Posts

Rainbows, Unicorns, and Butterflies - J/K

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My mother-in-law once told me her 50's were her favorite.  I should have had a clue when on the morning of my 50th birthday, my previous German Shepherd, Sarge, had the worst case of diarrhea I'd ever seen.  In the house!  With people coming over for a meal.  I'm sure glad we can't see the future.  It's not always bright.  I won't say my fifties have been my least favorite, because of my grandkids, but they have been the hardest and most painful years of my life. Six years later, and we've lost our son John to the opioid epidemic, my Dad and I, along with my mother-in-law all hang out at the cancer center, and it definitely has not been butterflies, unicorns, and rainbows.  I have a standing joke with a friend - I type in "uni" on my phone and this comes up:  🦋🦄🌈.  It reminds me that while life is not all butterflies, unicorns, and rainbows, people prefer it when it is.  We have a natural human instinct to look for the good, to try and make it s

I Dreamt of You

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You came to me in a dream. They are rare, but I covet them so. You were yourself, just as I remember you. The dream was so detailed, so strange, so comforting.   Grandma was there too – my family intact. In the dream, Grandpa didn't like where I parked my truck, so he moved it. (He stills tells me how to drive). We were on Litchfield Avenue, we grabbed a pizza at the old Dominos location, and he was concerned our food would get cold. He parked the truck so well, so close to someone’s house, that we couldn't find it!  We told Grandpa we lost the truck and he said, "I parked it at Lavash's", a name I've never heard of, but how odd. Also in the dream, a friend gave me a card announcing the opening of a salon – it was very much in color. It was so blue - as if you took a piece of the summer sky and mixed it with the opalescence of seashells. I'll never believe the "experts" when they say you dream in black and white. Anyway, John, you backed

A Room With A View

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A Room With A View . . . My corner for the morning - a warm blanket and peanut butter & jelly toast . . .I'm all set Yeah.  Being facetious.  I can see some treetops!  The cancer center is BUSY!  Everyone is getting their after Christmas dose of life-saving poison and the nurses are trying to keep up.  I thought I’d bring you with me today, dear reader, (⬅️ Morgan 😂) and show you what a day in the life of this grieving, and now, cancer patient, looks like.   My appointment was at 8.  8:30 . . .I had my port accessed and headed back to the waiting room.  I saw the Doc about – 9:30.  He listened to my heart, squeezed my ankles, and asked how it went on Round One. I told him it went really great.  Then I shared my genetic results with him.  I'm BRCA 1 Positive - so this is definitely inherited and genetic.   His reaction was a little shocked, and he confirmed what Mayo said about another surgery.  So, after chemo is all done and I've recuperated, I'll have the bilater

Pick Your Poison . . .☠️ (Oh, and yes, I do have cancer.)

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Pick your poison.  That phrase has been turning around in my head for a solid 24 hours now.  Sometimes you don’t get to pick your poison, but you end up taking it anyway.  Did John pick his poison in this case? I suppose he did. When the nurse mentioned I'd be getting fentanyl on Wednesday my heart about stopped.  Can I choose?  That particular drug killed my son.  FENTANYL. I know there is a place for it in the medical world – in the world of pain, but how do you respond to a nurse telling you that you will be given fentanyl for your “pain” when they place your chemo port on Wednesday.  Wait, what??? I felt exactly the same when they offered it to Kate when she was waiting for her epidural . . .she declined.  Do I?  Can I decline that any more than I can decline the weeks and weeks of poison that I am willingly signing up for with Chemotherapy?  It sure makes me think.   Honestly.  I feel like cancer has ruled a good portion of my life.  My mom had breast cancer three times, my si

it's fall, again, and I miss you. 🤍

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As the year 3 mark approaches – I find myself in a quiet and melancholy place. Year one was shock and horror, people, appointments with the DA – almost a blur. I learned how to listen to books to put me to sleep – as I couldn’t read, and I am still struggling to finish one book the old fashioned way, although I’ve started many. Brain fog, disbelief, searching, what-ifs. It was a year of people not knowing what to do with us, of mountains of tears and extreme emotions.  Of anger and profound sadness.  A year where food lost its flavor and coffee became all that tasted good.    I avoided people, places, and questions.  It was a year that I couldn’t talk about him without crying, where I dreaded any kind of get together because of the questions that were asked and because of the reality of the lives we were living.  I said no.  I know it hurt people’s feelings, but how could they possibly understand how a wedding or a graduation party ripped our hearts out?  How we felt like a black c

A Tribute To SPC John Ryan Schlegel

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September 11 th , 2020.  Let that sink in for a moment.  What comes to mind when you remember that day in 2001?  Living in rural America, we saw it all unfold on television.  People running away, fireman, rescue, and police rushing towards.  Chaos and horror.  Planes crashing and buildings turned to rubble. Disbelief and death – stories of lives lost and terrorism.  We felt, maybe for the first time, vulnerable and attacked.  But we came together.  We stood strong and our patriotism was a beautiful picture of unity and love for the country and for our fellow man.  Stories of heroism, of protection, of last phone calls, of the men and women who gave everything to serve, protect, and save.   2020.  Almost twenty years later, where are we?  CoVid 19, pandemic, shutdowns, masks, an election year, riots, disunity, defunding threats, quarantine and isolation, chaos and again . . .horror.  It’s a year we are all ready to move on from.     And yet, amidst all the arguing and fighting and tensi

My Hope ❤️

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I lift up my eyes to the mountains where  does my help come from?   My help comes from the  Lord ,  the Maker of heaven and earth. Psalm 121 Yesterday, I wrote an article and submitted it to an online magazine.  In it, I made no reference to my faith – just grief.  I usually always end my writings with a positive faith-filled message.  But I didn’t.  Why?  Because someone commented on a piece I wrote, saying that it was "great up until the religious part."  Friends, without the religious part, the faith part, the actual reason for our hope part – it’s just words, in my opinion. So I wrote a sad piece on grief and what to expect, without sharing my hope. I'm about to correct that now. Because my hope, my faith, my Jesus? They are everything to me. I don’t understand a world where things just accidentally fell into place. Where there is no Creator, no author, no God of the Universe.  How does beauty come from chaos?  How would the human body with all its