Record Their Words

A long time ago, I saw this interview...about Hallmark Legacy books. And the recordable books. I was in my mid-twenties. And I wanted to keep my memories close. Of my loved ones. The ones that were still with us.

I went to Hallmark, and bought some of these books. They sat in my bedroom, on my dresser, for months. I kept thinking, I need to fill these out. I need to sit down, with my parents and grandparents, and fill them out.

After I had come to take care of my Dad, I'd travel back to my home. At least twice a month. On the weekends, to work. On one of these weekends, I picked up those 3 books, I'd bought. And put them in the trunk of my car. It would be, one of the best things, I'd do.

This is the "Father" book. I bought it. And it took me, nearly 10 years to fill it out. Not by sitting my Dad down, and asking him all the questions. But by looking through the book. Before talking to my Dad. And every single day, asking a question. Something that would allow me, to fill it out.

And this is the "Mother" book.  It still sits, empty. But I have an idea, of where to begin. And I know, that by the time I head home, it will be completed.

I also had bought one of these books. I ALWAYS wanted to buy 3. One for each of my grandparents, that I knew. Fortunately, I found a second, in a local Walgreens. And I scooped it up. It's been about 2 years ago, that I last seen them, in stores.

But what I've gotten out of these books, is life changing. It's something that allowed me to ask, the right questions. To dig a little deeper, into my loved ones thinking. And their lives. And what they want their legacy to be.

You see, I started out with my grandpa. Asking little questions. Asking for stories. Hoping to learn more. And after a few hours of talking, I'd go home, and record his thoughts. By the time of my grandpa's passing, I had a nice little journal, of his life. It wasn't complete. There were things I had to ask my grandma. And my Mom. But it was something.

When it came to my Dad, I started small. I would ask him a question, every single day. Wanting to learn more and more, about the man I call Dad. During the last year of his life, he was more open to conversation. The real stuff. He let me know, what he wanted his legacy to look like. What he wanted his grandchildren to know, about him. He told me things, he had never shared before.

It was very difficult to write my Dad's book. Maybe because we were so close. Maybe because I knew, it meant the end was nearing. Maybe it was just hard, because it was hard. But over the last year, I've managed to complete it. You know, take all the little notes, I'd written on pieces of paper...and put them in the book.

I'm so grateful to have these. I ALWAYS wanted to make one of Hallmark's recordable storybooks, with my Dad. But he wasn't that kind of guy. I know my Mom, will LOVE to do something like that. To me, these are little momentos, that one day, I can hand down...to my own children.

It's a piece of our family history, that wasn't lost. And I'm so grateful to Hallmark, for coming up with these. I'm sure, you can find something similar, out there. But whatever way you choose, record your loved ones words. In a book, through a recording, on a video. Because they are precious. And one day, they won't be at your side. One day, you'll be without them. And you'll want their words, to live on. ❤❤❤

Hey There Monkey!

My Dad and I, had this hilarious connection to monkeys. When I was born, I was a pretty hairy baby. And my Dad called me, his little monkey. I remember my Dad, liking to buy me, stuffed monkeys. All the time! As I'd grow out of my dresses, he'd put them on my monkeys. :)

When I got older, I'd call my Dad, "Daddy Monkey." When this series of commercials came out, I told my Dad, it reminded me of him. I was away at college. And he laughed. Every single time I'd see the commercial, I'd laugh. And when I'd move back home, to take care of my Dad, and we saw these commercials...I'd tell him, that he was on TV!

When my Dad went to the hospital in December 2010, I'd buy him a stuffed monkey. From the hospital's Gift Shop. Every single time, after that, when we were in the hospital...I'd buy my Dad a stuffed monkey. We got a nice little collection. In just a short time. And my Dad LOVED them!

During the last few weeks of his life, my Dad was in bed a lot! He'd look out his bedroom window. And I'd attempt, to make my parents' bedroom, a little more fun, for my Daddy. I'd go out and buy some of these solar toys. And I'd put them in the window. For a few years, I've been buying them for my grandma. And she enjoys them so much! My Dad thought, they were pretty fun too!

For hours he'd watch them dance around. He'd tell me, to never forget to take him some, to his grave. And I still find myself, looking for new characters. Every store I go to, I look for them. If you would like to donate some, for our fundraiser, I'd gladly except them!

I'd also put up my Dad's Birthday cards, flowers, and his collection of monkeys. He'd tell me, that he really enjoyed those monkeys. That every single time, he saw a monkey, he smiled. And he thought of me. And our fun relationship. When I see monkeys, I think of my Daddy too!

There's just something about them. The silliness behind them, remind me, of how silly my Daddy could be too! I'm hoping to sell some monkey items, at our fundraiser, in April. And I'm looking for donations. Here are a couple of things, that I found. But we're open to anything, and everything!

I see these bracelets everywhere! In fact, my Dad is the one, that bought me my first one. We were at Walgreen's one day. Picking up his prescriptions. And he saw them. He threw a couple in our basket. Because I'm ALWAYS wearing bracelets! And he liked them. The expression on the monkey's face, makes me think of my Dad's silly smile.

I'd LOVE to sell these. But I don't know where you can buy them. I've contacted the company. And hope to hear from them soon. Because online, they start at $4 a bracelet! And I haven't been able to find these monkey bracelets, at the store anymore. I just find the other animals.

 

I think these little cups are cute. They are $13.48, per dozen. So cute! I LOVE their silly grins. Honestly, these cups, totally made my morning!

 

These girly monkey cups, are $15.50 a dozen. I think they are adorable! The little girl monkeys, make me want to have a birthday party. For myself. And I'm not really into that sort of thing. But these cups are so cute!

 

These cute and colorful monkeys, are $17.99 a dozen. And I think they'd be fun, to add to our sale. My Dad LOVED things like this! In fact, I bought him 3 hanging monkeys, in December 2014. When we were hospitalized over the holidays. For weeks, they hung in our hospital room!

 

 

These cuties, made me laugh, when I saw them. They are $9.73, for 100. And are about an inch tall. But seriously, they are cute! The one that is laying down, with it's hands behind it's ears, reminds me of my Daddy. That's the way he liked to lay in bed. In the hospital, at home, wherever!

 

So there you go. I'm looking for some sponsors. To add to the items, that we are going to sell. Monkeys, remind me of my Daddy. Just like school buses do. Model cars, from Danbury Mint. Driving caps, still bring tears to my eyes. Mini tools, were his favorite! Coin collections, make me smile. And double chocolate donuts, make my heart sing. :) Those were all favorites of my Daddy.

 

And we want the Love for Blue Fundraiser, to represent my Daddy. We want to have things, that remind us, of him. That bring a smile to our faces. And to the people that will be there. If you are interested, in sponsoring us, please leave me a comment here, send me an e-mail (LoveForBlue2015@aol.com), or contact me on Facebook.

 

This is our BIG fundraiser, for the year. And we want to raise, as much money, as possible. To be able, to continue supporting those people, touched by cancer. To help fund, research. And to continue, supporting our community. Our goal is, to grow our scholarship fund. To double it, for next year. Thank You, for continuing to read our blog! And have a very Happy Wednesday! ❤❤❤

Always Keep A Bag Packed

In the Fall of 2014, I learned a lesson. Fast! My Dad would begin, to have a lot of complications. And we'd be, in and out of the hospital, a lot! Most of the time, without any notice. Sometimes, we'd be going somewhere, and I'd have to call an ambulance. Sometimes, I'd drive my Dad to the ER. Sometimes, we'd call from home.

But it would all happen fast. And most of the trips, were the same. Long waits in the ER. Freezing. To be admitted, to the hospital. For at least a week. Most of the time, longer. And often times, I wasn't prepared. In the beginning. As the ambulance would drive away. I'd find a big bag. Throw in a blanket, sweatshirt, my tablet, some crochet, and maybe a snack.

As our unscheduled trips, would become more regular, I'd get organized. I finally realized, I needed to be ready, for anything. And everything! First, I'd find a nice sized bag. That would only be used, for the hospital.

 

I bought a bag, similar to this one. At Wal-Mart. For about $20. It would stay packed, from September 2014-March 2016. Yes, it still sits in the closet. I know! I should unpack it.

Inside, I'd put a bag of toiletries for my Dad. And one for me. For my Dad, I'd include his mouth rinse, his extra electric shaver, lotion, chapstick, his hair brush, a couple of extra ostomy bags, and rings.

In my bag, I'd have deodorant, lotion, toothbrush, toothpaste, some body spray, soap, my moisturizer, a razor, a brush, and hair elastics. The hospital, also supplied us, with a lot. Like towels, washcloths, soap, lotion, shampoo, mouthwash, and toothbrushes. And whatever else we needed. But sometimes, it's nice, to have the things that you are used to.

I'd make sure to pack some clothes too. For both my Dad and I. I'd pack my Dad, some t-shirts, a sweatshirt, some socks, his gloves, and a hat. I'd also pack some slippers for him. I would have a change of his clothes, in our car too. I couldn't take those down, until we were getting discharged. Because he would want to put them on. And try to go home.

For myself, I'd pack slippers, lots of socks, plenty of underwear, a few pairs of PJs, a couple of comfy shirts, some sweatpants, and tennis shoes. I'd have a couple of sweatshirts too! It was always cold, in the hospital. So all of my clothes, were for comfort and warmth. I didn't care, what I wore, while we were in the hospital.

 

I ALWAYS had, at least 2 blankets in my bag. One for each of us. And 2 pillows, in our car. The ER, was known, for being ice cold. And never having pillows. In the oncology ward, I didn't worry much about this. But my Dad, would often times, request his blankets from home. We'd bring those too.

I crochet. A lot! So I ALWAYS made sure, I had some sort of project, in my bag. Something, that I could pick up, and put down. Something that didn't take too much thought. Most of the time it was a small blanket. Or just a small project in general. But I'd have some yarn, and a crochet hook.

I'd also have a notebook, some pens, and usually a journal. I needed to be able to write things down. So this became essential for me!

I also packed a couple of new magazines. And at least one book. My Bible was in there too. The hospital we were at, had volunteers, that would deliver reading material to you. But it was nice, to have something, I had previously picked out. Something I was looking forward to reading. Many times, in the ER, my Dad was asleep. Usually due to a seizure. Or something else. And the room would be dark, and quiet. So I'd include a book light too. I was also lucky, to get a daily newspaper, from the hospital. They'd deliver it, with breakfast. For me, reading material was a must!

 

I also would include a couple of DVDs. In the oncology unit, they had DVD players, in every room. Many of these patients, spend a lengthy time, in the hospital. And my Dad liked to watch movies. So when I'd go to Wal-Mart, I'd always check out the $5 bin. And stick a couple in our bag. During our stay, in December 2014-January 2015, DVDs were a fun thing for us. My Dad, my Mom, and I, would spend our evenings, watching a new movie together.

 

I was lucky enough, to have 2 tablets, at the time. And I ALWAYS had one in my bag. Waiting for me. This was another way, I'd spend sleepless nights. Catching up on my favorite blogs, writing e-mails, blogging, updating family and friends on Facebook, and just hanging out online.

 

During most of our stays at the hospital, when my Dad was feeling better, we'd watch Youtube videos. Together. Laughing. Reminiscing about WWE wrestling. My Dad's favorite! I'd show him our blog. Later when we'd begun the Love for Blue Foundation, I'd show him this blog. Our T-shirt sales. My Etsy shop. It was nice to have.

 

Again, the hospital had a computer, for the oncology patients to use. In the Family Room. But it was nice, to get to just hangout, in our room. And watch silly videos.

 



 

 I also packed a variety of chargers. For our cell phones, tablet, my Dad's electric shaver, my laptop, our radio. Things I thought we'd need.

 

And I ALWAYS had snacks! Not that we really needed them. The staff at our hospital was AMAZING! And very quickly, they got to know, I was the one that stayed. All the time. And they would all, bring me snacks. The kitchen, would send me something. The different staff members, would bring me a bag of chips, a candy bar, some fruit. But it was nice to have some snacks, that I liked too.

 

These items, were ALWAYS in my bag! And it was, in an easy place, to get to. Which is important. it was packed, and ready to go. When we would get home, I'd refill my bag, and do laundry. This was also important. Many times, we were only home, for a week. My bag, always had to be ready to go!

 

This isn't everything, we'd take with us. Like I said, most of our hospital stays, were 7-10 days long. During the holidays, we were there, for over a month! After my Dad would be admitted, which usually happened in the afternoon, my Mom would get off of work. We'd probably been there since 7AM. My Mom would stay with my Dad, and I'd run home.

 

There, I'd quickly shower, and pick up, whatever else we needed. Usually, my Dad's radio, my laptop, a Saint that my Dad liked to have around, more blankets, little decorations for his room. We tried to make it a positive experience. But being prepared, was the key to everything. It made chaotic times, more manageable. Less stressful. And me, more available, to take care of my Dad. And his needs. ❤❤❤

A Heartbreaking Year

Today marks, one year, since we said goodbye to my Daddy. It's a tough day. Images of that day, flash through my head. I could give you, the play by play, of every detail. How I laid with my Dad, in bed, early in the morning. How he didn't want to be alone, all day long. How he ate, an entire container, of applesauce. How we just talked. And held hands.

My Dad was able to thank our nurse, Robin. It was his way, of saying goodbye. He appreciated everything she had done for him. It was the only goodbye, he said that day. My Dad had a visit, from his favorite little buddy, Jaelyn. And I saw the pain in his eyes, when he looked at her. Knowing, it was the last time. She was not afraid that day. Like she had been, over the last few days. They wanted to hug. They needed it. And it was heartbreaking.

I could tell you, about the look in his eyes. How he knew, he was going. And he didn't want people to know. How he kissed my Mom, when she left for work. And didn't really want her to go. But he also didn't want her, to see what was going to happen next. He loved my Mom so much, he didn't want her, to have to see him suffer.

I could tell you, about all of it. How we read the bible. And then, he got sick. How I beat the ambulance, by over a half an hour. To the hospital. And I'd later find out, they had pulled onto a side street, to try and revive my Daddy. They respected us both, so much, they didn't want me to see. They tried everything they could, to keep my Daddy alive.

The feeling of helplessness, I felt. The heartbreak. As I sat in the waiting room, alone. Making the plea, to everyone on Facebook, to just pray. Having to send my Mom, the message. That this time, was urgent. And having to walk into that ER room, and know, he was leaving me. That I would spend, the rest of my life, without my rock. My Daddy, was not going to see me get married. Or know my babies. There would be no more long talks, and silly smiles.

The feeling of emptiness, when my Mom would walk in the door. And see my Dad. How he couldn't breathe. The gurgling he was making. The panic in his eyes. And the heartbreak, every single time, he'd look at us. He didn't want to leave us. He loved us, so very much.

This time, the ER was a scary place. My Dad struggling, to breathe. The nurses running in and out of our room. Panicked. Trying to clear my Dad's airways. The alarms, going off, on all his machines. The panic, in every single person's eyes, that came into the room. Watching my Mom's heartbreak, through her eyes. Watching my Dad. I could see how scared he was, through his eyes.

It killed me, to know, I couldn't fix this. The doctors, could no longer help him. I knew this. And hearing the words, come out of the doctors mouths, didn't make it any easier. Watching my Mom, was beyond heartbreaking. For weeks, I'd known that this time was coming. For days, I could sense it. But my Mom, she was being hit, by all this news. All at once.

And that feeling, when his doctors came to talk to us. We all knew what was happening. There was nothing left to do. They had tried everything. It was my Dad's wishes. And they'd respected them. But there was nothing left to do. They could make him comfortable. But they assured us, he wouldn't make the night. It was time to call our family and friends.

I immediately walked out to the hall. Called our nurse, Robin. Who offered to come and stay with us, at our home. Then she realized the situation. And offered to help us, in any way that she could. I called and called, for our priest. I knew, my Dad wanted him there. I made calls to my aunts, uncles, friends, siblings, and so many family members. It was time, to say our goodbyes.

But when I think about today. And just how tough it is. How tough, this entire week has been, I remember my Dad's words. "Don't cry for me. Celebrate my life. Remember me, with a smile. Not tears. I'll always be with you. In your heart. I'll catch you when you fall. You'll never be alone. But don't cry. I hate to see you cry. Remember the happy times. All the love we have. All the time we shared. The memories we made. Make my life, have meaning. The struggles, were worth it. Remember me with a smile, not with tears."

And that's what I want to do. I want to remember his smile. The toothy grin, that I love so much! How even my Dad's eyes, would light up, when he smiled. That's what I want to remember. Not the details of that day. Not the heartbreak. And the helplessness, that I felt. Not watching, the doctors and nurses, for hours...trying to help him breathe.

If you want to read my Daddy's obituary, you can go here. But I wanted to share, more about the man, behind Love for Blue. I want to share some stories with you. About the man, I love. The man I call Daddy. And the man, who has shaped me, into the woman I am today.

My grandpa, past away in December 2013. And I was asked, to say his eulogy. Not something I ever imagined, that I would be doing. But I was close to my grandpa. And no one else, was able to get up there, and talk about him.

Little did I know, it would be something, that I'd need. To prepare me, for what would come, 15 months later. I'd be saying the eulogy, for my Dad's services. And I would need the experience, from my grandpa's services. I needed the experience, to be able, to do the most difficult thing in my life.

Actually, in October 2014, my Dad asked me to start writing it. Even he knew, no one else, would be able to get up there...and talk. To tell his story. To deliver his eulogy. And tell everyone, about his life. But I refused to do it. Pretty much like my grandma's request. Shortly after my grandpa's passing, she asked me to write hers. So she could read it. I just couldn't imagine it.

In reality, I tried. Many times, to write my Dad's eulogy. In fact, in the hospital, late at night...I'd pull my laptop out. No words would come. I could manage to make notes. About what I wanted to talk about. Notes about stories, I wanted to share. And notes, about songs I felt, told my Dad's story.

But that's as far, as I ever got. In December 2014, when my Dad was hospitalized, I remember opening those files again. Late at night. A day or so after Christmas. Trying to bring myself, to write something. Instead, I watched my parents sleep. In our hospital room, I just couldn't put those words, out there. It made our situation, too real.

Again, just a few weeks later, I'd attempt it. My Dad was hospitalized, over his birthday. And honestly, we just weren't sure if he'd make it. Actually, I'd already had a total breakdown, with one of his doctors. And the amazing Ms. Mary. My Mom and I, had already been summoned to a meeting with the Hospice Team. I knew what was coming. So did my Dad.

I think he knew, that I couldn't get the words out. Because it would make our situation, too real for me. We would talk about it, though.  He would tell me, what he wanted said. And told me, he'd leave the rest up to me. That was not quite, a month before his death. We would spend an entire night, laying in his hospital bed, crying. And talking.

And after my Dad's passing, it was the one thing, I struggled most with. I sat many times, in front of my laptop. Spent many nights, awake. Trying to get the words to come. Eventually, I let myself completely fall apart. One night, at 1AM. While my Mom slept. I sat in one of my Dad's school buses, and cried. And I wrote his eulogy.

Once the words started, they just couldn't stop. I was wrapped up, in one of my Daddy's old shirts. Sitting in his bus. Holding his rosary. And the words, just poured out of me. 10 pages later, I felt like his story was told. From his words. From his daughter's words. And through music.

On the Friday night, of my Dad's rosary, I needed some time, for myself. I excused myself, from the receiving line, 5 minutes before the services were to start. And I stood in the back of the church. Praying. Our favorite priest, would come back with me. And say a little prayer too. I felt like I was ready, to tell Blue's story.

After hearing Forever and Ever, Amen. I wasn't so sure. I wasn't sure, that these words I'd written, were right. As I walked up to the podium, I decided, to talk from the heart. I had some notes, tucked away, behind the eulogy. And that is what I'd would go off of. I'd speak from the heart, about my Daddy.

The next morning, I planned to read his eulogy, I had prepared. At my Dad's funeral. Before my Dad's services started on Saturday morning, I checked in with everyone. I'd talk to the musicians. And I'd make sure our pallbearers were OK. I'd make sure the boutonnieres, were handed out. I'd talk with the funeral director. And our priest.

Lastly, I'd get our items together, that we were placing with my Daddy. The pictures my Mom and I, had picked out. The prayers, saints, and cards I'd picked out. And the notes, my Mom and I, had written to my Dad. Our family would line up, and we'd say our last goodbyes.

I'd let the tears, silently, roll down my cheeks. Not able, to hold them back any longer. And I'd hold my Daddy's hands, for the very last time. The hands that had worked so hard, to provide for me. The hands that had disciplined me, for years. And the hands, that have loved me, for my entire lifetime. I'd kiss my Daddy's forehead. And I  knew, those prepared words, once again were not right. Again, I'd speak from the heart. Knowing what my Dad wanted to be shared. I'd let my heart and soul, do the talking.

And I'd tuck those words away. I wouldn't share them, that day. My family wouldn't hear, the words, I'd cried over. My friends wouldn't get to hear the stories. But I'd find the strength, to post them on my blog. The blog, that was telling our story, as it was happening. In real time. I'd share my stories, with these people, that were following our story.

A year ago, I promised myself, and my Daddy...that I'd share those words. One day. When the time felt right. When I could share, what had come to me, that night. Over the next week, I'll be posting my Daddy's eulogy. Here. I'll be telling his story. Sharing my memories. And hopefully, inspiring you. Please come back and read it.

I've not shared these words, with any of my family or friends. Not even my Mom. The time, just didn't feel right. But now it does. And along with all of you...my Mom, our family, and our friends will get to hear the eulogy I had prepared. Thank you, for all of your support, love, and prayers. It really has meant so much to me. And has carried me, on the days I've struggled most. Today, marks one year. It doesn't make my heart, hurt any less. But it is a day that should be celebrated. Like my Daddy's life, should be celebrated. It is, what he wanted.

This blog, is written, by a real person. By a woman, that has walked a tough journey, with her Daddy. We didn't win, against the beast, known as Colon Cancer. But I promised my Dad a lot, during his last few months. And one of those things was, to share our story. As tough as it may be. As many tears, as I shed, while writing some of these posts. I don't want our journey, and story, to go without sharing.

As much as I want to be your cheerleader, through your dark days. I also want to share, our toughest and darkest days. To let you know, you are not alone. There are others that came before you. There will be more, that come after you. And this journey, has changed me as a person. I want you to know, about the good days. And how chemo and radiation, gave us a little more time. And I want to share, this part of our story, as well. The part, that makes tears well up, in my eyes. That makes me feel like a 3 year old, little girl once more. I want you to know, we have tough days too.

Many people, going through this journey, will eventually find themselves here. At this part of the journey. It's why, we are trying so hard, to fundraise. We want to find a cure. To help another family, avoid this heartbreak. Until that time, I want people to know, death doesn't always have to be a horrible experience. It's not the end. And our loved ones, really have gone to a better place...with the Lord.

I'd give anything, to still have my Daddy. Really, I would! But I don't want his pain and suffering, to be minimized. To be forgotten. That every single thing he went through, wasn't in vain. That there was a purpose, behind his struggles. And more than anything, I want to help people realize, grief doesn't have to be a bad thing. Tears shouldn't be hidden. More than anything, our loved ones, deserve to be celebrated. And today, that is what I'll be doing. Celebrating the life my Daddy lived. The life he gave everything too. And lived, to it's fullest! I LOVE AND MISS YOU DADDY!

You see, my Daddy, was my life. He is the one person, that never judged me. That loved me, completely and unconditionally. And would have given anything, to see me succeed in life. What my Daddy didn't realize was, he was my role model, my hero, and my Superman. I learned more from his actions, than I will ever learn, from any other person. Or from any book.

From the time I was born, I was his morning glory. And he was my sunshine. I'd spend 31 years, taking care of my Daddy. After seizures. Through illness. And when the cancer, was finally found. He'd spend, his lifetime loving me.

During our time together, my Dad was my anchor. He encouraged every single thing I did. Music, education, cheerleading, crafts, and my life. He would push me, way outside my comfort zone. My Daddy would take me to school, every single day. And pick me up, in the afternoon. That time in his truck, was some of the most precious, we ever shared. It is where, we'd become best friends.

My Dad would ask about my day. He was completely interested, in what I was doing, learning, and who I was meeting...along the way. My Dad was encouraging. He was loving. And he was strict. My Dad would spend much more time, than most, in his truck. Taking me to violin lessons, music rehearsals, cheerleading practice, shopping for costumes, and just hanging out. My Dad, never really told me, that he loved me. But he showed me, in more ways, than I can count.

When I lost my Daddy, there was no goodbye. He never wanted to say those words. He told me that, the day he was diagnosed. It was that day, that I realized, how much I was losing. My Daddy, was much more than a father. He was my best friend. The person, I had leaned on, most in life. It was that night, that I realized how much, my Daddy had taught me.

So many people have asked me, "How did you do it? How did you take care of him, for so long? How are you doing it now?" And the only answer I can really give is, he loved me. And I loved him. My entire life, my Dad taught me, how important it is...to take care of "your people."

That is how I did it. I couldn't imagine, turning my back, on my best friend. The man, that worked until his hands bled. So he could provide me with a home, food, and my necessities. The same man, that worked from 3AM-9PM. So I could play the violin, go to Nationals, and have every single book...I ever wanted as a kid.

But it was more than that. It was the years, of cuddles. The strong hugs, when I'd had a bad day. The supportive talks, when I was struggling. It was afternoons, filled with laughter and smiles. It was the years and years, filled with my Dad, being my Dad. Bringing me a Happy Meal, to school, every single day...until I got to middle school. It was my Dad, spending countless hours, listening to my screeching violin. And encouraging it all. It was the countless games, that he found himself at. Because his daughter, was a cheerleader.

It was the 3AM calls. From a tired daughter, who was away at college. That he always started with singing, You Are My Sunshine. It was for the Daddy, who ALWAYS came to my rescue. For the man, who enjoyed spending countless hours, at McDonald's drinking coffee, eating nuggets, and talking.

I did it for the man, that gave his entire life, to me. Who made me feel, like the most important person, in the world. Just because I am Desiree. My Dad had a way of doing that. And we spent so much time together. Making so many memories. That I couldn't turn away.

And as much heartbreak, and heartache, as I've felt...I'd never do it any differently. I'd stand by his side, his decisions, and requests...a million times. My Dad, worked his entire life, for others. And this was the least, I could do for him. On the toughest of days, I'd remind myself, of the hours he spent working. In the dead of summer, his coveralls, covered in grease...providing for his family. Never too busy, to stop and answer my questions. To buy me an ice cream. Or to give me one, of those big bear hugs.

Since my Dad's death, I think back to my childhood. The years, when I'd sit, and just watch my Daddy. Bleeding hands, sweat pouring off his head, working so hard. And I know, without a doubt in my head, he loved me. The material goods that he provided, were nice. But that is not the important thing. It was the time, he spent with me. The memories we made. The stories we shared. The wisdom, he gave. And the security, that he always brought to my life. It was his kindness. And his love.

That's how, I got through the tough days. It was the love my Dad, had always shown me. The kindness. The tenderness. He shaped me, to be this woman. Never realizing, one day, I'd be taking care of him. That's the way life goes. We don't always understand it. And honestly, it can be difficult at times. But we make that full circle. And suddenly, everything falls into place.

This journey, has changed me, forever. But it didn't start, with a cancer diagnosis. It started, when I was born. With a man, that gave everything he had, to his family. He taught me, by example. He nurtured me. And gave me the strength, that I'd one day need.

Take the time, to love, those around you. To show them, how much, they really mean to you. Don't tell them with words. Show them with actions. Mold your children, into the people, you want to see in the world. Take the time, to make memories. And to be silly.

I never imagined, that at 31, I wouldn't have my Daddy. He would no longer, be at my side. But he is still teaching me, the lessons of the world. Showing me love. And making me a stronger woman. I don't have anyone, to take to McDonald's, for hours long talks. I don't have anyone to call at 3AM. Or anyone to watch wrestling with. No one to take to the Casino. Or to cut up apples for. I don't have anyone to talk about the world with. Or to help me, dream big dreams.

But I do have an angel. Watching over me. Every single day. Comforting me, when I need it most. I have a lifetime of memories. And a faith, that one day we will be reunited. I have an angel in Heaven, and I call him Daddy... ❤❤❤

Be Prepared

Over social media, and through e-mails, I get this question a lot. "How did you guys prepare, when you went out?" In terms of supplies, and being able to empty my Dad's ostomy bag. The reality is, it took a little trial and error. And it took experience. My Dad, wasn't someone who stayed home. So almost immediately following his surgery, we got prepared.

My first recommendation would be, get a bag. A tote bag, or backpack. And load up your supplies. We ALWAYS carried our bag with us. My Dad used a one piece system. But we always had 2 or 3 ostomy bags with us. And the same number of rings. We had a couple of washcloths. Paper towels. A few small trash bags. And a pair of scissors. It's important, to use the scissors just for this purpose. Nothing else!

In our bag, we also had a cylinder, that we received at the hospital. It was something the nurses used, to empty the bag, in the beginning. And it became a lifeline. We'd use it, to empty my Dad's ostomy bag. Whether it was in a restroom. Or sometimes, it happened in our vehicle. I'd recommend finding some sort of vessel, that works for you.

In our vehicle, we always carried a jug of water. And some foam soap, that we also received from the hospital. We also had a spare cylinder, and a small wash tub. We were so lucky, that the hospital supplied us, with so much stuff.

Also in our vehicle, we carried extra clothes. I'm pretty sure, if you are somewhat familiar with an ostomy bag, you've experienced a "blow up," before. And so did we. Even the most well planned outing, can have a hiccup. Or two. Sometimes three.

Make sure, to have supplies for yourself. In terms of hand sanitizer, wipes, and gloves (if you use them.) We never did. But I know, lots of people do. Make sure, to carry these things as well. Nothing is worse, than being stuck somewhere, without them. Imagine cleaning up your loved one. And realizing you can't clean your own hands?

We were also lucky enough, to have a large vehicle. A van. With window coverings, that made it a semi-private area. So if we did experience a "blow up," we could clean my Dad up. Without having to worry about people watching us. I know, not everyone has this luxury. But it was nice.

But then, my Dad was 81, when we were going through this. He struggled to do a lot for himself. Not just because of his age. But his failing health. If you're younger, more than likely, you'll be able to go to the restroom by yourself. To empty your bag. Or clean up, after a problem. But my Dad needed help.

Another thing to look for, are "Family Restrooms." We did this often. Most of the time, we'd look for one, the minute we got somewhere. Or we'd ask, if it was possible, for my Mom or I...to go with my Dad to the restroom. You'd surprised, at how many people are so helpful. In places that didn't have "Family Restrooms," many times a man, would clear out the restroom for us. We'd go to the "Handicap Stall," and do our business. Usually just taking 5 minutes or so.

My other big recommendation would be, monitor your ostomy output. Pay attention to when you eat, and when your bag needs to be emptied. Soon you'll notice a pattern. My Dad usually had about 10-20 minutes, after a meal. If we were going out, and had eaten, we'd wait. Until his ostomy, did it's thing. We'd empty the bag at home. And then head out.

If we were going out to eat, and knew we'd be out afterwards, we'd hangout at the restaurant a little longer. If we were going home, we knew, how much time we had. But you'll learn this. Over time, it will become easier. In our case, the pattern developed almost immediately. And it stood the same, through our entire journey.

I'd also recommend, getting to know your ostomy. Know what foods, create more output. Or a faster output. What foods, aggravate the situation. Once you become familiar, it will assist you in so many ways. For us, there were certain foods, that created a ton of gas. If my Dad ate them, we knew we had to "burb" the ostomy bag...pretty quickly. And often. Or else, we'd have a "blow up."

We also learned, during our "Chemo Week," things changed. The output was different. A different consistency, smell, and timing. We had to stay on top of things. But even then, "Chemo Week," had it's own schedule.

In the beginning, to learn about these things, I wrote everything down. I got a planner, that was used, just for this purpose. So we could learn, about the osotomy output. Soon, I saw all the patterns. It made planning outings, less daunting.

My biggest suggestion would be, just be prepared. Don't stay home, just because of the ostomy. There will be messes. No matter, how hard you plan. Just be prepared. Take a few towels with you, some extra clothes, and your supplies. But get out. Make your first few outings, short. Maybe close to home. And as you gain confidence, try going out, for longer periods of time.

As we got comfortable, we'd go out to eat. Which usually took us 2-3 hours. We'd take my Dad to the casino, for 6 or more hours. We'd go on road trips, shopping, to family get-togethers, visiting friends, and so much more.

My last suggestion is, don't leave your supplies in your vehicle. I know, that all these people say, the heat doesn't affect your supplies. But for us, it did. We noticed this, the first time a supply order, was delivered in the summer. While we were at chemo. And it sat in the heat, all day. Those bags, and rings, did not work well. In fact, prior to that, a bag would last 5 days. With that batch, we'd maybe get a day. Then one day, we left our supplies in the car, for a few hours in the afternoon. When we used those supplies, we had the same issue.

After that, we knew, that supplies had to come with us. Even if it was inside a store, to a family outing, wherever. We also made sure, that deliveries happened, when we were home. No one wants to have a "blow up," only to clean up and change...then have another. Because it's been exposed to the heat. Also, we live in the southwest. And it gets well over 100 degrees, in your car, during the summer.

No matter what the issue, I'd say, don't be afraid to go out. Have fun. But be prepared. Not just in terms of supplies. But prepared, that an accident will happen. Eventually, it will happen to you. But never let that stop you. You still have to live. And enjoy life. Just be prepared. ❤❤❤

Just Thankful

Around here, we are country music fans. BIG time! King George, has my Mom's heart. It's what we listen to. All the time. Without a doubt, in my heart. It helps make our little world, go round.

That being said, I was crushed to hear about Joey. And through the radio, I've been keeping up with Joey and Rory's story. Heartbreaking. Cancer has a way of doing that. Breaking people's hearts, dreams, and futures.

But their story, has been such an inspiration. One that has provided hope, on some of our darkest days. To hear, she is doing a little better, would make my broken heart, feel a little better. Truth of the matter is, I was hoping for a better ending to their story, than we had for ours.

When I signed onto Facebook today, I noticed all these posts about Joey and Rory. And my heart sunk. I found a link, and clicked on it. To be directed to Rory's blog. And his latest post. In the middle of the library, I sat and read it. And cried.

I cried for all kinds of reasons. These are good people. They shouldn't have to be going through this. No one should really. But these are good people. With such a beautiful love story. It kills me, to know a 40 year old woman, with so much life, is losing her battle.

As I read through the post, I could feel what Rory was going through. In a lot of ways. Grief has a way of doing that. Making a bond, between people, who have lived similar circumstances. And my heart just broke. Knowing what lies ahead, for this family. The emptiness, in your heart. The feeling of, not knowing what comes next. That feeling of, needing to take care of the person, who is longer with us. On earth.

But more than anything, I hurt for their daughter Indy. Just a little girl. 2 years old. And now, she is facing a life, without her mommy. I think about this, from a child's perspective. Because at the end of the day, I am a child. A daughter. That lost her Daddy. It doesn't matter, that I was nearly 32 years old. That I got nearly 30 more years, with my Daddy, than Indy got with her mommy. We both, have lost a parent to cancer.

I've tried to be brave. For a very long time. When my Dad first got sick. Later after his diagnosis. During the battle. When we lost my Dad. And now, in the aftermath. But honestly, I'm still a daughter. Having lost my Daddy. My best friend. The one person, that loved me, completely unconditionally.

It's a tough road. But I'm grateful. That I got nearly 32 years with my Daddy. I knew him. I got to know him even better, during those last few months. I have so many memories of him. And here is this little girl. Not completely understanding, what is happening. About to lose her mommy. They didn't have enough time together. To make memories. To love on each other. To be completely silly, just because...

That's the heartbreak of cancer. It takes you down roads, that you might not be ready to handle. It creates heartbreak. And loss. But it also makes you stronger. It teaches you, to push forward. And at the end of the day, you learn so much about life. About the little things, that for so long, you looked past. All of a sudden, they become important.

In the days following my Dad's death, I learned a lot. About myself. Others. The world. Things that maybe, I'd been too busy or tired for, in the past. All of a sudden, they meant something. I valued the birds chirping, the sun shining, and the gentle breeze.

I do hope, that in the future, Indy will experience these things. That she will have memories of her momma, to look back on. I hope she knows, she is not alone. That there are many people, walking a similar path. Feeling her heartbreak, and heartache. That get on their knees, and pray for her. The same way, they pray for their loved ones. And themselves.

When I say "Just Thankful." There is a lot, behind that. I'm thankful for the time with my Daddy. For the journey we walked together. Because he had cancer, we didn't let that dictate life. We made the best of it. But the journey, it did something for both of us. Made us more aware. More able to live. More willing to love.

I'm thankful, to have a voice. Here. To share our story. To hopefully inspire someone, out there. That they can do it. And to be able to continue with the work, my Dad was so passionate about. I'm thankful he taught me about "paying it forward," living life, and loving with every single part of your being.

32 years, doesn't seem like enough time. It never will be. But I've had more time with my Daddy, than some kids will have with theirs. I'm aware of that. And I also have a family, that has become my "soft place to land." They've been a great support, when I didn't think I had one.

I also have some of the very best friends, that any one person, could ask for. People that truly love and care about me. And my Mom. Friends, who took time out of their day, to send my Dad flowers, cards, stuffed animals, food, and other treats...when he was battling cancer. Friends, that would never let me fall. But who have allowed me the space, to grieve.

I'm thankful, for our dear Lord. Who regardless of my faults, loves me. Without any strings attached. He is my light. My salvation. My love. And I know, that my Lord, has been at my side. This entire journey. And when I just couldn't go any further, he is the one, that has carried me along. He knows my deepest secrets. My entire history. What I think, before I think it. And he loves me, just the same.

I am a very grateful woman. These life experiences have taught me, so much. Most importantly, to live life, to the fullest. To completely, without a doubt, love with everything I have. And to remember the important things. People, not objects. To spend time, with those I love.

There are still days, that I cry. I cry until I can barely breathe. My heart, feels like it will never be whole again. But I have no regrets. I tried my hardest. To keep our family together. To take care of my Daddy. The very best way I could. And to stay positive. Even with death, looming for as long as it did, I was hopeful.

Because that's the thing. When you love so deeply, you always think..."There is a possibility. There can be a cure. There can be a miracle." Your heart is hoping. All while your brain, knows the truth. Your soul, is just trying to get you, through your day. And you never let go of that hope, until the end. I hoped, against all odds, until my Daddy took his last breath.

My Dad spent months...in fact years...fighting to live. For his family. For my Mom. And for me. I know this. He fought, as hard as he could fight. For as long, as he could fight. There were times, when I would think...this could be it. And somehow, he'd pull out of it. A true miracle, of God. In the end, we knew. In our hearts. That the end was nearing.

Like a small child, I'd crawl into bed, with my Daddy. We'd just lay there. Holding each other. Knowing our days, were numbered. Never saying the words. But knowing, just the same. Yearning to spend, as much time together, as possible. Just the two of us. Because that's the bond we had. He was my hero. Always, and forever. And I was his baby girl.

 

For as much as my Daddy believed in me, I believed in him. 100%, 100% of the time! He lived his entire life, to the fullest. He did as much as he could, for as many as he could. He was a rock for his family, a soft spot to land, and a role model...for so many. In life. And now, in death.

And that, is what this journey, has taught me. Cancer is horrible. But it brings with it, so many blessings. That otherwise, you'd be too busy, to notice. For as difficult as this journey has been, I'd never walk away from it. This journey has taught me life lessons. And the important things in life. It has taught me, who I am. Deep in my heart. And my soul. I'm just thankful... ❤❤❤

Show Your Support

There is so much, that goes on in March. But the one thing I ask all of you, is to show your support. Please, sport your colors, this month. It matters. It makes a difference in people's lives. When they see you, sporting their colors.

This month, is Colon Cancer Awareness month. And I ask you, to not just wear blue, this Friday. But every Friday, in March. It's a small gesture, but one that means a lot. To so many people, that are fighting colon cancer. Who are survivors, family, and friends. Also, to me.

 

I will be sporting my blue, all month long. And thinking about my Daddy. And his fight, against this disease. Please, show your love. You are more than welcome, to post to social media, and tag your posts #LoveForBlue. I'd LOVE to see your pictures! You can find us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

I don't know, if I've ever mentioned this before, but my Dad also had epilepsy. For over 60 years, my Dad lived this disease. He NEVER let it stop him, from doing what he needed to. He worked, he lived life, and he learned over time, how to live with seizures.

March 26th, is Epilepsy Awareness Day. This is another disease, that I'm passionate about. Mostly, because I watched my Dad, for my entire life. At a young age, I learned how to take care of him. When he had seizures. I learned the pattern. What was needed. And how to care for him.

As an adult, I've learned even more. Including my risk factors. And the possible risks, for any future children. I'm very passionate about this illness. For all the suffering, that I've seen. For the way, most people don't understand it. And for the way, it would crush my Dad, every single time...that he had a seizure.

For this month, I'll be sporting purple. Every single Monday, in March. And I hope you do the same. Know that this is a tough disease too. It's one, that often times, is silent. People, like my Dad, try to maintain their disease. They take their medication, try to keep stress at bay, and go to the doctor regularly. But it's not a disease, that can really be controlled.

It's embarrassing, many times, for the person who suffers from epilepsy. They struggle. Seizures come, when they least expect it. In places, they'd never expect. And they have no control. Not of their body. Not of their seizure. Many people don't know how to react. Make fun of, the person having the seizure. Take advantage of them. Steal from them.

This month, I ask that you take the time, to remember these people. There is not a lot of "support" behind the disease. You don't hear of people organizing runs, fundraisers, and the such. But I ask you, to have compassion. More than anything at all. Be understanding. Be kind.

Unlike most "Wishful Wednesdays," this one is about support. Not in terms of items, or money. But in terms of, being kind. Being thoughtful. And being supportive. Choose a blue or purple shirt. Wear it. Proudly. And I'm sure, someone you least expect, will be touched. That there is some support out there, for them! ❤❤❤

Humble and Kind T-Shirt Sale

One of my Dad's favorite sayings was "Always stay humble and kind." So when this song came out, it was natural, for me to think of him. And I decided, that our next T-shirt sale, would reflect that.

We are currently, selling these T-shirts. In 5 different colors. In all sizes, from kids to adults. For $20 each. If you would like to buy one, you can go here. And if you have any other ideas, for T-shirts, please let me know. I'm always looking for new ideas! ❤❤❤

Don't Forget To Have Fun

Some of the first advice, we ever received, was to have fun. Make time, each week, and have fun. Sounds crazy, when you find out, your loved one is now battling cancer. Stage 4 cancer. But it really was, some of the best advice.

The first oncologist, that we'd meet, would tell us this. He was almost 100% sure, my Dad had cancer. He read his entire medical history, and told me, he was certain. But we'd need a few tests. He also told me, if we had a fighting chance, we couldn't stop having fun. We needed to live life. It would make the battle, worth it in the end.

When those words, come out of your doctors mouth, your not sure what to think. Wait. "Did you say cancer? You want us to have fun? Enjoy life?" It all seems like a blur. Like you are in a bad dream. Maybe you misheard.

But it is the harsh reality. And in all the chaos, that followed my Dad's diagnosis, those were the words I'd remember. So would my Dad. And we'd try to steal those moments. From the cancer. To just enjoy life. To forget about our troubles. And just smile.

It is not always easy. Not when you have doctors' appointments daily. Have nurses coming to your home, 3 or 4 times a week. And don't necessarily feel great. But you have to make the time, to unwind. To enjoy life. To be happy, even for a few minutes.

It's not easy. It was never easy. Ever! Not when life kept kicking us down. But that is when life really begins. When you are taken to the edge, of your comfort zone, and realize what really matters.

In the few days, between my Dad's diagnosis and his surgery, we lived. My Dad wanted to be out and about. So between doctors' appointments, tests, and prep...we would go to the casino, out to dinner, and to his favorite places in town. We'd live.

We were all scared. Nervous. And halfway hoping, this was a dream. But he remembered those words. Go out and have fun. Enjoy life. Don't forget to live. We did it all!

In the weeks that would follow my Dad's surgery, there would be more appointments. More tests. And eventually chemo. But we'd remember to live. And I'm so glad we did! Every other week, was a chemo week. It was also summer. During chemo week, we fought this beast. Head on! Chemo one day. Going home with the pump for two days. Back to have it disconnected. Then we'd go in for hydration, and iron pushes. It would make for a long, and draining week.

It was a grueling schedule. We were limited to activities on chemo day. Mostly because our entire appointment, was nearly 12 hours. Sometimes longer. It just depended. And then, we were not allowed to do anything after, but go home. My Dad was just too "high risk."

But on the days of disconnect, it was an all day affair. My Dad would want to go out. To a late lunch. We'd spend 3 or 4 hours, at Furr's. Enjoying a meal. Talking. Laughing. To anyone watching, they would have no clue, we were fighting for his life.

Every single weekend, and our "off week," were dedicated to living. Having fun. Doing the things, we all enjoyed. Going out to eat, visiting friends, going on road trips, having fun at the casino, just enjoying each others' company. Honestly, we were living by the seat of our pants. It wasn't unusual, to spend 3 hours in a restaurant. Or 8 hours in the casino. Or to wake up in the morning, and decide, we were hitting the road.

Many people, thought we were crazy. We were doing too much. Putting my Dad, through too much. But it's what he wanted. Looking back, I'm positive that he knew, we didn't have much time. And he wanted to fill our time, with love, happiness, and so many memories!
There were countless hours, spent in Old Town. Listening to music. Eating ice cream. And just "being." There were so many, of those "toothy grins." That I miss so much, now. Rarely, did we sleep in. There was just too much life, to live.

My Dad, would later tell me these words. And he made me promise him, never to forget them. To live by them. You see, my Dad worked his entire life. He owned a business, for 45 years. And never retired. He worked hard. So incredibly hard! From 3AM-10PM, daily. He did so much. For so many.

But along the way, he didn't take the time, to really enjoy life. To really enjoy, the fruits of his labor. To really live life. In the last few months of his life, we'd do just that. As much as we could. Whenever we could. For as long, as we could.

We'd steal moments, out of the day. Go and sit at McDonald's, and just be. My Dad would enjoy coffee, chicken nuggets, and a pie. Once in a while, he'd cheat...and have a root beer. Maybe an ice cream. We'd sit and talk for hours. He never really wanted people to know, where we would disappear to. He'd lie to my siblings. And we'd just go and talk.

For sure at this point, I know now, that he knew. He knew his time was limited. That there wasn't much time left, for making memories. For telling his stories. For having fun. Or being my best friend. For being my Daddy.

But the time we had, we enjoyed. Going for long walks, at the old K-Mart building. Sitting inside Ross, and talking. For hours. On the chairs they were selling. Bless those workers' hearts, for letting us do it. We'd go to Sonic, and pick up a strawberry milkshake, for my Dad. Then head to the park. And sit and talk. Sometimes, head to a store, that my Dad had never been to. Look at every single thing. Enjoy a trip to Wal-Mart. To pick up his snacks.

It didn't matter what we did. We tried to have fun. Even if it was at Walgreen's, and we had to wait 2 hours for his prescriptions. We'd look around. Talk. And maybe share a candy bar. Because life was precious. Our time was limited. And we had a lifetime of memories, to create, in a few short months.

I look at these months, as being the most important of my 32 years. I learned so much about my Dad. So much more, than I had already known. So much, about how he wanted to be remembered. What was really important to him. And what his biggest regrets in life, really were. In the end, we had fun. And we ALWAYS carried those words, from our doctor, in our hearts.

In the battle, against cancer, fun is not a word you hear often. It's something, you probably don't want to think of. You can't imagine, how to have fun. How to smile again. How to forget about those 6 letters...that sent your blood cold.

But it's the thing, that is going to carry you along. On the bad days. When you are unable, to move forward. When maybe, the sickness is taking over. Or unfortunately, you can see the end. Those fun days, are going to carry you, when you don't think you can go any further. They will give you the strength, that you need, to move forward.

Even in the hospital, don't forget to have fun. I'd talk to our nurses. And when my Dad, was feeling OK, we'd go on some adventure. The nurses would help me, get him in a wheelchair. And we'd go. Sometimes to look at the Gift Shop. To buy a magazine, look around, or pick up an ice cream. Maybe down to the cafeteria, for a sweet treat. Perhaps to the Chapel, to pray. Or the Family Room, to watch TV. Maybe if it was a really good day, to the Courtyard, outside. To get some fresh air.

But we never forgot, to have fun. To make memories. To steal a fun moment, from the cancer. Even when my Dad was so sick, he couldn't eat, we'd have fun. We'd stay up late, watching movies. In our hospital room. Or talking. Maybe we'd watch some old WWE matches, on my computer.

And later, when movies and TV, didn't interest my Dad. We'd take him a radio. To the hospital. And the two of us, would enjoy music. Dance around. Be goofy. Everyone knew, we were the "party room." We worked hard, against his cancer. But we tried to enjoy, as much life, as we could.

Honestly, as I look back, it gave my Dad strength. It helped him, battle cancer. It made his life, worth living. He didn't care what people thought. Not anymore. He didn't care, how his family looked at him. Or his co-workers. He'd tell me, "What are they going to do? I know where I'm headed. Let's just keep everything on track. It will take care of itself. I have 82 years worth of fun, to live."

And he really looked at life, like this. In his last 3 months. It was "bonus" time for him. He'd battled so much. Cheated death. And it was his time, to enjoy. To really, live life. It's unfortunate, that it took 82 years, to get there. But he enjoyed, those last few months.

My Dad, nor I, cared what people thought. We became best friends, with our local McDonald's workers. They knew what we had, before we walked through the doors. Nurses knew, to have a cup of coffee, waiting for my Dad. With a warm blanket. And maybe a snack.

They all knew, that we'd take goofy pictures. Maybe sing, in the middle of chemo. There was ALWAYS food. And a ton of laughs. Because we had a life, to live. Not every single day was great, or even good, but we made the best out of them.

Even if it was, just the little things. Watching WWE wrestling, enjoying coffee and pie, or just a chat. A heartfelt chat. To tell me, whatever needed to be said. History, stories, or my Dad's final wishes. We did it all, in those final months.

This is something I've thought, my entire life. Objects don't bring happiness. It's appreciating and valuing, what we have, that brings happiness. I could have been bitter. As the caregiver. As the daughter, who was losing her Dad. As the young woman, that would soon, have her world turned upside down.

But that's not the point. It wasn't what my Dad, had taught me. Not so much through words, but through his actions. To value what we had. Our relationship. The memories we were making. The history we had made. No one, could take those away. Or change them. They were mine. And his.

And no matter how unfair, cancer can be, it's up to us...to see the "bright moments," that life gives us. To take advantage, of those few precious moments, to enjoy life. To forget about cancer. To live. And make memories. Most importantly, to spend time with our loved ones.

 

At the time, I didn't realize, just how those ordinary days...would come to mean so much. The little things. The "toothy grins." The shared conversation. Trying out 20 different chairs, in the middle of Ross. Sharing chicken nuggets. Or enjoying a milkshake.

They were ordinary days. Doing ordinary tasks. Trying to get my Dad, to forget just for a second, that he was in his last few days. We didn't go out, to make memories. We went out, to have fun. To enjoy life. And the memories were made. Without much thought. We just made them.

And for anyone that is facing this same circumstance, I'd say these words. "Go out, and have fun. It doesn't have to be some great adventure. Or expensive trip. You don't have to set out, to make wonderful memories. You just need to enjoy life. Enjoy your loved one. The memories, will make themselves. Do the little things. In the end, those are the memories, that will mean the most. The ones, that you will look back, with so much love. The ones, that you will carry in your heart, forever! Don't forget to have fun!" ❤❤❤