Adios, filter!

It was an emotionally exhausting Thanksgiving weekend. The holiday itself was a nice evening with my mom, dad, brother, and my mom's cousin and her sons, who I love so much. For the most part, I wasn't thinking about the possibility that this could be the last year that I get to spend the holidays with my mom. I couldn't let myself go there, especially when I remembered how lucky I am that I get to have her here for THIS thanksgiving, without fast forwarding to next year. My LC will be the first person to remind me that one of my most frustrating qualities is my need to overanalyze, worry about things that haven't even happened yet, and jump 17 steps ahead of myself, while trying to pull her along with me for the often times self-destructive ride. I tried my best to live in the moment, while also taking some time to think about my friend who just lost his father, and to have a loving chat with the Big Guy Upstairs (I capitalized as a sign of respect...which I will undo right now, as I tell you all that I will be shortening that to the BGU.)

Whatever filter my mom once had is now gone, which was evident when my brother was watching football and my mom wanted to change the channel...in order to try and get her way, she told Neal "but what if this is the last TV show I watch before I die, and it's something I don't even like?" Neal told her she was being a brat, and she agreed, but added in "you never know!" She makes these comments every once in a while, and they catch us all off-guard. Sometimes she'll say "you guys will all be happy when you don't have to put up with me anymore." Old mom would have known those comments could be potentially devastating to her children and family who love her so much and want her around forever and ever, and that my poor LC will have to deal with the repercussions of that for many couch times to come. But new, filter-less mom just throws it all out there, and then forgets about the pitch a few seconds later. I texted my friend "K-9" about these comments, because he can always make me laugh or put things into perspective, and he reminded me that this is probably just her way of coping with the situation. Nobody knows what it's like to be her in this situation, and to have to deal with the reality of what's to come. I made the mistake of reading a little bit about this stupid, stupid disease, and one person who was beating the odds and living past the grave 12 month life expectancy post-diagnosis said something like "This disease will most definitely be what kills me, but it won't necessarily be today." We all know none of us will live forever, some of us just have a better idea of how we're going to go. Comforting? Not freaking at all.

Despite those comments that do come out of her mouth sometimes, she is still positive as ever and always smiling. She is getting tired though, and she spends a lot of time resting. My cousin/pseudo sista saw her for the first time since she's been sick, and commented on how sad it is to see her like that. I don't know why, but that comment made me feel relieved in a way...because it made it okay for me to agree, and talk about how much it sucks, and how much it's killing me to see her like this. Positivity is great, and it's what I need--what we ALL need. But much like the day that Lola told me it was okay for me not to be okay with all this, sometimes I just need someone else to give me permission to feel something about it other than numb.

I am so happy to have gotten to spend the time with my mom and my family, but I am also so happy that by the end of the trip, I was ready to come back home to Orlando. Most of it was because of the weather...I try to avoid going home during the cold winter months for the most part, and even when I'm home around Christmas, I'm usually in the Christmas spirit so much that I don't mind snow or freezing cold, because that's how the holiday has always been for me. This time, the spark inside me that longed to get back to warm weather and sunshine had been given new life. I remembered that staying in Florida was, without a doubt, the right decision. I am so happy for the people down here who keep me going and who remind me, in ways other than just saying it outright, that they are there for me.

Thank you so much to my support systems in all geographic locations. I love you all, and you are helping me through this every day, just by reminding me how lucky I am to be loved and cared about by so many people.

....even if John Stamos is not YET one of them.

With my cousins

Thanksgiving with my mom, dad and brother

More cousins

Momma

Harry Thanksgistmas

I could sit here and list all the really huge, major things in my life that I am thankful for...or I could at least try. Truthfully, that list could go on forever. I really am so lucky. But instead, I'd like to give a little street cred to some little things that never seem to get the recognition they deserve.

I am thankful that I am not as stupid as the girl sitting next to me on this flight. I am thankful that my mother and father successfully taught me how to buckle a seatbelt after only a few attempts.

I am thankful that the flight attedant just gave me pretzels AND peanuts. Poor economy? If I wasn't so busy eating these pretzels AND peanuts, I might beg to differ.

I am thankful that airplanes now offer wifi. The few hours I used to get where I had no choice but to turn my phone off are no more.

I am thankful that the dumb girl next to me fell asleep, so I don't have to bid farewell to any more brain cells that I will never get back.

I am thankful that i noticed it's 11:11, so I can make a wish. I wished for a unicorn.

I am thankful I didn't really wish for a unicorn, because then I would have told everyone and it obviously wouldn't have come true because it's illegal to tell people what you wished for.

I am thankful for my new contact lenses, because now I can see people's faces from far away. Oh yeah, and road signs.

I am thankful for my partner in crime and the best wingman ever. He could never get as much credit as he deserves because he completes me...and people who complete me deserve an infinite amount of credit.

I am thankful that yesterday I learned how to drive a stick shift again, and I am thankful that I did not die, nor did anyone else, in the process.

I am thankful for Francis, the camel, and Melvin, the sheep.

I am thankful for keds, sephora, and some guy I have never heard of, apparently. I am also thankful that the only damage my friends do when they gain access to my Facebook account is like a bunch of random crap and play some games.

I am thankful that turkeys don't look the same on a plate as they do in the wild, because if they did, nobody would want to eat them and thanksgiving would be ruined.

I am thankful for my hair straightener. Thank you for being such a loyal friend.

I am thankful for my coat, because it's freezing and any sudden movement to adjust the air flow might wake up Sleeping Dummy.

I am thankful that a few people still remember that thanksgiving even exists, because everyone else is busy Christmas Caroling and decorating large pine trees.

I am thankful that my phone battery is getting low, so I have to stop listing things I am thankful for, because I could go on for days, and then it would be irrelevant because thanksgiving would be over.

I hope everyone has a wonderful thanksgiving. Enjoy your food comas!

"Use your head for something other than a hatrack."

"Use your head for something other than a hatrack" and "Make yourself useful." My dad's two famous lines. He has others too, however I'm trying to keep these posts PG and not type like my family usually speaks. Among many other things, one of the most valuable lessons I've learned from my father is the eclectic use of swear words. For a very long time, I've heard him stringing them together with other words, much like he used to string taste-less popcorn to hang on our Christmas tree, to form some of the most entertaining sentences I've ever heard. Think "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation", where Clark Griswald goes on a tangent about his boss....at times, that has been my dad to a tee.

He was telling us a story recently about how Neal was in the car with my mom when he was 2 or 3, and he turned to her and said "What do you think that man's name is?" referring to the person in the car next to her. My mom told him she didn't know, so he said "I think his name is Dumbass, or Stupid B*stard." You can put two and two together to make 5 and to figure out where he probably picked up those lovely names.

Today, and every day, the thing that makes me happy is my dad. Seriously, how freaking great is this guy? My parents have been divorced for 15 years, yet he has stepped in as my mom's caretaker. I can think of no better way to show your children how much you love them than by taking care of their mother, even if she is your ex-wife.

The supportive ex-spouse relationship that so many people just can't wrap their heads around is not just a one-way street. When my dad had a stroke my freshman year of college, my mom was the one who stepped in, decided he needed to go to the hospital, and basically took care of him the whole time he was in the ICU. She's the one who sat in with the doctors, asked the questions, took the mental notes. I remember telling her how grateful we were for that...Neal and I thanked her over and over again for being there for us. She told us there was never any question that she would be there for him and for us, because we are her kids, and she will do anything it takes to make sure her kids have their father. She showed us, even at the risk of her then-new marriage, that we are the most important thing in her world.

On August 10th, my dad stepped in and returned the favor. I think my mom knew all along how this was going to go. Just from the conversations I've had with family friends about how she told them, before she even went to the doctor, that she was so worried for Neal and me. She wanted me to stay in Florida, and she wanted Neal to graduate from Penn State. She didn't (doesn't) want us to put our lives on hold for a situation that (as Lola will remind me again and again) we cannot control. In a strange and maybe twisted way, I am so glad that she had this concern...because it shows me that she has no doubt in her mind how much we love her. She knows that both of us would have given everything up to be there with her and for her if she needed it. My dad was the first person who told me I needed to come back to Florida. He told me between him and the rest of our family, they would take care of her. As the best divorced parents on the face of the planet, they came together and agreed on this decision. Regardless of their marital status to one another, they stood as one and told my brother and me that we needed to continue with our lives. My dad and I had a conversation last summer while on vacation, in which he told me "If we've done our job as your parents, then we have prepared you to make it and get along in the world without us."

I talk to my dad almost every day now, and I am sorry that before this happened, that wasn't the case. I tried to call my parents on a semi-regular basis, but as Matthew Broderick pointed out, life moves pretty fast. Every time I talk to him (my dad, not Matthew Broderick), I am blown away by how much unconditional love he has for my mom. He spends every day answering the same questions over and over and over again, but he is still there for her every day. Sure, he gets pissed when she goes around to every room in the house and blasts the heat...this is the man who has been known to wear T-shirts in the dead of winter to shovel the driveway. My dad joked one day that it's the perfect scenario, because nothing she could say to him now could be worse than some of the things she's said to him over the years. I forget now that there were times when the two of them standing as one was a much bigger challenge. When the wounds were still fresh, I'm sure it was much more difficult to be in the same room together and to act like civilized adults for the sake of their children.

One of my homedawgs (That's right, I'm a gangsterr) asked me the other day if I truly believe everything happens for a reason, and she was referring to this situation in particular. She asked if I thought all the other things had to happen in their relationship to bring them to this point, where my dad is the perfect person to take care of my mom through this. I told her she was drunk and she should probably switch to water. In all honesty though, I've always been a pretty firm believer in that theory. Sometimes, I think it's just the only thing we can cling to when we are going through Hell and need to find the light peaking through the storm clouds. Sometimes, I think we just probably need to lay off the alcohol. But the only way I can look at it now is, it all worked out.

My parents have shown us the greatest example of love that could have ever been demonstrated. I may not have a great primary example to pull from as far as romantic love goes (but even then, I have Aunts and Uncles and family friends who have made up for that), but I have a pretty damn good example of love as it pertains to friendship. Personally, I think I'd rather be well-versed on the second option. I can pick up everything from the first in an episode of Full House.

Weep not for the memories

I went to Tar-jayyyy today, and before the cashier unsuccessfully tried to peer pressure me into signing up for their "red card", I came across sugar cookie marshmallow peeps in the Christmas aisle, which should not even exist yet, since it's November 16th. They took me back to a time when they only sold these sugar cookie peeps at Gardners candy at the Nittany mall. My mom used to always stock up for me every Christmas season, because she knew I loved them so. She'd always open up the package a bit, because she liked her marshmallow peeps stale and decided that the rest of us would enjoy them that way, too.

Every week night when I wasn't ringing up groceries faster than most other cashiers could even dream of, I spent at my mom's place. It usually involved whatever line-up of TV shows we were following at the time. Everything was so simple back then, and my mom and I were probably closer than we'd ever been at that point in time.

That comfort was part of the reason I knew I had to leave some day. I knew if I stayed there forever, when something happened to one of my parents, I would have no idea how to function. They had been my whole world for so long. The warm and sunny Florida weather and palm trees were also enticing, considering I always seemed to get a wicked case of Seasonal Affective Disorder the second the sun went away and didn't return for months.

When I moved down here almost 5 years ago, the little kid in me who never went to sleepovers at other peoples' houses because I'd miss my parents too much was no more. My dad drove me down here, helped me unpack my belongings, and I was on my own. I was lucky to be surrounded by a great group of roommates who created a solid home base for me. As time went on, I became close with people I worked with, many of whom were locals. I had made a life for myself down here, and that was exactly what I had intended to do.

My mom was proud, and she knew this was where I was meant to be. She missed me, though, and I've always missed her and the rest of my family, too. I remember the first time I saw her after I had moved down here...she came down to Florida to stay with my grandma in Dunedin. I never did much driving in Pennsylvania, because I didn't have a car and had great friends, all of whom I was convinced really loved to chauffeur me around town. I made the 2 hour drive from Orlando to Dunedin, all by myself, because I was officially a grown-up. I remember driving along that stretch of I-4 that never seems to end, feeling free as a bird but so excited to return to the comfort of my mommy's arms.

Today, I cringed when I thought about even the idea of ever driving back on that road. My mom is still here, and it hurts so much to think about a time when her and my grandma were both here and healthy. I guess I always knew my grandma wouldn't be here forever, but I can't wrap my head around the idea that not even 2 years later, all this is happening.

I remember my aunt talking about how she looked up one day when all this started and told my grandma "No, you cannot have her." During one of my meltdowns, I told my lifecoach I sometimes think my grandma is punishing me for being so difficult during our last interaction. I kept saying she wants to show me that I didn't really win that battle, because now she is trying to take my mom away with her. When I'm thinking rationally, I know this thought is ludicrous. But when I'm having a battle with my overactive mind, this makes perfect sense. My LC told me I was being ridonkulous, and that my grandma would never wish this for her daughter.

I've come across 2 things, just today, that make me smile and want to cry at the same time. I know this is only the beginning of those tiny little reminders of how precious those memories are, that when put together, have helped to make up my life and relationship with my mom. I can either get sad that they will one day just be a painful memory of what I once was lucky enough to have, or I can be happy that I got to experience it in the first place. I'm going to try my hardest to go with the second choice, because I think--I KNOW--that's what my mom would prefer. All she wants is for me and Neal to be happy and to live a full and beautiful life, whether she is here to share it with us or not.

On another note, something else that made me happy today was when I called my dad's phone and my mom picked up. She said she wasn't sure if she should try to figure out how to work it, but she did, and I'm proud of her. Usually my dad hands over the phone to her, so it's always a sweet little surprise when I hear her voice from the start. (Not that I don't enjoy my conversations with you, too, daddy!)

Once Upon a Lifecoach

I'm not exactly sure how she acquired the term "Lifecoach", but it suits her well. Whether or not she will ever admit that she did not care for me when I first became her intern over 3 years ago, I am more than willing to admit that I was absolutely deathly afraid of her. I remember the first terrifying time I met her after she had returned from her vacation. It's not that she looks mean, she's simply intimidating. It was very clear early on (especially when she told me to take my sunglasses off indoors) that she didn't put up with crap, and I would be no exception (I'm sure neither of us could have predicted the amount of crap she'd be putting up with from me for years to come.)

At some point along the way, she became my lifecoach, and a really great freaking friend. She is one of the only people on the planet who can call me out on my crap and who can read me like an open book. She gives the best advice in the whole entire world, even if she knows there's no way in hell I'll even think about listening to it until the 4th time I screw something up.

Every time I start talking about a new potential soulmate-of-the-week (I have to find something to pass the time while I wait for John Stamos to come sweep me off my feet), she tells me I shouldn't even waste my time dating him unless I'm going to introduce him to her from the start. She's a pretty good judge of character, and unfortunately I am usually quite the opposite. (What? We're in the ghetto, you're a complete stranger, and you want to help me fix my flat bicycle tire in the back corner of a parking lot? Sounds like a GREAT idea!) She puts me on dating probation when I make poor life choices for myself, and for whatever reason, still continues to give me advice after all the times I've failed to listen to her the first, second and third time around. When I tell her I've discovered an attractive man, she tells me anything under the age of 30 is unacceptable, and not to act or say anything dumb. I usually have to tell her that I've failed her on that front, and she usually already knows that before I even say it.

When I booked my flight home for the wrong day, she let me live. When I just didn't want to be TS for the rest of my life, she let me whine about it for at least 5 minutes every day before telling me she couldn't deal with any more of my whining. When I saw her on a more regular basis, she always gave me "couch time," which is essentially free therapy. When I tell people I am one day older than her, because my birthday is April 19th and hers is April 20th, she always waits at least 3 seconds to proclaim that I'm crazy and need to give that up, because she's been working at our place of employment for longer than I've been alive. When I send her 137000 text messages a day, she doesn't even block my phone number. When she first met my mom, the first thing she said to her was "your daughter is crazy." When I'm over-analyzing and being absolutely ridonkulous, she tells me I'm being ridonkulous and that I need to calm down.

When I told her my mom was in the emergency room and that she had either had a mini stroke or a tumor, she told me everything would be okay, but even if it wouldn't, there was no sense worrying about it until we had answers. When I told her my mom had a brain tumor, she told me I needed to go home right away, and she helped me look for flights. When I told her it was brain cancer, she said she was numb. And when I told her my mom and dad wanted me to return to Florida when that didn't even seem like an option at the time, she said she agreed with them. When I got off the plane a month and a half after having my world completely flipped upside down, it was her and her son, my favorite 14 year old, that greeted me in Orlando. When I had my first meltdown, after everything hit me and I realized the reality of this crappy situation, she's the one who reeled me back in. I told her I couldn't pretend like everything was okay anymore, or that I'm just happy as a clam. She told me nobody was expecting me to pretend like it's okay, because it's not okay. She reminded me that I can't fix this situation, as hard as I want to try. She also said my mom would kick my ass if she knew I was spending time and energy being sad about something that has yet to even happen. She spent 45 minutes reasoning with me, telling me I'd learn to adjust, and that I'd have good days and bad days.

She was the first person I shared the results with when I regained "consciousness" in that cursed room in the Hilman center. Had I not been lucky enough to have this hilariously ridonkulous lunatic (I mean that in the best way possible) in my life, I don't know how I would have reacted to that news. I have always thought that after everything this woman has been through, if she's still carrying on, living her life and laughing and making me laugh sofa king much, I really need to suck it up and get my act together. I have told her this before, but I will say it again...I am so sorry that the reason I lean on you so much, especially right now through all this crap, is because you've been through it. I'm so sorry you are my example of someone who has had to overcome more, to remind me that I can make it through this. I'm so sorry that you're the only person who I know can make me feel better when I'm having a meltdown at 5 AM, even if it's just by saying "It's too early for me to deal with your meltdowns right now, but you can't fix this and you can't let it control you."

The best part about this woman who has looked out for me and protected me when I'm far away from the comfort of home and my parents, is that my mom loves her just as much as I do. Every time I talk to Jazazzle, she reminds me to tell her thank you for being such a good friend to me and for looking out for me the way she does. She always says it's a great comfort to know that I have someone like her, and that she is a blessing in my life, and in hers.

Despite how much I'd like to avoid these thoughts, I know it gives my mom peace of mind to know that even if she won't be here to catch me when I fall and to tell me everything's going to be okay, even when it might not seem like it, somebody else will. Lola, I know you never signed up for this occupation, but I appreciate everything you have done and continue to do for me. I love you, and I'm super stoked to start a singing career with you while wearing Tutus....but please, for the love of Pete, no creepy contacts.

How did we get here? How the hell...

I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that every single human being in my life right now was specifically placed here at this exact point in time for a reason. Some of them are there to make me laugh, while others are there to unfortunately share my pain. Some of them will continue to completely surpass the expectations I never even had for them, and will be what I remember for years to come. Each one of them, in their own way, are helping me get through this while learning as much as I possibly can from the experience of dealing with cancer and loss.

 My mom is still here with us, and I thank God every day for that...but what some people may not realize is that every day, I'm already dealing with the loss of my mother....because unfortunately, parts of her are already gone. Physically, yes, she is here with us...and I don't love this new version of her any less than the former one. But the woman who always figured out a way to fix me when I was broken by putting ice in Boo Boo Bear, making me vanilla milk before bed (Great idea, mom...get us all hyped up on sugar before expecting us to fall asleep), or "tickling my back a little" seems to now just be a distant memory. Part of that is because at 27 years old, Boo Boo Bear probably can't fix me anymore. Vanilla milk has most likely lost its luster. But I doubt I'll ever pass up on a back rub that only my mom can still perfect after years of practice. As the spoiled princess that she always allowed me to be, my mom always said she would know I found my future husband when I'd put my arm out in front of him and he'd already know that was a sign that I wanted him to "tickle it a little." I never could have imagined I'd be looking at the very real possibility that my mom won't be here, physically, to witness that moment (should John Stamos ever wake up and realize I'm here waiting for him.) So how the Hell did we get here?  

I was talking to my friend yesterday, who unfortunately can relate to my situation all too well. I asked him how it was we are at this point right now, because before summer, neither of us had any idea how our lives were about to turn into this. It seems this all happened so fast...one minute, my mom was just having some short term memory issues, and all of a sudden, she has brain cancer? As strange as it may seem, I remember, somewhat recently, thinking "I need to really appreciate how worry-free my life is right now. Because one day, it's going to be a lot more complicated." I didn't realize that "one day" would be just around the corner. Thank you to the people who have already been through the horrors of this disease who still allowed me to think the minor problems I had to these in comparison were even worthy of complaining about.

Interestingly enough, one of the things my friend mentioned yesterday during our conversation was that someone had made the comment that nobody even cares this is happening to them. People outside this little world we are trapped in are still going on with their lives, as though nothing is wrong and people aren't being affected by this horrible disease every second of every day. I made a similar comment to another friend of mine, about how you would think people would at least be more careful when it comes to complaining around me about their problems. Even typing this out makes me sound like an insensitive "beach", but sometimes, those petty problems that I used to be just as guilty of complaining about irritate the crap out of me now. My friend stopped me before I could make myself look like any more of an A-hole and reminded me that no matter how big or small the problem is, everyone lives in their own world. In their worlds, those are the biggest problems they are trying to overcome. Once again, I swear she has an app for these comments.

There are a few people who have the capability of bringing me out of the world I am trapped in and cracking me up so much that I forget how much this sucks. One of them lost his dad to cancer, and shares the same sense of humor as mine. I tell him this all the time, but it bears repeating...he has literally been a Godsend to me. He is never not funny, and he has been such a good friend to me through all of this. And also, we are in love. (Just kidding! But I do love him.) He is the person who isn't afraid to confirm what everyone keeps reminding me: No matter how prepared you think you are to lose a parent, you will never be the same after it happens. He is the guy who is so sarcastic about everything he says, but who also told me "At my dad's funeral, people kept telling me that now I had an angel up in Heaven, as if that made everything okay. I didn't want an angel, I wanted my dad with me." As sarcastic as we both are, he has been through a lot and is such a great sounding board. The first day I got back to work after being out for a month and a half, I worked with him and one of the other people who has the ability to crack me up no matter what. I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time, and it was exactly what I needed.

Everything isn't perfect right now, in fact it's obviously far from it. But some of these moments when I look around and realize that I can still laugh and enjoy life, just as my mom wants me to do, I know there is something greater than all of us. I think my mom already figured this one out, because the only thing she has said over and over again is that we have to carry on and take care of ourselves. My mom knows that this form of this disease doesn't go away. She knows what's going to happen, but I have never once gotten the impression that she is scared of it. I hope to God that she beats the odds and is with us for years and years to come, but I also have to be realistic. I know what she is getting at when people ask her what they can do for her, and she tells them "You can take care of my kids and make sure they're okay. They are all that matter."

So far, I'm being taken care of, and I know Neal is, too. My mom and dad shaped and molded us into the people we are, and they started this perfect collection of people who one day would be supporting us through all this. Some of them have been there since before I can remember, and some of them I found on my own. All of you make me so happy, just knowing you are there and have been there from the beginning of this. I love you all so much, thank you for taking such good care of me.

"The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea."

A few days ago, I decided that I was going to drive to the beach this morning, as it's my day off. For me, days off are the hardest...when I have nothing to do or occupy my mind, I find that I am 10 times more likely to have a meltdown and really let everything get the best of me. I start thinking about how much cancer sucks, for my mom and for everyone else. I start to think about my friend whose dad is going through the same thing, but with more complications, and how much I hate that it's cancer in a parent that is creating a bond between us that nobody else around us can really understand, because we are the only ones in this situation right here and right now. I start thinking about the one person who, if she wasn't such a close friend to me at this point in my life, I would never be able to keep moving forward if it weren't for the fact that I know she's been through more and she is so freaking strong, like Superwoman. Then I start thinking about little kids going through this, whose parents would probably give anything to switch places with them. I think about how, at some point in our lives, we will bury our parents...but a parent should never, ever, ever have to bury their child. I start thinking about Chris, and how much his family's support has meant to me through all of this. How much it makes me want to cry, thinking about how his mom and sister are still checking in on us, making sure we're okay, praying for us--after everything they've been through. 

I woke up early this morning, mostly because I no longer have the ability to sleep in. When you start waking up at 3:30 am, it's hard to sleep much past 6. I debated whether I wanted to leave before the rush hour traffic, or wait until after it had passed. Since it's been what we, whose blood has thinned since moving to Florida, consider cold at night (50-60 degrees), I opted for the second option. I put air in my tires (Apparently 10 psi is too low?), gas in my car (amazing how quickly we adapt...I really thought I was getting a bargain for gas at 3.25/gallon), and I was on the road. On the way there, a few thoughts crossed my mind: 

• Cruise control feels like cheating the system.
• The updated iPhone map that includes navigation is far better than my former un-trusty guide, Guirard.
• Unfortunately for myself and everyone on the road around me, the only time I've been able to really "get in the zone" is when I'm driving long distances. 
• If I were a blueberry muffin, I'd rather go stale than be eaten.
• What ever DID happen to predictability?
• Why do people care so much about whether or not bears poop in the woods?
• I wonder what kind of doll Lola is going to buy me for Christmas this year?
• It's too soon to be thinking about/celebrating Christmas.
• I wonder if they make those velcro zoo shoes my parents used to buy for me in adult sizes?

 Before I knew it, I was driving over the bridge and could see water on both sides of me. I always forget until I'm driving over a body of saltwater how magical it has always felt to me. Seeing dolphins frolicking in the water was always more exciting than Christmas morning, which is still too early to be thinking about. It sucked when what you thought was a dolphin was a bird or a log, but you I guess that was one of life's ways of preparing you for disappointment. I finally got to the FREE PARKING lot, and was off and running. That's actually a lie, first I stopped at 7-Eleven to pee. But then, I was off and running. Although there's nothing quite like running along the shoreline, the slant that the waves create is somewhat of a challenge to run on. The salt in the air also made me extremely thirsty, but luckily I had temporarily attached a water bottle to myself. I ran for about 3 miles (I still don't think I like it), and then walked the other mile back to my beach entrance, stopping about every 15 feet to write something in the sand or just take it all in. At first I wrote "F*** CANCER", but then I realized it was a family place just in time for the waves to wash it away. Then I wrote "I love you, mom", took a picture of it, and sent it for my mom to see. There's something therapeutic about writing the two things I most often want to scream at the top of my lungs in the sand. By the time I had begun this slow walk back, my shoes were already soaking wet from a wave that's strength I under-estimated. In any other situation, I'd probably be annoyed to have soaking wet socks and shoes. In this situation though, I didn't mind it at all (Until I got in the car and realized I would need to have feeling in my toes to drive back home.) 

Half of me went to the beach today for completely selfish reasons. To step away from normalcy, and to just breathe and take it all in. The other half went for my mom. This is exactly the type of thing that, if she were healthy, she would wake up and do if she lived close enough to a beach. When my mom asks me if I'm taking care of myself, I know the underlying message to that. She wants me to live my life, and she doesn't want me to just go through the motions ever day. She wants me to do things that make me happy, and I remembered today that the beach makes me happy.

As does peanut butter.

Screw you, Beulah.

Unfortunately, my mom's brain tumor doesn't seem to be giving up, despite the 6 weeks of radiation and chemo she recently underwent. So starting tomorrow, she will start something called Avastin infusions every 2 weeks, paired with more chemo.

Definitely not the best news in the world, though not the worst, either. The phone call I now dread is the one where someone tells me it's time to come home. Some day, that will happen. But for every night I go to bed to the soothing sound of a Full House episode playing in the background, and I realize that "some day" wasn't today, I feel lucky. My conversations with my mom don't change much from one day to the other. She asks the same questions, about the same amount of times, and she gives me the same instructions, every day. But I wouldn't trade them for the world. (However, I do have to note that I MIGHT trade them for a time machine capable of transporting me back to 1996. When my mom was HEALTHY, and when I found John Stamos most attractive.)

Sometimes, the questions change. When hurricanes are all over the news, I get asked over and over if I'm experiencing any effects from the storms. Halloween was last week, so I got asked for about 3 weeks (and counting) how Spooktacular was. I was sick 2 weeks ago, so every day since my sinuses cleared up, I get a "You sound a lot better!" I'm asked every day if there's anything she can do for me. And every day, I'm told at least 3 times during every conversation that it is expected that I take care of myself.

This person who, in very many ways is not my mom anymore, always reminds me that part of her is still in there. She's still loving, she still wants what's best for me, and she still tells me over and over again that she will never be able to express how much she loves me, and that even though I'm not with her right now, she keeps me in her heart and in her mind ("even with Beulah there, I still have room for you.") always.

I keep thinking about how, right before this whole thing started or at least escalated, I was dealing with an issue that now seems so minor and stupid in comparison. At the time, it was eating away at me. Because she's protective and loves my brother and me so much, it was eating away at her, too. I talked to her and my dad a lot over those few weeks, a lot more than I have at times, but a lot less than I wish I did now. I never knew, when she was telling me how proud she was of me, and how strong she thought I was, that would be the last time she would say those words while remembering and fully understanding every single detail of what makes me who I am. The truth is, I don't think I knew jack about strength at that point. Turns out, she's the real expert in that category.

Now, she struggles to remember that I graduated from Penn State. She knows where I work and that I live in Florida, but she doesn't remember every single step it took to get me where I am. She probably doesn't remember writing me notes that say "I miss you" and "I love you" in her classic slanted handwriting (all in caps, all the time) and leaving them in the boxes that I packed up and moved with me to Florida. She probably doesn't remember me calling her to tell her that I had gotten an internship at a place I decided I might like to work for, if only just for the fact that she and I used to love watching dolphins off my grandma's pier in Dunedin. She probably doesn't remember telling me on our last trip to my Grandma's how much it sucks to be rejected (again) by your husband and your mom in the same week. And she probably doesn't remember me finally standing up to my Grandma after years of hearing her rag on my mom--the middle child, the rebel--because it was time for her to stop treating her like crap. She probably doesn't remember my Grandma telling me to go to Hell for protecting my own mother the way she has always protected me, and she probably doesn't remember me telling my Grandma she could go to Hell, too. She probably doesn't remember calling me a month later to tell me that my Grandma had died. She probably doesn't remember how guilty I felt for not smoothing things over, and she probably doesn't remember telling me not to ever feel guilty, because nobody had ever stuck up for her the way I did that day.

But I do.

I remember everything. When her condition first started escalating, I texted my friend saying "I'm so scared that one day, she's going to forget who I am." She told me she didn't think that would ever happen, but if she ever did, I would just have to help remind her. She told me that even though my mom might not remember everything anymore, I still do, and my memories would be enough for both of us. She's the same person who told me--when I told her I hoped people didn't think that me joking around about the funny things my mom says over and over, means that I love her any less--that the only person I should worry about knowing I love my mom is my mom. I'm not sure, but I think she may google these answers?

Make no mistake about it, Beulah (the name my mom gave to her brain tumor) doesn't make me happy one bit. In fact, Beulah really pisses me off. What makes me happy are the memories that I still get to keep, and the fact that my mom still knows who I am, and even if she doesn't remember everything she used to know about me, she loves me just the same.

And just slightly more than Neal, because I made her a parent, and because my eyes are the color of the sky and Neal's eyes are the color of fecal matter.

Just kidding...Love you, Nelson!!

Back off, chief. I'm trying to get in the zone.

I do not remember a single moment of my life where I have genuinely enjoyed a good run. Someone pointed out to me the other day that he thinks a lot of people who have a negative connotation with running were always punished with it. You talked back to your coach? 10 laps. You missed a shot? 20. You swear like a  sailor, but not quite enough to warrant your coach making you do push-ups? Run for the rest of practice.

I can't say for sure if running was used as a punishment when I played soccer, because I was usually busy doing push-ups. I can definitely say that I have never "gotten into the zone", or experienced that runner's high I always hear about. What I HAVE experienced is shortness of breath, the feeling that I'm going to pass out, and pain in my right knee.

A few months ago, I decided that setting a goal for myself might make running seem more appealing and actually help me stick to it. I started off slowwwwwly, and even kept it up and made some progress while I was home in Pittsburgh waiting for my mom's biopsy results. I still remember the run I went on with my uncle, the day before that appointment. We talked a little bit about what was going to happen if we didn't get the news we were hoping for, what would happen if my mom couldn't live alone anymore and if this wasn't going to get better...and I think my uncle said something along the lines of "That's really going to suck." He reminded me that when it's someone's time to go, it's their time to go. Maybe that was a reality we were going to be dealing with sooner rather than later, and maybe it wasn't. But it wasn't something any of us could change or control. The only thing we could do was make sure we were spending quality time with our family, especially our parents...because you just never know. I remember thinking that it was probably going to be one of those things I will remember for the rest of my life, the calm before the storm almost. That feeling of knowing without knowing how this was all going to go down. Just me and Uncle Bob, talking about life and then just running in silence...me, at least, terrified of what I dreaded most. Once we got that news, I didn't have much motivation to be off by by myself doing something I didn't really like anyway when I could be with my mom and the rest of my family.

Now that I'm back in Orlando, I still don't love running. But I can't say I hate it, either. Because hate is now reserved for things like brain tumors and aggressive (and non-aggressive) types of cancer, and the idea of losing someone that can never be replaced. Today, I put my brand spankin' new knee brace on, put my Steelers noise-isolating ear buds in, and went to town. Actually, not really town, but more so a wooded area peppered with palm trees in a park near our house. Maybe it was the knee brace that made me feel like I could fly (or that could have been the vodka...just kidding), or maybe it was those Steelers ear buds...but for the first time, I wasn't thinking about how much I hated running. I was thinking about how great I am at putting together a collection of legally-downloaded music, how awesome I must look with the Steeler symbol in my ears, and how nice it feels to be able to run and breathe at the very same time, because the humidity has subsided ever so slightly and there's an actual breeze. I wasn't thinking about how much cancer sucks, or how to do whatever the heck Carner's algebra homework entailed the other day.

Today, what made me happy was how I felt after I was done running. Not so much the pain in my thighs and calves or the knowledge that I may or may not be able to walk tomorrow, but the reminder of how rewarding it can be to breathe fresh air and sweat like a--WAIT A SECOND...Someone told me pigs can't sweat, because they don't have glands....Anyway, as my uncle said (and my life coach, too), I can't control this situation with my mom. And I can't choose when it's my time or anyone else's time to go. But I can control what I do with my time. And there is no better way I can think of to spend some of my time than complaining about how sore I am from doing an activity I don't even freaking like, and then repeating.

"If she cries, you cry."

I had the chance to catch up with my cousin, Shaun, yesterday. Shaun was one of my very first best friends, and together with my other cousins on my dad's side and my brother, we shared one of the best grandmothers on the face of the planet. When I was home last, my mom was describing Grandma Julia (my mom and my dad's mom share the same first name) to our "bulldog" family friend, D-Far. She told her our Grandma wasn't so much like her own mother, who sometimes liked the idea of having grandchildren much more than the reality of it. My mom described her as the perfect grandmother, who showered us with so much love. I was 4 and a half when she passed away, but she is such a major part of the person I have become and the person I've always been. It was her, along with my mom and dad, aunts and uncles, that set an example of unconditional love for us at a very early age. 

When I was little, my mom or dad (Or Jazazzle and Phil, as I like to call them) used to sit beside me after they tucked me into my waterbed, that unfortunately was later stabbed to death by a homicidal yellow pencil, and list all the people who loved me. "Mommy loves you, and Daddy loves you, and Grandma Julia loves you..." were always top 3. I think of this ritual often, and did the same thing for my mom as they prepped her for her biopsy in July. I sometimes wonder if it's why it's now so important to me to tell my friends and family how much I love them. As I've gotten older, I've come to realize that there are people for whom the words "I love you" were never part of daily conversation. I've also come to realize that life is really freaking short, and there are so many people who have done so much for me just by being good friends. It's important for me to let them know how much they mean to me. 

When Shaun and I were little, we used to spend a lot of time together. My Grandma watched Shaun and me, along with his sister, Julie during the days. Through Shaun, I learned more than any little girl needed to know about wrestling, bloody noses, and what it felt like to get the wind completely knocked out of you. We spent summers together climbing trees and swimming (sometimes at night, and if you know my mom well, you know what that probably meant), spent Fall jumping in leaves and taking riding lessons on our uncle's horse, winters sled riding and enjoying our places at the kids' table during our annual Christmas Eve family get-together, and spring...probably doing the same thing as we did in the winter, because it snows until March in Pennsylvania. Shaun's dream as the protective cousin who was one year my senior was to meet my first boyfriend and beat the living crap out him, just cause. When I went to Vegas to stay with Shaun, my aunt and uncle after they had moved out there, Shaun insisted that he never wanted to beat him up, he just wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk with him. I asked what that talk would entail, and he said "Simple. I would have just told him 'if she cries, you cry.'" The first time Shaun ever saw me wearing make-up, he grabbed my wrist, pulled me into the bathroom and scrubbed it off my face. When I moved to State College from Pittsburgh in third grade, Shaun was one of the people I missed the most. I befriended someone in my class who reminded me so much of him, which now I'm trying to figure out, because the kid and his family were from China, and my cousin looks just as Polish as the rest of us, with blonde hair and blue eyes. At that point in time, he may have also been sporting a rat-tail or undercut, which is neither here nor there...but actually, let's just keep it there.

As we got older and lived 3 hours away from each other, we grew apart. Shaun and Julie would come and stay with us in State College over the summer for a week some years, but that faded with time. Once we reached High School, we didn't have a whole lot in common at all. Shaun was out with his friends a lot of the weekends we were in town, though occasionally he would invite me to a party with him. One of the requirements was always that one of his trustworthy friends (I think he had only a few that would meet this requirement) would watch me like a hawk so none of his guy friends tried to hit on me and so nobody would try to pressure me to drink. These invitations didn't happen too often, which is a real wonder, since it sounds like an absolute BLAST! ;)

Once we reached college-age, Shaun and I became closer again. We all of a sudden had something in common, and for the sake of my wholesome reputation, we will pretend that something was "studying" and not partying like a college student. Since then, he's moved back and forth between Vegas and Pittsburgh a few times, and I don't see him nearly as often as I'd like. That tough little boy and teenager I once was intimidated by have turned into a man that I am so proud to know and so lucky to have in my life. He's one of the people who, when he calls to check up on me and everything that's going on, I can be completely honest with. I can tell him what I'm terrified of and what I'm having the hardest time dealing with. He listens to me and genuinely cares and is sympathetic, and he has literally known me since I was born. So for today, the thing that makes me happy is my relationships with my cousins. These people have known me and loved me...unconditionally...through even my dalmatian sweater wearing days, my hideous bangs, my extremely bratty stage, etc. I love you guys so much, and I'm so lucky to have you ALL in my life.

But seriously, Spanky. No more rat-tails.

"Happiness resides not in possessions, and not in gold, happiness dwells in the soul."

A few months have gone by since our worlds got flipped upside down. I've returned to Florida, as my mom wanted me to get back to "normal." I wish I could remember what normal feels like...though I'm not sure anything about me has ever been normal...

Most of the time, I feel okay and can push everything that's going on with my mom to the back of my mind. There are times when I'm not thinking about what's to come, how I'll ever live without her (or any of the people I love so much, for that matter), or how much I hate this stupid disease. There are times when I can forget how much different she is now than she used to be, or that she'll never be the same again. 

I have never been an outwardly emotional person. I'm not great at having serious conversations with people, especially when it comes to myself. The person who I've termed my "life coach", because she's been helping me get through life for the past 3+ years, was probably the first one to hit the nail square on the head. It was when I was telling her about a date I had gone on, where he was trying to be serious and gaze deep into my eyes, at which point I would cross them. She told me it was absolutely not appropriate to cross my eyes at someone while on a date, and that the only reason I was doing it was because I have no idea how to be serious. She said she knows me, and when things get too "real", I try to change the tone by making a sarcastic comment or joke to avoid being uncomfortable. It IS hard for me to let my guard down, and anything that isn't sarcasm tends to be outside my comfort zone. There are, of course, a few exceptions. I have some friends and family members that I can turn the switch back and forth between serious and sarcastic, but this has taken years of practice. My life coach (I'll use LC from now on because I can save at least 2 seconds by leaving out those other 7 letters) probably didn't realize when she was calling me out on my inability to be serious, that it would result in me turning to her for every serious thought I have had since then. (Sorry, Lola. Thank you for sticking by me, no matter how much I drive you crazy at all hours of the day.) 

This inability to deal with serious issues has made it somewhat difficult to cope with everything that's going on. I have a few people that I've been able to let my guard down with and really let it all out when I start to think about how much this whole thing sucks, but other than that, I've tried to keep a smile on my face and reassure everyone that I'm doing okay. What it has resulted in now is me feeling like a zombie. When a friend of mine asked me what hobbies or activities I enjoy doing, the only thing I could come up with was "watching Full House." I couldn't really come up with anything else. I can tell you what hobbies I HAVE done, or what things I know I SHOULD do, but do they actually make me happy? Then I realized that what used to make me happy wasn't necessarily the activities themselves, but the people I was participating in them with. In college, I spent a lot of time with my friends. They always made me feel good when I was around them, and even if we were sitting around doing nothing, we were still laughing. I think what I'm experiencing now is a collision of two things...the first is that I have found myself really missing the good ol' college days. The days of Nacho Night at Champs, Girls Nights at Keck's apartment, a bunch of nights that I'm sure were a blast if only I could remember them. The other thing is that my mom's diagnosis and battle with this stupid disease is the new normal. Everything about the way I look at life has changed since July 26th. The things I used to think were so important and the struggles that I used to think were so difficult, no longer are. So maybe I just have to re-discover things that make me happy. In most cases, the things that used to make someone happy probably change over time. Not for me. Full House still does it. 

One of my favorite co-workers, who unfortunately has two family members battling cancer as well, asked me yesterday if I'm as angry at cancer as he is. He said he's gotten past the shock stage, and the "dealing with it" stage, and now he's pissed. I told him I am. He asked me if I cry a lot. I told him I don't, but I always feel relieved (if only for a few minutes) when I do. He said I should cry more often. Then he offered to break my jaw. Just kidding about the last part...He also asked me if I keep a journal. I told him I typed up one blog entry a few months ago and haven't update it since. He suggested I get back to it, because maybe it would help me deal with my thoughts and feelings. So here I am...and I've decided that its purpose is going to be to remind me of the things that make me happy, not the things that tear me apart. I think I'm coming about this the wrong way...The answer might not be just one thing that makes me happy. It can be a collection of a ton of little things. If I'm constantly in search of things that make me feel alive and thankful for it, maybe I won't feel like such a zombie. There will come a day when it's going to be really hard to think of things that make me happy, because the things that make me sad are going to be so much more powerful. But it doesn't mean I can't at least try. 

One thing that makes me happy is my friends and family. The people around me who make life worth living. I have a few good ones here in Orlando, but so many others are in different places. The ones I hold most near and dear to my heart are those who ALWAYS keep me laughing. There have been a few times, since I've been back in Florida, where I'm around people that make me laugh until my stomach hurts, and I'm now so aware of how priceless these moments and these people are. It would be really easy to let something like this consume me, and my LC (my fingers are so much less fatigued since I didn't have to type out the whole words) has had to bring me back to earth a few times when I've let it get the best of me...but for the most part, these people have helped to keep me laughing. They understand that when I tell stories about the funny things my mom says, it's not because I'm making fun of her. It's because I love her so much, and if I don't laugh about it, it'll just keep building inside of me. Regardless of how much my mom forgets, she always remembers to ask about these people, to make sure I tell them how appreciative she is of them because they are taking such good care of me and helping to get me through every day. 

And another thing that makes me happy is John Stamos, circa 1996.