"We Make Our Choices, Then Our Choices Make Us."

"I am so blessed."

Through 14 months of brain cancer, through a combination of radiation and chemotherapy, through losing hair and eventually the function of your limbs and body and having to rely on others to care for you, somehow you always managed to spit out these words nearly every day until you were no longer able to speak to us.

Suddenly, this beautiful, energetic woman with the body and soul of someone at least 10 years her junior was faced with her own mortality and the challenge of preparing her children, family and friends to survive in a world without her. But instead of letting death defeat you, you chose life. Every day, you smiled your way through and told everyone how much you loved them. Even when you became too weak to form the words, you always showed so much gratitude for the people who cared for and loved you until your very last breath, and who will continue to love you until the end of time. Instead of choosing to feel sorry, you chose to feel lucky. And maybe without even realizing you were doing so, you in turn taught the rest of us to recognize the things that lift us up instead of staring at the things that threaten to beat us down.

For those of us lucky enough to be around you, we didn't really ever have to choose, because you had already chosen for us. If the woman fighting the battle isn't sad, you can be damn sure the rest of us had no excuse. The sad part was never your fight; you were a fucking warrior, no doubt about that. Cancer might have taken your life, but it sure as shit didn't win. The sad part has always been the void that is and was left as pieces of you faded away.

People keep asking me how I'm doing and if I'm okay, since these will be my first holidays without you. Honestly, for the most part, I really am. It's not that I wouldn't do anything to have you here, and it's not that I don't miss you every second of every day. But I wake up every day, as you demonstrated to me, doing my best to choose life and whatever happiness I can find instead of choosing to dwell on your death. Some days, it's easier than others, and some moments during my days still leave me with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. Sometimes I get angry and I just want you here with me.

But most of the time, I can find a reason to smile, because I know that's what you want for me. I know you're looking down with a special appreciation for those who have stood by me and our family for the long haul and who continue to be there for us, especially through the holidays. I hope you can hear Josh Groban's version of "O Holy Night," I always blast it for you when he belts out Noel(le) at the end, because I know that was always your favorite part. (No seriously, this isn't even me being a cocky asshole, it really was.)

I hope I am continuing to make you proud, and I hope you have a Merry Christmas/Halloween/Thanksgiving/Whatever Holiday you are choosing to celebrate today.

"And you're taking care of yourself?"

"...Promise me you'll take care of yourself and never forget how much I love you."

Every day. No matter what facets of your life had slipped away from you at that point, you always remembered to make me promise these two things. After going through the motions of wishing me a Merry Christmas and asking if I was feeling better because I sounded a bit congested, you'd always come back to me for a second. Not as the confused brain cancer patient, but as my loving and protective mom. Our phone calls were always bittersweet; because I knew every day, you had slipped a bit further away than the day before. But I knew, too, just getting to talk to you and hear your voice and tell you "I love you" was a precious but perishable gift that, for us, had an expiration date that was drawing near.

You spent every day of my life, from the second I was born, showing me with every breath you took how much you love me. But the day of your diagnosis, you ultimately changed the way you expressed your love for us from something that was somewhat almost tangible, because we could hold you and hug you and you could do the same for us, to something intangible that we would be able to hold on to after you were gone.

All of a sudden, you took on the challenge of breathing enough love into a year's worth of telephone conversations and quality time to last the rest of our lives. You wanted to make sure we never had any doubts (even on the worst days, without the option of hearing your perky voice assuring us that everything would work out the way it's supposed to) that our mom loves us, unconditionally, beyond words and no matter what.

On your last day here with us, when we knew were down to our final hours with you, your enormous-headed baby boy looked up at aunt Linda with your hand in his and said "I never realized until now that no matter how much time I have with her, I'll never be able to tell her enough times how much I love her." He elaborated on that thought in his sentiments at your service; telling everyone how he feels almost defeated by the world when he realized he loves someone so much that he could never put it into words. But at the same time, he won because he got to love someone so much, that they can never even know how strong the feeling is. "I'm so glad my mom never knew how much I love her."

As I sit outside in the 80 degree Florida weather by the pool on December 6th, reflecting on how lucky we are to be loved so much by you, I have no doubt that this is one of the things you had in mind when you made me promise to take care of myself.

I can even faintly hear the words you'd always say to me, when I'd call you from the pool on a warm sunny day when you were freezing your ass off in PA...

"You little brat." (And on really cold days, a different b-word.)

I can only imagine what your view and weather must be like where you are now.

But I know, I'm still a brat.