best gift ever

When people asked me what I wanted for my birthday this year, I mentioned a couple things like a cool hat I saw online or a pair of new shoes.  From the morning the sun peeked through the windows this morning to this moment as I fight to keep my heavy lids from closing before I'm done with this post, I have had a beautiful, special, noteworthy, loving birthday.  The kids were thoughtful in their gift shopping and doting in their care for me all day and night.  Mike arranged for a pizza dinner at home with family, and it was fun and funny, and it was, as Dylan said, "...an awesome party!"

The sweetest gift came last night though.  I took several of the kids to a certain favorite trendy has everything you could ever want under one roof superstore, and we saw back to school clothes and supplies.  Yes, it's July.  Yes, it's early to think about going back to school, but we were there...and the store was quiet...and we had a couple bucks in the checking account this week...So we shopped for school.  Nick got excited and picked out a big pile of jeans, and shorts, and tees, and we headed to the fitting room.  A couple items were a tad too long or a little bigger than perfect for right now, but I said things like "You'll grow into that." and "It'll fit in a couple months."  Grinning like he just won the lotto, Nick headed out of the dressing room and toward the checkout line feeling good about how he would look on his first day at his new middle school.

Then I realized...I realized that we went through that whole exercise without me thinking about keeping shopping to a minimum in case he was too sick to go to school, or worse, died soon.  For over 3 years, the "what if he dies?" script has run through my head in every situation.  He should spend his Journeys gift card now in case he dies before he can use it all up.  We shouldn't buy more than one set of PE clothes in case he dies and obviously can't go to school anymore.  We shouldn't buy too many expensive shoes in case he dies and doesn't get use of them all.

Even after treatment.  Even after many "clean" MRI's, the script, the fears, the heartache...They flooded my head and my heart in almost every situation involving decisions about the future and how much to invest in Nick's.

Last night, we just shopped for the school year ahead of us.  I didn't think about cancer or death or not having the chance to grow into those jeans.  That moment of peace.  What a gift.  The best gift.  I'm not naive, and I know the cancer could come back.  I know this soul stillness...this glimpse of the old normal vs. the new normal we had to get used to during cancer treatment...could be fleeting.  But for right now, I am celebrating both the gift of another year of life and the best gift of all...a peaceful soul, and quiet heart, and the hope, the hope we all have right now for great things to come...

 

Kensie's 3rd Birthday

Sweet Kensie's life is so intertwined with Nick's for me.  I was 6 months pregnant with her when Nick was diagnosed.  Even my labor induction with her was scheduled around Nick's in-patient chemo.  Before she was too mobile, I used to bring her with us to the hospital with Nick because he said "I like it better when she's here."  When she first learned how to give kisses, she couldn't stop herself.  She kissed everyone...frequently.  Her "Kensie Kisses" brought light and love to rooms filled with poison and fear. 

Today, Kensie turned 3.  I was prepared to reminisce.  Like when we were remembering how she stopped breathing--twice--during her first day of life and had to spend the night in the nursery for observation.  Or when we were looking at her newborn photos and the photos of her second birthday.  I think every mom feels a little melancholy over how fast time flies when their little ones have a birthday or graduation or wedding or whatever milestone they reach that punctuates how these babies grow up and away far faster than a mother would like.

When Kensie has a birthday, my mind jumps right back to where we were when she was born.  Being pregnant, her low amniotic fluid, her birth, having a newborn to love and care for...They were all concepts that I couldn't fully grasp at the time.  My whole heart.  My whole head.  My whole being was dedicated to Nick.  I wish she had been born to a mother who could plan a layette and buy make a scrapbook and clean the house to nest for her.  Despite having 8 children before her, the experience of pregnancy felt foreign and surreal. 

Even though I feel guilt and loss for not fully appreciating her pregnancy and early days, she never noticed a thing.  She burst into the world full of love and spunk and life.  She embraced us and supported us, all of us--but especially Nick, innocently and passionately.  I can't think about Kensie at any stage of her life and not laugh...She is such a spark plug and brings our family so much energy and joy.

Drifting back in time made me remember the baby clothes and gifts people gave us for Kensie before she arrived.  Which made me remember the garage sale our school friends organized to benefit our family.  Which made me remember the t-shirts one of the parents made for the event.  Which made me remember the kids who shaved their heads...some over and over...to support Nick as he lost his hair to radiation and chemo.  Mostly, I am always amazed that these parents allowed, and probably even pushed, their kids to support Nick...play with him...embrace him...At a time when many would run away.  I imagine there was fear for these families that Nick would die, and the closer their child was to him, the more that would damage their own child.  But these friends and their parents didn't flinch.  One family in particular shaved their sons hair over and over again all through treatment and beyond.  They came to the hospital and took Nick on vacation with them.  They drew him closer during treatment and continue to hold him close today.  I feel that so deeply...that kindness...It overwhelms me sometimes. 

Remembering the bittersweet early months of her life is leaving me a little raw.  I hate to remember the fear and the pain and the anger that took over my heart while Nick was in treatment.  I hate to remember that Nick was sick.  I hate to remember that Nick could get sick again.

But the joy, the light.  I hold onto that today and every day of  Kensie's life.  That is Kensie's gift, our gift.  Love.  Hope.  Grace. I will never fully understand God's plan, but I celebrate Kensie's birthday and her life with a grateful heart--sentimental and wounded--but very grateful. 

Happy Birthday Kensie Rosie Baby!

Sunrise Strong

For over 3 years, since Nick was diagnosed with brain cancer, we have been hosting fundraisers at Mini & Me for Rady Children's Hospital.  We've collected money, toys, gift cards, toiletries, Valentine's...I've coordinated other groups' donations and delivered them to Rady's.  We even hosted the SHINE fashion show (http://vimeo.com/81107802) last year as an effort to raise donations for Rady's and feature the gorgeous oncology models and their moms.

Recently, as I both started working on larger fundraisers for the hospital and evaluating whether or not to continue with Mini & Me where and how it exists today (the lease is ending soon...), I decided my fundraising needed to be more organized to be more effective.  It needs a name.  It needs a business plan.  A mission statement.  Something people can understand, sympathize with, identify with, and easily recognize by name and logo.

After Nick told me after his brain surgery "This is going to be life changing...But I'm strong," I knew that "STRONG" was my new favorite word...my theme...the name of a foundation if we ever built one.  When the time came, our family sat around the computer dreaming up names and checking them against available websites on GoDaddy.com.  We finally tossed "Sunrise" into the ring...A symbol of hope and renewal.  Bright, happy, warm.  And www.sunrisestrong.com was available on GoDaddy.com!!  So our foundation was founded...On a Sunday afternoon.  In our living room.  "Sunrise Strong"

So far, we've hosted a lemonade stand at Mini & Me (www.miniandmeboutique.com)

And we've started a GoFundMe.com page--http://www.gofundme.com/SunriseStrong

We even filmed for a promotional video yesterday with the awesome Christina Fleming of Murasaki Media!

We still need a logo and non-profit paperwork filed, but we have amazing friends willing to work on both projects for us...pro bono.  I sometimes feel like I've put the cart in front of the horse, things are coming together so quickly.  But things that are meant to be sometimes do that...They just click and work and get started quickly and smoothly.  I pray every day that Sunrise Strong will be that foundation that grows easily and quickly and provides comfort and support for decades and decades for families struggling through hardships caused by childhood cancer.  

Nick and I and JoAnn Sloan went to Rady's with our first load of official Sunrise Strong donations yesterday.  We talked to Andie, a child life specialist, and we're a little clearer on the needs at the hospital.  We look forward to working more with Rady's and eventually hospitals across the country.  

And no, I don't know the future of Mini & Me...We will continue to exist as a web store, but I'm not sure if we will continue to have a store front presence in San Diego.  Ideally, I will be able to rent a more industrial space that is larger than the store front we have now.  We need space for storage and distribution.  We need a workroom.  And if we can have a small retail showroom, too, that would be awesome!  Stay tuned on that project...

And while I'm thinking about it--San Diego folks, please mark your calendars--AJ from Energy 103.7 will be going up in the Crane for AJ'S KIDS on November 7th in the IKEA parking lot in Mission Valley.  He lives in the crane for a week until he collects at least 100,000 toys for Rady's kids every year.  This year, on November 8th, his morning show producer, Hula Ramos, is hosting the first "Babyfest at the Crane" from 10:00-2:00.  I'm helping coordinate vendors and entertainers, and this event will be AWESOME!!!  Please join us!!

moved

We moved.  Again.  Down the road a couple miles to a completely different world where the house is smaller but feels like home.  The neighbors on both sides have introduced themselves, and our commutes have been slashed by at least half the time, miles, and gasoline.  Normal...Maybe we just moved a little closer to normal. 

It's been a long, long time since I've felt my feet touching the ground, known up from down, or been able to see the details of a day with clarity.  I've described my life since Nick got sick as feeling like I'm caught in a wave, one that grabbed me and kept me spinning until I couldn't tell ocean floor from surface and sky.  As I emerged from the wave, I still felt that after the dizzy dance spinning blur.  No longer delirious but not quite able to bring my scenery into focus.  That's getting better.  Slowly.  Better.

The longer Nick stays healthy, the easier it is to forget.  Like childbirth...I know it hurt, but I can't quite recall the intensity, the exact ache, or the sharp pangs that stripped my self control.  My memories shift from realism to impressionism over time, and the clarity and control I once took for granted return to my grasp.

Cancer isn't as easy as childbirth to put away and forget...People, babies and children, are still fighting cancer every day.  Nick could relapse, and we could join that fight again.  Cancer remission or even "cure" isn't as final as other traumatic events because it's so good at finding ways to creep back in when you least expect it.  Relapse.  That's what it's called when the primary cancer returns, and there is currently no cure for relapsed medulloblastoma (Nick's cancer). 

A boy, a year or so older than Nick, was diagnosed with medulloblastoma right after Nick.  His tumor was smaller than Nick's--Just the size of a walnut vs. the Nick's "small orange."  They went through the same treatment protocol at the same time.  We saw this boy in audiology while they waited to get their hearing tested.  We saw this boy in the waiting room at clinic while his mom tutored him.  We admired this boy when we heard that his Make A Wish was to build a playground for the kids in his neighborhood instead of using that wish for something more selfish.  As Nick finished treatment and passed his first, then his second post-treatment MRI with clear results...As we prepared for Nick's first post-treatment Christmas...As we complained about real estate troubles and financial woes...This boy relapsed.  He started treatment again.  We watched him on Facebook, saw his soft brown eyes and serious expression honored for hours and hours of time spent gathering donations and packing bags, so he could deliver healthy snack bags to other patients at Rady's.  There was a fundraising walk.  Rewards and awards.  Sports teams.  Corporations.  News stories and interviews.  He lost his hair again in this second round of treatment, but his stoic expression never waivered.  His work ethic never faltered.  Our admiration grew.  But so did the cancer, and this sweet 12 year old passed away yesterday.

Despite knowing there is no cure for his relapse, I somehow lived in the delusion that his good deeds shielded him from death...believed that he might be the one exception...And if he could survive, maybe Nick could if he relapsed, too.  His death is the needle in that dream balloon, and I am angry and hurt and scared and sad and disappointed.  I try not to ask "why?" very often, but I want to know...Why him?  Why not Nick?  What is Nick meant to do?  What am I meant to do?  If we are spared, for now, what are we supposed to be accomplishing to deserve that gift? 

People rant on Facebook.  Talented filmmakers create moving documentaries.  Musicians write songs.  Telethons plead with the nation on tv.  But childhood cancer research is still under-funded.  What do we need to do?  What do we need to show?  To say?  To make change and find cures?

These are real kids.  These are not aliens.  They are not actors.  Yesterday, they had curls framing their chubby faces, eyelashes batting around their big eyes, strong muscles peddling bicycles and throwing balls...Just like your kids.  Just like your nieces and nephews and grandchildren.  Their parents love them and dream for them and plan for their futures.  Their parents hold them and love them and kiss their foreheads as they sleep...Just like you.  The cancer and the chemo and the radiation make them bald or crippled...unable to eat on their own or walk on their own...their faces swollen beyond recognition from steroids...They are not freaks that belong to "somebody else."  They are loved.  They are babies.  They could be yours, and this could be your life. 

When you see a telethon, donate.  When you can offer support to a family in crisis with cancer, offer it.  Sign petitions.  Share Facebook posts.  Walk in the 5k's or donate to those who are.  Please don't ignore our stories.  Please don't ignore our kids.

I didn't mean for this to be a PSA or a soapbox lecture, but we do need help raising awareness and raising funds for research.  The world can't afford to lose any more awesome kids to cancer.

Thank God we have Nick to hold close tonight.  Thank God we are blessed with this opportunity to move forward with our plans and our dreams...for now.  I pray we are worthy.  I pray for guidance moving forward with our lives, and I pray for peace for the kids in treatment and the families grieving losses.  And I pray we find a way to cure and prevent this serial killer...soon. 



 

mixed up.

"Happy 3rd Birthday Nick!"  We said that over and over today.  We had Nick's friends and family over for swimming and pizza.  I posted on Facebook about how happy we are today.  Because three years ago today, March 9, 2011, was the day we found out Nick had cancer.  He has survived for three years past that moment. 

And we are happy.  We are happy that Nick is still alive.  We are happy that he is cancer free.  We are.  So happy.  So f*%#ing happy to be "celebrating" a holiday we should never have to "celebrate."
 
We are intelligent people.  In good, strong moments, we understand that we are the "lucky" ones.  We know, there are many, many parents who are not hosting survivor parties but rather grieving the loss of their precious babies.  We are grateful to hold Nick, full of life, cancer free Nick, in our arms every day.  We are very, very grateful.

But Mike and I both had anxiety and anger attacks today...separately.  It was good when we came together for a moment and said "you, too?"  Because sometimes when you're supposed to be something, and you're pretending to be that thing...But your heart is feeling differently, it feels lonely.  It feels like you're doing something wrong. 

March 9th, 2011 is a day I want to curse.  I want to blow up.  I want to scream at and shoot at and stab in the heart.  I don't want to celebrate it.  It was the worst day of my life.  I remember hearing that my 8 year old son had brain cancer.  I remember calling Mike, my parents, my other kids...hearing their horror and their voices crack as they cried.  I remember how sick my tiny boy looked in that hospital bed.  I remember explaining to him what a tumor was while carefully leaving the word "cancer" out.  I remember willing every nerve in my body to turn to steel, so I could smile at Nick and tell him "I'm so happy they finally found out what's wrong with you, so we can fix it."  I had no idea if he could be fixed, but he was going to see strength in my eyes and hear power in my words.  I remember getting him the stuffed panda he wanted from the gift shop and how he hugged it and slept with it.  I remember crawling into his narrow bed with my enormous pregnant body, so I could hold him while he slept. 

I remember every moment of March 9th, 2011, and every March 9th takes me right back there.  It's not the same as a "real" birthday when you remember the happy delivery room scene.  New life.  Hope.  So much joy.  We call today a "birthday" for Nick, but it's not the same...at all. 

Instead of skipping through the grocery store as I bought party supplies, I felt anxious and confused and like I wasn't capable even a little bit of hosting a party today.  Once I got to the car and started driving, all the "wrong" emotions flooded my heart.  At the moment I was supposed to be heading home to celebrate Nick's life, I was spilling tears over the brokenness his cancer caused.

I'm mad.  I'm mad that innocent children get cancer.  I'm mad that mine did.  I'm mad that Nick's cancer took his athleticism and his energy.  I'm mad that his grades are slipping, probably from his radiation treatments.  I'm mad that he can't grow.  I'm mad that I have to stick him with needles full of growth hormone every single day to try to help him grow.  I'm mad that his cancer broke relationships with people I cared about.  I'm mad that his treatments cost so much financially.  I'm mad that his siblings worried and cried and lost opportunities in their lives.  I'm mad that three years later our lives are still unstable.  I'm mad that even as we rebuild, it feels like building on quicksand.  I'm mad that we spend every day looking over our shoulders, worried that the cancer will come chasing Nick again.

Is that wrong?  Should I take Prozac?  Push the "wrong" feelings away into some vault in my heart?  Do other people's lives really look the same in real life as they do on Facebook?  Do other people only feel "right" feelings?  Or is it normal to have mad and sad living alongside grateful and hopeful inside yourself?  Right or wrong, today, it all lives in me.  Smiles in me, cries in me, laughs in me, and rages in me.   

No cancer mom looks back on the day her child was diagnosed with joy.  No memory of that news and that day in her life is anything other than traumatic and terrifying.  But Nick is watching me.  Just as he was in that emergency room 3 years ago.  Every March 9th, I have a choice.  Show Nick the tears or show Nick the strength.

Nick saw no tears today.  He saw smiles and people who loved him and treats and presents.  He heard how very glad we are that he is in our lives.  He heard how proud we are of his courage and grace.  He is our amazing gift, and he will always deserve the best version of me I can show him. 

Why do I still feel like crying?

best afternoon ever

This is something moms don't usually get to enjoy once their baby is over 4 or 5 months old. For some reason sweet Kensie decided to curl up and nap with her head on my chest today. aaawwww!!!

just wondering...

"It's a good day to have a good day!" 

I've been reading "The Secret" for a couple days.  I heard about the movie.  Then I started reading "The Law of Attraction."  Finally, my slightly used copy of "The Secret" arrived in the mail this weekend, and I'm about halfway through the book already.  I would really like to believe what I've read so far...The power of my own thoughts is all I need to get anything I want in life.  If I'm not careful about what I'm consciously or sub-consciously thinking about though, I may get things that are unpleasant.  I'm paraphrasing here, but my take away is that if I put happy, positive, wealthy, smart, friendly, healthy vibes into the "Universe," I will be super successful in every important way.

The good--I now spend a moment interrupting a series of negative events and cranky thoughts to think a happy thought and feel grateful and hopeful.  I haven't, yet, had showers of money pouring on my head or throngs of people beating down my door trying to be my friend, but I have experienced an immediate sense of calm and positivity when I've spent that moment feeling grateful and focusing on positive instead of negative thoughts and feelings. 

The bad--I'm wondering if it is a form of mental disease to actually believe one's thoughts can control things...any things...Just thinking that mind control seems a little not grounded in reality.  Also wondering if this is going to get me sent straight to Hell or something!  When I pause in gratefulness, I do remember to say "Thank you God...," but I still wonder if I'm being sacrilegious to follow this theory at all.

I learned this:

Proverbs 3:5-6

New International Version (NIV)

⁵ Trust in the Lord with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding;
⁶ in all your ways submit to him,
    and he will make your paths straight.^[a]

 

Can "The Secret" co-exist with "The Bible" on my night table?  In my brain?  And my heart?  Are they one in the same?  Praying does feel a lot like the meditating and focusing of thought I do when trying the exercises of "The Secret." 

 

Time to find a chat board...Or a member of the clergy...Or something to enlighten me here.  Or maybe I can just finish the books before I struggle with this guilt too mightily...Maybe if I could just win the Lotto using the power of positive thought before I talk to a pastor?!?! 

 

positive enough?

If you're a beach person, you know how it feels to be tumbled in a wave and to feel that instant of panic and confusion when you don't know which way is sky and which way is ocean floor.  You need to breath, and you're uncertain if you will find the surface to gasp for air.  That is how our life has felt to me for much longer than an instant. 

Our once almost stereotypical middle class predictability was replaced with uncertainty the day Nick was diagnosed with cancer.  Uncertainty makes me angry.  Cancer makes me angry.  Especially in kids.  Especially in my kid.  So I've been angry.  A lot.

I like to think of myself as an optimist, but these last three years...they've worn me down, and I often feel tired...and frustrated...and confused...and yes, here it is again, angry.

Expecting my life to bloom from this dark place is like expecting a flower seed to grow in the middle of a rock.  I cannot cultivate friendships, dream with my children, or grown my business from here.

Honestly, I wish I could find my peace and my positivity in my faith, in God.  Unfortunately
(please don't judge, especially if you haven't been a cancer mom), I am still struggling with my faith and with finding my church home...And while I believe, and I pray, and I know God is there for me even when I can't see Him...I need more tools and more crutches right now, even practical exercises, to turn the sunshine on in my daily life.

Enter "The Secret."  I haven't read the book or seen the movie, but our babysitter saw the movie and introduced its (paraphrased) theories to me last week.  It sounded like positive thought combined with a grateful heart could bring you anything you could possibly ask for...money, fame, friends...anything, so why not give positive thinking a try?  For a week now, I have worked on learning more about the power of positive vs. negative energy and have observed their powers in my own life.   

Based on my limited research on the "laws of attraction" and positive attracting positive, negative attracting negative, I've decided a couple things...1)  Asking for what you want is not magic...You won't magically have a Maserati show up on your doorstep just because you tossed that request out to the universe, but it does help you get what you want because it organizes you.  It's easier to get what you want if you identify and define what you want.  2)  Positive does attract positive.  Your world is your mirror.  If you are putting angry and negative vibes out to the people around you, you are likely to get the same back.

I am working really, really hard to be positive.  Re-phrasing verbal statements.  Choosing to be grateful in every moment (ie. "Thank you God that I have a car to be breaking down right now.  Some people don't have cars at all.")  I try to help my kids identify their negativity and re-frame and re-define their situations with positivity and gratefulness.  I am being clear and concise and sincere in my requests to the universe, and I focus positive thought beams onto those wants as often as I think about them during the day. 

Let's be real though...I cannot possibly transform from exhausted, skeptical, and (dare I say) negative to a joyous Pollyanna in only a few days, so while my efforts are commendable (really, really working hard here), I still get angry when something breaks or the house is a mess, feel negative when the alarm goes off 2 hours before I want to wake up in the morning, and feel frustrated when I look at my bank account.  My automatic reactions are not always (or even frequently) positive, and when I catch myself being negative, I feel guilty for not having a more positive response.  Ironically, positivity has caused a new problem for me. 

As many people (women, mothers, in particular) are, I am a not enough'er.  I am not thin enough, rich enough, smart enough, kind enough, generous enough, pretty enough...I play the "not enough" tape on endless re-play in my head every day and have done so for as long as I can remember.  Contrary to what most psychologists would say, I don't think this is entirely a bad thing...If I was completely satisfied with myself, what would I strive for?  Maybe this is another essay (debate?!?!) altogether, but I think my feelings of inadequacy have often prodded me along to work harder to be better...As though "enough" is a tangible, reachable finish line.

My new positivity campaign gave me one more thing to be not enough of...I am not positive enough. The thought of not being enough causes me stress which causes me negativity which causes me guilt for not being positive which causes stress...See that cycle starting?  Yep.  That's where I am right now.

Do I keep going?  Should I keep studying the theories of attraction and positive energy and throwing wishes into the universe?  Examining every reaction to every thought, feeling, and situation I ever have?  As I sit here considering whether positive really is so much better than negative, wondering if  I'm just giving myself one more thing to worry about and be frustrated by...Kensie is crawling into my lap (with as much grace as a Great Dane trying to be a lap dog), grabbing my typing hand and saying "hold my hand."  Choosing to be grateful to have the world's most adorable 2 year old girl loving me and wanting to sit with me instead of being annoyed that she knocked my computer cord out and interrupted the writing of this blog post, I get to hear "Me like your hand...Love you much..."  As I stop typing and tell her I love her, she curls up and falls asleep snuggled into my side.  If being more positive brings more love and more moments like these to my life, then this energy experiment is definitely good enough to keep going with! 

Happy 2014!

It'll be a good one.  I feel it.  Everyone around me seems to feel it.  Good is coming. 

We ushered the year in with nachos, peach almond champagne, Martinelli's, and just our family.  I took Kensie outside and told her to gather all the positive energy in the universe and then bring it back inside for the new year.  She said "uh-huh," waved her arms around, then ran inside. 

We're still going through a lot.  I feel like I've already over-shared here about our money and our nomadic lifestyle and the fear that grips our hearts over Nick's future...So I won't bore you with the specifics again tonight.  But it's still just...a lot. 

Somehow this year feels hopeful, and I hope my psychic skills are working.  I'm ready for a good year! 

I feel a little like this baby...bringing some 2011, 2012, and 2013 baggage along with me into 2014, but I don't think that's all terrible.  Once you've gone through cancer (yourself, a loved one, your BABY), you never really move forward without carrying that with you.  Those bags are packed with pain, but they're also packed with appreciation, hope, and compassion that we might not have had with such passion if we hadn't had the cancer.

Some really amazing people have lost their battles with cancer this year...Most recently, Loren Nancarrow, a local newscaster and blogger and brain cancer victim and all around good guy.  He inspired so many of us to look outside of ourselves and give more...focus on the truly important things in life.  When 2013 started, he didn't even know he was sick.

What do we not know about 2014?

I've been sipping peach almond champagne and reading Facebook, and I'm really feeling the pain parents like Jessie's, Liam's, Talia's, and Bella's parents are feeling.  There are so many today.  Photos of healthy babies with full heads of hair...Gone.  Just gone. 

I pray God guides me even more in prosperous times than lean times to do everything I can to help and support childhood cancer charities and the oncology families that so need and deserve financial and emotional assistance. 

Truth be told, I also pray that we do not face recurrence in Nick.  When we were actually going through his treatment, I was just angry and sad and exhausted.  I can do so much more good now...now when I'm not in the trenches...when my heart isn't being ripped out of my chest every moment of every day in quite the same way it is when Nick, my child, my baby, is yellow and skinny and bald and frail and fragile and in imminent danger of death. 

I feel hopeful about 2014.  I think we will see more prosperity as business owners, a family, and as a nation.  I pray that prosperity means we will have more research and more cures in the cancer world. 

Happy New Year!  I really hope that whatever your situation is when you read this, you either provide help and share your heart or you accept the love and the resources available to you if you're in need. 

2014 is unwritten.  Let's write a story of joy, and love, and generosity...and cures for childhood cancers!!