today, my Dad is 40 pounds underweight and oftentimes needs to use a cane to walk. Today I'll be listening to Lupe Fiasco's song "Mission" to give me hope. Hoping that my Dad will be just like Cathy Philips. Every time I hear her I cry. I hear the empowerment in her voice and I get chills. She sounds strong and fearless. "Hi, my name is Cathy Philips and I just beat the living shit out of breast cancer. Cancer definitely picked the wrong bitch to mess with. F$@% you cancer! Woo hoi! I'm a survivor baby! YEAH!!!" I dream that one day that will be my Dad. He won't say it in those words, but he will say it with a fierce boldness and empowerment. One day. I know it.

Listen to the song and read the lyrics here. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIj8_E3oZx0

Achieving the Impossible

If people could catch a glimpse of the day I had yesterday they would weep. That's what I was doing anyways. All day long I received message after message. E-mail after e-mail. And after each one, I cried. It was so hard for me to wrap my head around how selfless all my parents, friends, family, and supporters are. Not only did it make me happy to know that my parents would be able to go on a guilt-free trip to Hawai'i but to also know that the world I'm raising my kids in is still full of loving, giving people.
When I started this GoFundMe account I wanted to be clear that this trip was for a vacation. It wasn't to help Dad get better. But so many of you realized that this vacation was to help him get better. To help him relax, and to go visit the place his heart resides. To give him hope.
I'll be honest, when I had to set a goal I thought, "why not set a crazy outlandish goal?" So I did. I thought. $5,000 to be raised by the kindness of others for a trip to Hawaii. I knew everyone was kind and rooting for Dad but I didn't know how much until my phone started going off nonstop. I watched as the list of donors got longer and longer and the total soared higher and higher. I was elated when we reached $1,000 after a few hours. Boggled when we hit the halfway mark, and dumbfounded when at the 23 hour mark we had achieved 75% of our goal. This morning I stared at my phone in shock. Not only did we hit the goal, but someone had blown it out of the water with a large donation knowing we only needed $90 to reach our goal. I called my parents and told them we reached our goal. Dad had me on speakerphone so Mom could hear. They were both speechless. Dad just kept saying, "I really just don't know what to say." And Mom literally said nothing, which if you know her tells you how shocked she was.
So thank you a thousand times over for helping me with two miracles:
Raising the $5,000 that I thought was impossible and making my Mom speechless, which I also thought was impossible. I love you, Mom!!

God is Not a Butt Hurt Teenager

When I became a mother I quickly found that EVERYONE has an opinion on how to raise my child. Other mothers spewed out advice that, quite frankly, I didn't give two you-know-what's about. It's extremely annoying. Don't get me wrong, I like advice on being a mom so long as I either asked for it or it doesn't come from one of those moms. You know, the one's who are nice enough to give advice but really it's only so you will put them on some kind of pedestal for being so awesome, perfect, all knowing, yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah. A good friend of mine told me to just say, "oh, I'll have to keep that in mind!" I'm not that nice. And if I did say that verbally, my facial expression would say, "go blow smoke up someone else's (explicative.)
I don't take kindly to self ego boosting "do-gooders." ESPECIALLY when they come in the form of a Christian. I mean, I'm a Christian but I can sniff out a Fred Phelps in a heart beat. (For those of you that already know the story or what I'm getting at, was that too much? Who cares. I said it.)
Now, I shall revert to the real reason I wrote this blog as it seems I'm venting and not talking about cancer. This very much so has to do with cancer.
I have been made aware of a person whom I know that has told another person I know, that if my Father dies from Cancer it will only be because his faith in God was weak because God heals ALL believers. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. WHOA. My first reaction when hearing this was to get a hold of her and go ape shit on this lady. Verbally, of course. Who the hell says things like that? Other than Mr. Phelps and his psychotic culties. Then, I wanted to rip her apart in my blog and make sure she saw it, but alas, I decided to take the high road and use this as way to reach out. To turn this woman's crazy talk into a positive.
So this is me being an adult and not lashing out...
As a person dealing with cancer or watching a loved one deal with it NEVER let someone's opinion, advice, or bible thumping tear you down. Most people who say such hurtful things think they are acting on God's behalf, but they are just pumping themselves full of their own righteousness.
NEVER feel like you aren't worthy of being healed by God.
NEVER question whether your faith is enough for God. Whether you or they believe in Him with your whole heart or don't believe at all, God still has the situation under control. God is not a butt hurt teenager that decides to let people die and suffer because they didn't pick Him to be on their team. You're not hanging on a string of healing until you piss God off.
Now, I'll be honest with you. There's a flip side to this. Just because you do believe in God doesn't mean you will be healed. God has His own plan that we don't get to know about. Sometimes we see it as it unfolds, sometimes it's years later, and well, sometimes we don't get to see it at all. But that doesn't mean that there wasn't a reason for someone not being healed. It's hard to hear that and even harder to comprehend. Trust me. I know. I had a hard time with it until a week or two ago. It's still hard to think about the possibility if losing my Dad, but it's easier to know that if I do, God has a reason for it.

Here's to the Next Day

First you hear it. Then you try to make sense of it but that doesn't exactly happen right away. Actually, I'm not too sure that it ever really does make sense. But there's more to it. For me, there's tears for a few seconds. Then salty streaks on your cheeks are left as anger sets in. God and I have a nice little chit chat where I talk and He listens to me blame Him. Once that's over I beg Him to heal my Dad and tell Him I know He's in control but I'm still angry with him. Now comes the numbness. The staring into space. I think my brain decides to shut down as a coping mechanism. It's just had so many emotions going on at once that it stops. That and it takes pity on my broken heart. The only thing that goes through my mind is usually a verse of whatever song I've been listening to lately. It just plays over and over again until I remember what I've just been told.

People think that hearing it a second time is easier but it's not. It's different, but it sure as hell isn't easier. This time I had flashbacks of my skinny eyebrowless father. My Mom's teary eyes. My brother, sister, and I waving good bye in the driveway knowing it will be at least a month until we see them again. Phone calls as updates. Holidays and celebrations spent apart. This time I am bitter towards God. The first time I was upset and confused. A month or so ago we got some bad results only to have doctors say it was a false alarm. To us it was a miracle. But now, now I can't help but feel like I've been fooled. I think I feel that way because I truly believed my Dad would never have cancer again. I knew he was "high risk" but I thought, "that's a doctor's term, not a term someone with God on their side uses." So now I'm lost. I'm stuck wondering how this happened again to someone so selfless and humble. I'm sitting here wondering how I'm supposed to feel. How to be strong again...
Shoot, I don't even know how to finish this rambling. Usually I try to end on a positive note, but not today. Today I'm raw. Tomorrow I'll be bitter and calloused. But the next day, that will be a better day. Here's to the next day.

The Calm After the Storm

2 years ago I had the opportunity to go to Haiti and visit a few orphanages. It was my hope that I would end up living there and do whatever I was called for, regardless of the danger.
People always warned me how dangerous it was. They said that I would get there and realize it's a different world, hate it, and never go back. They would tell me I was crazy and I would never do it because they would never do it.
I could understand where people were coming from, however none of it made sense to me personally. Danger? If it's my purpose God will handle the danger. So, to me, there was no danger. And of course I knew it was a different world, that was the point of going. What good would I do going somewhere comfortable for me? And the fact that people said I shouldn't go is because they wouldn't is the whole essence of why I absolutely should go. Not many people would. Not many people dream of going to a 3rd world country and living life rough while serving others. But I did. I craved it. So, if that was a desire I possessed, I should do it, because so few others are willing to.
The other day it hit me. My father's outlook on his journey might be like my outlook on Haiti. Not that I think he wants cancer, but he's taking on the task of reaching out to other's in the middle of an undesirable circumstance. He's praying with people. Talking to them. Being honest and raw about what he's gone through. He's making them laugh and smile. Giving them hope. He is being a light to others. And I think if given the choice, he would choose the path he's on now rather than a cancer free one. I think he knows this is his path God has laid out for him and that it's bigger than whatever he will endure from the cancer.
Until now I've had a very hard time coping with this. I couldn't understand it. Because of that I couldn't even begin to process it. It started to eat at me. But now I get it. Now, I can move on and process. It's still not a desirable place that I have to see my Dad be in. It's quite hard to watch actually. But, it's what I would do. And I suppose my desire to do good despite hardships that I may have faced, come from my Dad. I mean, I am his daughter. So here's to a new outlook and respect on what my Dad is going through. And to finally being Ok enough with it to move on without my anger. In fact I'm pretty proud of him for taking cancer head on and being a light for others at the same time.