"There are bad times, but thats okay, just look for the love in it, don't burn the day away."

I don't want to remember you like this, so I'm not going to.

Because you should be remembered as the free spirited, M&M-loving mom who loved Halloween so much that you couldn't wait until October, you had to dress us up and throw a party in August.

You should be remembered as the rebellious middle sibling who never believed in following all the rules, but still found a way to be respectful of other people and their values.

You should be remembered as the one who was notorious for singing "Happy Birthday" loudly and off-key; who waited until it was dark outside to take everyone skinny dipping. Your favorite outfit was always no outfit, and you never kept that a secret. Underwear? Totally overrated and rarely ever a necessity.

You should be remembered as the chaperone at my soccer tournament who tried to take the whole team to a rated R movie by claiming we were all your daughters. All 15 of us. In later years, you hosted co-Ed sleepover parties for a bunch of high school kids, and you actually trusted us. But you never did disappoint when given any opportunity to insert an inappropriate comment in any conversation.

You should be remembered as the fireball who wouldn't slow down or quit moving; who did weird exercises in public to "feel the burn." The spunky, outgoing kid at heart who would always be up for putting on a pair of rollerblades and hitting the streets of Park Forest with me. The speed demon who power walked through North Park at a pace few could keep up with.

You should be remembered as the fun-loving hippy who only smoked cigarettes and drank alcohol (soco and lime) on Tuesdays. The sugar addict who invented "vanilla milk," a concoction of warm milk, vanilla and sugar, and gave it to us before bed. The only person I know who would put Karo syrup on pancakes (the only thing you hated more than maple syrup was coconut.)

You should be remembered as the 50+ year old who showed up to a family wedding wearing a dress that exposed parts of you that you were proud to show off (much to the dismay of your children.) You should be remembered as the last person to leave the dance floor. And to some, you will always be remembered as "flapjacks."

You should be remembered as the klutz you've always proclaimed yourself to be, but never more graceful than on your slalom waterski, gliding across the lake. You loved it when it was smooth as glass. You were the "breast" water-skier.

You should be remembered as the best back tickler ever. The crazy mom who would throw marshmallows across the living room and try to land them in my mouth. The somewhat "ditzy" fool who wondered if a balloon would float up in the air if you put it over an open flame and then screamed when it popped.

You should be remembered as the former "painted lady" with ever changing hairstyles; from blonde to red and back to blonde, no matter what, you never thought it looked good...but no matter what, everyone else always thought you looked beautiful. You won queen of hearts in high school, and you vowed never to leave the house without doing your eyebrows. Even so, you have always been a natural beauty with more looks and charm than you ever gave yourself enough credit for.

You should be remembered (fondly, of course) as one of the cheapest people on the planet. Nearly everything you ever bought, you found a reason to return. You even thought at one point that the stores may have added you to a watch list and had become weary that you were shoplifting and not just indecisive.

You should be remembered as the loving mom who not only made it obvious every day how much you love and cherish your own children, but all those we've held near and dear over the years as well. One of my old friends said recently that one thing she'll always distinctly remember about you is that you genuinely enjoyed being around our friends and had their best interest at heart. But even when one of them got engaged, you held your ever-emotional self together because you had not applied water-proof mascara.

Sometimes, I wonder if you always had an idea that your time here with us would be limited. Maybe that's why you've always showered us with so much love and adored our friends and extended family the way you have; because they will be the people we will turn to and lean on for support and love when you are no longer here with us physically to provide those things.

Your body is still here with us, and through a tiny whisper you are still able to give us the "I love you"s that have supported us along the way and kept us going when we wanted to give up. But all those pieces of you that are already gone, I will miss forever.

You will be remembered as my mommy, my first and forever best friend, and my hero.

...And I'm serious about showing me signs with Paydays and M&Ms instead of feathers and pennies.

Medicinal Profanity

Sometimes, I regain feeling in my body and temporarily leave behind the numbness that has set in over the past year from everything being too difficult to even process most of the time.

Sometimes, I want to kick and scream and cry and yell and just allow myself to be as pissed as this situation warrants. Sometimes, I want to stop subconsciously trying to hold it all together to be strong for my mom and my family and everyone that is waiting ever so patiently for me to let it fall apart. It's not for lack of caring, and it's not because I'm avoiding reality. I'll have years to be sad about it. But sometimes, acknowledging a crock of shit is simply unavoidable, as is using the Fuck-word. According to my mom's house rules, using profanity is perfectly acceptable and sometimes even necessary, as long as you never, ever use the phrase "shut up."

It fucking sucks that I'm 28 years old and have somehow convinced myself that it's perfectly normal to lose a parent before the age of 30.

It fucking sucks that my mom won't be here to watch all the future successes and failures that the rest of my life has in store for me. It sucks that she won't be there to mend my heart when it is broken or to tickle my back and not let me eat handfuls of M&Ms, because the only acceptable way to eat them is two at a time.

It fucking sucks that the last images I will have of my mom won't be the happy, healthy, vibrant woman she has been for 26 and a half years of my life. They will be images of confusion and sickness, loss of mobility and a weakened body that I've had to pick up off the ground and hold steady.

It fucking sucks that my brother has to be such an adult at 23 years old. It sucks that he has to make decisions and see and do things that no 23 year old should have to even think about. It fucking sucks that I can't protect him and I can't relate to what it's like to be that young and to be losing a parent.

It fucking sucks that there is no possible way on earth to thank my dad for everything he has done for us. It sucks that there are literally no words that exist to sum up the gratitude I feel toward the man that still loves his ex-wife enough to answer the same questions over and over again, to watch her decline and still be able to smile with her even though she has no idea what's going on, to change her and to hold her up when she's too weak to stand on her own.

It fucking sucks that over the past year, cancer has made my mother almost unrecognizable. It fucking sucks that more often than not, she looks right through me instead of at me.

It fucking sucks that my mom's understanding of what's going on in her brain and body is beyond the point that I can thank her for everything she's done to make me who I am. It sucks that I can't tell her in a way that she'll understand that the only fucking reason I will ever survive the rest of my life without her is because she made me strong enough to do so.

It fucking sucks that the one person I want to be able to run to and have fix everything is now unfixable.

Hey, remember that one time when I started this blog to remember all the things to be happy about and thankful for?

Fuck that. Not today.

525,600 minutes.

August 10th, 2012.

The day my world was shattered.

We sat in that stupid fucking waiting room at the Hilman center in Pittsburgh for what seemed like hours. I looked around at a room full of people who were bonded by a horrible disease and wondered if I would soon be one of them. We had spent almost two weeks waiting for biopsy results, hoping it would just be a bump in the road for my free spirited momma. Convincing ourselves that she knew something the rest of us didn't when she'd say "we're going to kick Beulah's ass." I remember thinking it was the only outcome, because people always told my mom she'd outlive everyone. She walked into that doctor's office active, healthy, and full of life and walked out a cancer patient with approximately one year left to live, "on a bell curve."

And so here we are, exactly one year later. I hear my mom's sweet, happy voice and for a split second, I can almost forget that physically and mentally, she's almost just the shell of the person she once was. I didn't know she'd fade away pieces at a time. But looking back, there are a few rather significant things I didn't know that I've learned over the last 525,600 minutes.

I've realized that your true support system will shine through on the darkest days, and everyone else never really mattered anyway. I've learned that people love me and love us more than they can put into words, and it means more to me than I in turn can put into words. But if I could choose a word that would sum it all up, I would choose "banana." Because it's fun to type.

I've realized that the most important person for me to be in this life is myself. If people can't accept it, tough shiitake mushrooms. Every day, when I look in the mirror, I want to try to be more like the person my mom has always seen when she's looked at me. Because my mom has always made me feel like a hero, and the person I am in this life is someone who wears a cape and their underwear on the outside of their pants.

I've realized that what I thought was important, in the grand scheme of things, really isn't. Hitches without jackstands? Pedestrians crossing the street when it's not really their turn? Dead hookers wearing winter formal dresses? Borrowed latex gloves? Aerosol cans not properly disposed of? None of it really matters....except maybe the aerosol cans if exposed to a flame.

I've realized how much my parents love my brother and me. They love us enough to let us build amusement parks in the backyard, to graffiti our bedroom and basement walls, to make multiple stops on a road trip just because one of us has a shy bladder, and to take care of not just us when we are sick, but also each other. I know what loyalty is because of them, and I hope that I'm able to show it to others as well as they have shown it to us.

I've realized that I'm stronger than I ever realized. I'm not sure if it's because I've been lifting the 5 lb dumb bells or if it's because my muscles are exercised when I give bone-crushing hugs, but I never would have imagined I could have made it through this year still standing.

To everyone that's been with me and with us on this road thus far, I don't think "thank you" even really sums it up. Your support has meant everything to me and to my family. As the road starts to get bumpy and it becomes harder to steer, I know I have the best people sitting next to me in the passenger seat.

For the record, the passenger seat in my mind is very spacious and fits all the aforementioned people while still providing an adequate safety belt.