I’ll Hide the Cords Later

One of my greatest struggles in adapting in my new life is technology. For the last nearly 20 years I haven’t had to do anything technology-wise. When I sold our house, nearly everything was automated. If I had forgotten to shut the garage door at night, taken care of. If I wanted certain lights on in the house at certain times, done. I didn’t have to worry about catching Wi-Fi while I was in the camper in the driveway or in the beautiful tree house, while I painted the inside. I never had to deal with technology. Just because I haven’t done it doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.

I think back to the days that I stayed up until the wee-morning hours with Brad to “babysit data” as it was moved onto a server that he built. Or the countless hours I listened to him work through a script that he wanted to build and fully understanding the process that he took. Brad had built an entire home that was automated, had the latest technology and was incredibly efficient.

So, here we are. I am a lifetime away from the days that I never had to worry about technology or how to use it. A literal lifetime. There were a lot of things I’ve put off figuring out. The media library that Brad built hadn’t been accessed in over a year. Our family photos that weren’t printed were there also. I haven’t accessed them for a long time.

About a month ago, a computer that Brad previously built took a shit. Last year I had fixed it, but it was clear that it was on its last leg. I have had this computer since 2002 and it had just been built and rebuilt ever since. This computer was the only place I knew to figure out a mapped drive that had access to all of my photos and media. A very long and boring story short, I was forced to either fix it or lose everything.

I also knew that there wasn’t really a geek squad that could come out and help figure it out. I knew I had the answers but it just seemed too damn hard.

I started planning yesterday and asked Cole to please cut a French cleat for me. Bless his heart, he never asks questions. There was a little bit of math involved, but it was pretty easy to figure out. By math, I mean that I am applying math that I had previously been taught and justifying why we all had to suffer though it.

if you were curious about what a French cleat is, check it out here:

https://www.google.com/search?q=what+is+a+french+cleat&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&hl=en-us&client=safari

I grabbed one of Brad‘s old monitors and took off the base. Then mounted the French cleat (backwards the first time) to the wall and the monitor back. I had to account for the giant monitor plug-in I had to use since all of the items were a little bit old school. There were a couple of issues, such as: the wireless adapter wasn’t working, but found one of those in the pile of (organized) stuff I have kept.

I did it. I made a display for the kitchen that has our google calendar with all of the live feeds we follow so as not to bring the wrong child to the wrong arena and so-forth. . Shout out to all the moms at Sartell-Sauk Rapids that didn’t know where we were supposed to be. You. Are. My. People. Also to the two hockey moms that truly kept my calendar rolling when I couldn’t. I thing google has saved me.

One Year

Tomorrow is the one year mark. It’s been one year since Brad was diagnosed. They told us he might have a year, and we knew it would be quick.

Brad and I made a lot of decisions that day and the days moving forward. He had been ill for awhile by then. Almost 6 months of not feeling well. Those six months were very hard, but they were nothing compared to what was to come.

One year.

There are lots and lots of tears tonight. Tears mostly for the kids, but also for me.

I’m doing my best to do this right.

Propelling Forward

These last couple of months, I’ve been craving vitamin D. There is nothing quite like sitting in the sunshine, soaking up the sun and listening to all of spring’s music. Birds singing and wind through the trees, I usually harmonize in my head or hum a made up tune. It’s quite rare to find me sitting and doing nothing, but I’ll take every second I can get coming out of this brutally long and cold winter.

Here’s what we’ve been up to:

Neighbor adventures in the woods.

Girl ScoutingVisiting Family in Byron

Playing with our new cousin Arnie

Spring Hockey League

Visiting Gram

Fancy parties

Enjoying every minute of spring.

Summer-Bod, AKA Starving to Death

Mmmmmmmkay. I should be used to this by now. It happens every single year. This transition from winter to spring to summer. This one happens to be my 40th transition. It’s a big friggen deal. It’s my first summer in two years that I haven’t been in the middle of cancer or cancer treatments.

I remember so clearly the week around the time that I was diagnosed. It was June 2017. The weekend prior was Makayla’s high school graduation, and the weekend after I had one last hurrah as a “normal looking” woman. I knew my life was going to change, but I didn’t tell anyone just yet. I wanted to enjoy those last few days without all of the stigma that comes with C.

So, well, this year, I am going to have the best summer of my life. I can’t wait for all of the beachy-sunny-beautiful summer days and nights. Camping, outdoor running, biking, fishing (with Dwight in the Super Hawk), swimming. You name the summer activity and I’m there. But first, I must find that perfect swimsuit.

You know the one. It makes you look 15 pounds skinnier, of course makes you look taller and the silhouette is incredible. This swimsuit erases the cellulite (I mean, for real, are you sure I even HAVE cellulite? Cough, cough 😬). It also magically makes me look 10 years younger. Also, it’s affordable.

Ugh. Anyway. This is my first real summer in two years. Two. For the people who don’t like to math, it’s also two winters without summer.

That means that this one is going to be special. It has to be. It’s time to live!

Wintertime Blues

Today was just one of those days. It started out that way and it’ll likely end the same. Today I was feeling good and sorry for myself. I felt like I took hit after hit and couldn’t recover.

I’ll be honest, in my daily life, I will put forth 100% in everything I do. The very definition of an over-achiever. I do everything I can, every single day to make other people feel good. It’s in my nature. I greet as many students as I can when they enter the clinic in the morning, and I smile as often as I want. It feels good. I’ve noticed my wrinkles getting a little deeper by the day and my eyes not being as open as they once were, but I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later…

This week has been a challenge in my personal life. Behavior issues with one of my children, family that has fallen ill and other relationships that are seeming to change without my control. This week is a struggle to stay happy and motivated. It’s a struggle to manage those things that are out of my control. It’s a struggle to parent. It’s a struggle to know if I’m making the right decisions.

At least today is the first day of spring. Winter be damned.

The Cabinet

There are days that I yearn for my old life back. Our friends, my town, my house… I never imagined my future self in my hometown or wanting to be here, but life has a funny way of not giving a shit about your plans or intentions.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were at one of many grad parties we attended. I saw some familiar faces and spoke of my recent Canada trip. We ate grad party food and chatted with those near us. Mid-chew, I hear clear as a bell in a melancholy voice, “yeah. She’s not our Beth.” I imagined that someone must have asked who I was or something similar or maybe hadn’t seen my husband since his wife passed, but I am sure that no one was intending to be hurtful or mean. I’m also sure that it was really hard to hear.

I have never had great self-esteem. My confidence over the years is way less than before cancer, and I am constantly speaking negative self-talk instead of speaking to myself in a positive or uplifting way. I will admit to comparing myself to Beth. I’ll admit to wondering if I’ll be “good enough” to stand with my husband as she did, or if I will ever find friends in this community. Am I giving enough of myself to all of our children? Have I done the best that I could?

The truth is, I could never be anyone but me.

I am way too outspoken and loud. I’m nearly deaf in one ear (probably part of why I am loud). I can play the trumpet well. I remember jingles from my childhood and sing them when a trigger word is spoken. I am mediocre at nearly everything. I am very, VERY passionate about dogs and human rights. When I think I’m right, I’ll fight till the end. I worry a lot about what people think about me. I’m a meat-cooking vegetarian.

I am also a cabinet refinisher.

When we moved in to Cole’s house, there was this cabinet in the porch that I asked about. Cole told me Beth had found it and needed to have it. He told me he painted it for her and they lovingly placed it where she wanted it in their old house.

I’ve always wanted to refinish this cabinet to see what was under all the crusty years of paint. Would it be treasure?

It’s taken me a good solid two days to strip this thing. I think the original color was whitish, then a baby blue, then red. Cole then painted it a beautiful blue color. I have stripped it, scraped it, stripped some more, then more, then hand dug out the paint from all of the grooves.

Now, the cabinet is mostly sanded down. It’s clear that someone built it with scraps of wood and plywood along with other pieces they probably had (thank gawd they kept those weird cuts of wood they might use “someday”).

It’s been challenging, and I’ve been thinking about Beth the whole time. With every scrape and sand down and all the steps to clean up the wood as much as possible, I thought about her. The years she had to love that little cabinet and the years I’ve now been able to love the cabinet.

While it was beautiful the way it was, I’m thankful with a little elbow grease, and a couple of days, I can make it my own unique little cabinet. I’m thankful that even though it’ll be completely different than before, it’ll still be the perfect little cabinet.

Maybe I could take a lesson in that.

Lake Day Has a Very Different Meaning

I had originally written this last night, but I had zero connection and today half of the writing is missing. hopefully this makes sense. 

Today was Lake Louise day. I’ve never been prepared for beauty like that. It was an incredibly emotional experience. I was so excited. This was why I came.

Immediately when we got there, Wrigley found his way to the water.

It was beautiful and it was crystal clear and bright blue. There isn’t a photo in the world that could capture the depth of beauty in this very spot. It felt enchanted. Like a fairytale.

I was so excited to see where the trails would head and what we were going to see.

Wrigley didn’t know what to do when people walked by him and didn’t want to pet him . He would just run into their hands and they would ignore him. It was tough trying to get him to keep his nose boops to himself.

Wrigley served as a vacation dog to so many people on the walk. Anytime I’m on vacation without my pets, I struggle and miss them terribly. We stopped for so many people that wanted to give him a quick pat.

My dog is such a Good Boy. We finally got to an area of the trail where we were all alone for quite a while. He took his time swimming and hunting for blades of grass to eat. It was probably about 50°. Snow all around us and the lake still had ice but still 50°. Really perfect hiking weather. I should’ve brought the right shoes.

After a good swim, we went down to the “beach“. It wasn’t quite sand that we were stepping in, more like clay. The closest thing to quicksand that I could possibly imagine. The more wet an area was, the further you would sink. We took a little more time for Wrigley to swim.

This is the area, way in the back of the photo, the “beach”

While Wrigley was swimming along, flirting with all the people, he decided to take a break and start pooping in the clay. In mid crap, there was a man walking towards both of us with a giant smile and talking to me. I knew that he was talking to me because we were right next to a lake where there wasn’t anybody else nearby. He was probably 30 to 35 years old and was very genuinely wanting to have a conversation. He asked me what my dog’s name was, and if he was friendly and then proceeded to pet him for a good long while. I could tell something was on his mind, and he let me know that he came down there to spread the ashes of his very own Good Boy. Wrigley was a great source of comfort for him.

With that, we both shed a few tears and I went on my way with my brand-new sack of warm crap that I have to carry alllll the way back with me.

The “beach”

I’m staying safe and enjoying solitude. Tomorrow, another adventure!

The Truth About the Trip

I started to plan about two years ago in my mind. I didn’t think it was a crazy idea at all, and I knew I could do it, but the logistics of all of it? Whew.

The truth?

Well, I’m raising someone else’s child and I take that very seriously. He was the apple of his mom’s eye. She was so in love with him. It’s not fair that she didn’t get to see him grow and become who he is now and who he will be then.

My bonus son’s mom always had a dream of going to Banff. From what my husband described, she would talk about it, and she would dream about it, and she would plan about it, but it never came fruition, as her dreams went to heaven with her.

It’s hard getting to know somebody that is gone. I’ve touched many photos of her. Thousands of them. Her growing up and high school days. Boyfriend’s gone by, her parents also growing up. Getting to know her family and how she raised them as well as how she was raised. More than anything, she had extraordinary amounts of photos of her very own family. The one she chose. The same family I chose.

She also has an entire tote of letters. From the beginning of time. I read some, but only a few. I could picture her saying the words and the kindness that she always gave with them.

Brad would have loved a trip like this. He would have planned so many activities and shown us all the must see things that related to the kids’ ages and interests. He would have splurged. I don’t know who knows this, but Brad was very frugal. Purchases, like a trip of this magnitude, would be well considered and saved for, not taking from the money we’ve already saved. I maybe hated it at the time, but I’m grateful for all the conversations and what I learned from him.

The entire purpose of this trip is to reflect on the lives of two incredible humans. Two people from two entirely different worlds that had no idea we would all be a family.

So, I did this trip to Banff to see what she didn’t have a chance to. But, I did it Brad’s way. With the camper. I got a hitch put on my SUV, I planned all the overnight campgrounds, I picked out the camper, I’ve moved this camper across the US, into Canada and through the mountains to Banff, AB.

Grateful for everything around it.

I’m finally going to read the last book Brad gave me while I sit in the hammock he bought for us years ago. I’m finally having a moment to breathe after one of the hardest career years of my life.

Here we are. In this beautiful place in this beautiful world where we are still here and able to enjoy it.

Puppy Love

It’s been 7 years since I was able to be put back together. 8 years since stage IIIc metastatic invasive carcinoma diagnosis. The photo “memories “ keep popping up on socials, reminding me of a time so far different than my life now.

I miss my yard. I miss my home. I miss hearing the putter-patter of tiny feet and my littles yelling for me or their daddy. I miss my town and the people in it. I miss the feeling of being invincible, or at least not having the knowledge that cancer would destroy everything I loved and knew.

It’s ok that I miss it.

The years surrounding my diagnosis and Brad’s are a complete blur. A montage of pain and trauma, years of feeling utterly broken.

Today I have six dogs in my home, just over an hour away from my previous life. Three of my own, one grand-dog, and two foster puppies. It’s so exhausting. Poop, pee, feedings….. all of it. It’s exhausting. And I love it.

Here’s why:

The way these babies look at me reminds me so much of the way I felt when my babies needed me. Warm and loved unconditionally.

I don’t have to do a thing, and they just give love always. No matter what.

This is the OG, Flashie-Boy. My first dog as an adult, just over 5 years ago. He’s the reason for this journey.

Cancer took him, too. He was 3.

Live today with everything you’ve got.

The Doctor Called Me Fat

Well, kind of.

Today I had my follow up appointment for the lump on my right chest. I didn’t sleep last night, as you can imagine. I’ve been so scared that it is a recurrance.

Six-ish years ago, I had a double mastectomy. Right radical (taking absolutely everything that resembled breast tissue) and left simple. After that, I had radiation. I had to then wait for healing of the mastectomy site before reconstructive surgery could happen.

My reconstruction took nearly 13 hours. It’s an incredible micro-surgery that takes one part of my body and transplants it to a new area.

This is from Breastcancer.org

What is DIEP flap surgery?

DIEP flap surgery is a breast reconstruction procedure that uses a flap of tissue that’s removed from the lower belly and transferred to the chest to rebuild one or both breasts. 

The tissue flap that the surgeon transfers includes skin, fat, blood vessels, and sometimes nerves. Using microsurgery, the surgeon connects the blood vessels in the flap to the blood vessels in the chest, creating a reconstructed breast with its own blood supply. 

The DIEP — or deep inferior epigastric perforator — flap is named for the blood vessels that run from the abdominal muscle through the fat, and into the skin. 

DIEP flap surgery is the most popular, commonly done flap reconstruction procedure.

What I’ve learned in the last couple of weeks is that having DIEP flap recon, will commonly find these fat lobules that have not gotten enough blood supply. When it happens, the body will wall itself off from the tissue and create a calcification. In my situation, I have at least one of these that has occurred.

When my doctor told me the news, I asked him if he was calling me fat. Just a little humor to lighten the burden from the doctor and myself.

However…

There is always a “however” in cancer.

I will go back in 3 months to be sure it hasn’t changed.

Until then, NO CANCER!

I Found a Lump

Yep. I’ve been waiting for this day. I knew it would come back when I least expected it to.

Life is ticking along like normal and suddenly, you find a lump. Not just a little one, but about the size of a cherry pit. Larger than a pea, smaller than a grape. It was just two nights ago.

Not only did I find a mass, but it’s in my axillary lymph node region, where the cancer had previously spread.

Cole and I have been stressed. Scared out of our brains, waiting for the appointment today. We only waited 30ish hours from the time I found it until my appointment. Not too bad when you’re worried for your life.

I went alone, knowing I would be a wreck. I was able to talk myself through the worst possible scenarios and outcomes on my way to the Cancer Center. I cried buckets of tears. I said a lot of “why me” and “I can’t do this again.” I mostly can’t stand knowing how the kids could possibly handle this if I’m already struggling.

Today was a particularly busy day. I sat between two other cancer patients in reception, listening to another talk about their diagnosis. Not a single person was under 70.

I only waited 10 minutes or so and was called back.

The nurse started asking questions as she was checking me in. Who, what, when, where, why and how. Empathetic at my current state as she is also a cancer survivor. She maybe could have left out the part where when her breast cancer came back, it was in her brain.

My practitioner came in about 5 minutes later. She felt the mass, too.

Then she very kindly, very gently explained that the type of reconstruction that I had will sometimes create fat necrosis. Little masses of fat that don’t get enough blood supply and die. Then she asked me to palpate the same area of her chest where she also had cancer and reconstruction, and a mass, just like mine.

The feelings that I’ve felt in the last two days I don’t think I can fully explain. We aren’t 100% sure that it isn’t cancer, and we won’t know until the 16th, but for now, prognosis looks very good.

Here is the picture I took, thinking it was going to be the “before diagnosis” picture.

Thankful for another day to live.

Love after Death

I faced a lot of criticism after my husband died for entering into a relationship “so soon”.

There were lots and lots of accusations, letters sent to me, texts, emails…. People very much choosing sides, much like after a divorce.

I was married 7 months after he died. On a boat, on our lake, with just the officiant, me and Cole. we had celebrated this a couple months PRIOR, knowing then we would be together forever.

My friendship with Cole began after a crazy incident. He was playing baseball with one of his older boys. In the midst of recording something, a baseball hit Cole’s phone and it was toast. Cole went home and dug out his late wife’s phone to use, hoping it would work. In doing so, he discovered that his wife and I had become friends on Facebook while we were both ill with cancer. I had this blog, and it maybe brought some relief to Beth when she was sick, knowing she wasn’t alone. Maybe she just remembered me as a student… I don’t really know.

When Cole found my blog on her phone, Brad was starting to rapidly decline. I had already gone through the cancer stuff, but Cole was entering the story in a time where he could certainly relate to what I was going through. Beth had already been gone for 3 years. He knew the suffering that was in front of me. So, he reached out.

Coffee, help with yard, anything. He wanted to make life easier for us.

There is something to know about being sick, dying or almost dying that puts life into perspective. I didn’t think I would lose the relationships I did because I was choosing happiness, love, support and a life that was more than death and cancer. I honestly didn’t think about it.

The pain and hurt that other people put on me was almost unbearable. People accused me of cheating on Brad. They told me things like, “I knew you were having an affair because you would wear dresses every time you would leave your house.” If you know me, half of my wardrobe is dresses. I have no ass and no hips, so jeans and pants or shorts/ skirts look terrible on me. Anything with a waistline is no bueno.

The truth is, I did not deserve to be judged. I still don’t.

Somehow though, I tend to continue to feel the hurt and pain of the losses. The people that promised to help carry on Brad’s legacy, some of them just disappeared when we needed them most. Some continue to be loving and kind, remembering the person I was then, and still am now.

I can’t judge them, but I wish they knew in the beginning how close to suicide I was.

I justified taking my life daily. During my own cancer and for sure, Brad’s. I am a way worse caregiver than patient as I can truely know some of the pain and suffering due to my own experiences. Don’t get me wrong, I think I was good at it. I tried so hard to give Brad everything he needed in the last months of his life. But the suffering was so hard to watch. I was lucky to have Brad’s parents to help with all of his care, and they were witness to all the daily burdens that he endured. They were incredible to have with us. It’s a life blessing when you have a family that has the means to be able to leave their lives for half a year to care for their dying child. There seriously can’t be anything worse than losing your own precious blood. Anytime I try to think about how they must feel, it brings me to my knees. I cannot ever imagine my child or my sibling dying, let alone from something so fucking terrible. I imagine it is like living with half of your heart gone.

Do I feel guilty for moving on “so soon” after Brad died?

No.

Do I feel guilty for the way other people feel about it?

Yes.

The other thing people don’t remember is that cancer stole my marriage and family from me when I was sick in 2017. There is no normal during cancer. There’s no celebrations or dinners out. There’s no intimacy or date nights like they used to be. There isn’t family outings or vacations or looking forward to the weekends. There isn’t anything fun or rewarding or lovely about life when you are fighting for it. I had stage IIIc metastatic breast cancer. I was working full-time and barely alive.

I remember going to see a show Brad and I had seen annually for 10 years straight. Music has always been important to me. This time though, I was bald and had no boobs, it was a week after mastectomies (right radical and left simple with three hernia repairs). I wore a wig and had drain bulbs tucked into my shirt. I cried halfway through because I saw one of the drain bulbs was sticking out and I saw someone else see it. I also remember trying to scoot sideways down a row of seats in the theater that left me in so much pain. We took a selfie that night with my cheap wig and my bulbs hidden, but it still brings back all of the feelings from that night.

I have had a lot of suffering. I have been suicidal, I have wanted to never ever wake up again. I have made good decisions and I’ve made no-so-good decisions. Before, during and after cancer. The one thing I will never apologize for is pursuing my own happiness.

While the timeline of my love for Cole doesn’t fit into a “normal” narrative that is “comfortable” for everyone, I feel incredibly lucky to know him and to have had another person who understands what I have been through and has suffered similar to me.

Cole was not looking for a relationship. He was not pursuing dating or finding interest in other women after his love died. He had grown a foot-long beard and was hiding his good looks behind it. Reading every grief book he could find in order to make sense of life after death.

While I’m not sure if I’ll even publish this, there is a sense of relief I have with writing it. I’ve carried a lot of hurt from people I thought were my family. I had seventeen years with Brad. We had a pretty good life for most of it. None of that changed when I accepted love again.

I continue to seek validation in all things that I do, and I promise, my very own criticism of myself is far beyond what anyone else’s could possibly be. There is no greater fault that anyone can find in me that I haven’t already.

Judging others when you don’t know their war? That’s cruelty, not honesty.

P.S. big love to our Harrison family. None of this is directed towards them ever.

We all when through hell.

Dog Mom

I’ve always loved dogs.

My first dog ever was named Beje (bee-Gee). We had Beje from the time my brother was about 5, until I was 18ish. She was loyal and smart. I remember one time, driving home from Chokio (Mom’s hometown) Beje got out of the trailer attached to the vehicle we drove. She was gone. Our whole family realized she must have jumped out somewhere along the 100 mile trek. She had her collar and leash on, but that didn’t hold Beje.

We were devastated, of course. My parents did what they could to locate her or find where it happened, assuming she maybe died from the fall, but to no avail. At some point, at least a week or two later, the phone rang at home.

Someone had found Beje.

During the time she was away, she must have followed her instincts and got back to Cokato! she had wandered into someone’s home with their family dog. She was eating from their dog dish when they realized it was a different dog.

Thankfully Beje had tags and our phone number was on it. We got her back.

Beje was never quite the same though. She began having seizures after her journey. Likely from whatever fall or trauma she had sustained when falling from the trailer. Bet we loved her with all the love we had for many years. Until the seizures became overwhelming for her. She would have to be retrained in some aspects after an episode, and none of us could continue to watch her suffer.

Until the day she died, Beje gave us absolute unconditional love. She forgave us when we yelled at her. She loved us when we were crying or sad. She snuggled us when we were sick at home. She was there for my dad and Brothers Alpha1 diagnosis… She was my psychologist through my teenage years and always knew when I needed an extra bit of love.

It was only about 5 years ago when I got my first dog as an adult. I was 40ish and Brad had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Just after my very own two years of chemo, radiation, mastectomies and reconstruction.

He was a basset hound. His name was Flash.

Flash was my baby. I loved that baby from the second I saw a photo of him at just weeks old. He was everything I wanted for our family. A dog to be a companion for my kids as we navigated through cancer.

Again.

A silent member of the family that would always just listen. No judgement, just listen.

Then Brad died.

Flash didn’t leave my side. He would just love me. Every day, unbelievable amounts of love. He carried me through the absolute darkest time of my life.

One day, when I was snuggling him and giving him cuddles, I found a lump on his neck.

He was 3.

I remember the look on my veterinarian’s face. She knew my story and she knew my husband had passed from cancer. I looked at her and said, “I’m going to fucking die if you tell me it’s cancer.””, desperate for her to say anything else, she said, “I’m so sorry, Flash has Lymphoma.”

I completely lost it. For a long time. I bawled and pleaded with God to please make it all just go away. Save him, and me from this suffering. This really can’t be happening. I didn’t think my heart could break any more than it already had.

We started Flash on a regimen of oral chemo and steroids and other drugs to help him with his symptoms.

From diagnosis to the end, it was only about 2 months.

Now, I spend as much time as possible rescuing dogs. Mostly basset hounds. I usually get to keep them for a couple of weeks. They come to me after they are vetted, so usually recovering from a spay/neuter or needing treatment for bad ear infections…. Usually something.

All I have to do is give them love. Teach them how to be dogs. Show them what dog treats and toys are. Teach them about unconditional love. Let them heal from their last environment (many times the dogs come from breeding situations). When they have accidents, we redirect them and still show them love.

Every single time, unequivocally, these dogs are bursting with love and ready to be someone’s forever companion by the time they leave us.

All it takes is love and patience. That’s all.

Is it my life’s mission or simply just giving back to the two dogs that saved me? I don’t know.

In Like a Lion?

Spring Break in Cozumel 2025 was absolutely incredible. The weather was absolutely perfect, the scenery stunning and the only complaint I had was that I couldn’t reach the middle of my back to put on sunscreen. Tough life, huh? Also, where’s my inventor friends?

My husband plans and executes spring break vacation for me every year so far. He teaches middle school, I teach at the tech college, so our breaks never line up. So far, these adventures have taken me to Cancun, Aruba, Somewhere else I can’t remember at the moment, and Cozumel.

These trips have grown to be a huge part of my grief journey. There are mental journals I keep and experiences I force myself to take… pushing myself well outside of my comfort zone and embracing who I am outside of being a mother, spouse, daughter, sister, friend, employee, etc. I reflect a lot about the previous year and choices that were made, mistakes that I can learn from.

This year, an important person in our lives died while I was vacationing. To say that I felt like shit for being in Cozumel is an understatement. Aside from how I felt about it, I couldn’t believe I was half a world away from my kids who needed me. Not only were my children in need, but this was a piece of our family that we lost. Someone who, although somewhat recently became a part of my family, felt like she had been part of it forever.

Death is absolutely nothing new to me or our kids’ lives, which doesn’t make it any easier when it happens. Expected or unexpected never matters. The passing of a loved one will always be a conduit to a lot of grief that is still very real and very raw. It rips off that Band-Aid holding off emotions that are ready to gush out given the opportunity.

I knew that at least for two of my kids still at home, it would be a reminder of Brad’s death and his burial.

Coming back from Cozumel, my husband was hurrying to pick me up at the airport from the visitation of our loved one. Thankfully I was back in time to make it to the funeral the next day. It was a blizzard on the way to the services and I couldn’t help but think about the conversations I had with my kids within the last 11 hours that I’d been in the US and the questions I asked them. Things we talked about:

1. Are you ok?
2. Does this hurt like losing dad?
3. Are you comfortable being a casket bearer?
4. Do you remember dad’s burial?
5. Do you remember how crappy the weather was on dad’s day? It was just like this.

Please remember, we are very open when it comes to these conversations. We have to be. It brought a LOT of feelings forward for me, so I knew it would for them.

Ailee remembers all of it, Beckham remembers most. Jacob does not remember details of his mom’s burial, but remembers other things, like the grass on top of her grave, and other beautiful memories the he carries through some retelling and some memories. He was a few years younger than the other two.

It truly was like a mirror of Brad’s burial. The weather, the country cemetery, the angled, gravel, roadside parking, the small gathering of loved ones… it was a struggle. And beautiful. And healing.

Ailee struggled a lot. The whole day was a huge replay of her dad’s burial day. I felt like I was able to comfort her in a way that I couldn’t the day we buried Brad. She reached out for my hugs and I could give her words that meant more now than they did then. We connected more maturely now, more meaningfully than we could before.

It was like our loved one knew we needed her one last time. As a bridge between here and there. One last invitation into her endless arms of love where she could show us how important we were to her.

By now, she has found Brad in heaven. She has talked his ears off and she got to tell him how awesome his son is at being a kind human being and a great hockey player, and his daughter is indeed one of the most quietly talented people you’d over meet. she will have told him all about Jake and how loved he is.

Vacation is Over

8th grade boys can be the worst.

I’ve had such a hard time helping my two through this year, I’m about to throw in the towel.

Rewinding back to Labor Day weekend, all three of my kids wanted to see the fireworks just up the road at the park. We gave them all the freedom to go. Be safe, stick with your people, and be nice. It was their last outing before school starts after a pretty great summer.

Of course, we were oblivious to the events that were taking place while we were a few hundred yards away, watching a movie on our couch at home.

Mind you, these events I am about to tell are not just from the mouths of half-truth 8th grade boys. No. They are not. They were recorded. Like nearly everything is. Recorded for the rest of time to know and hear.

My boys, just days from starting their 8th grade year, one in the height of popularity, one trying hard to be there too, began greeting their “friends” at the firework celebration. One of these “friends” responded to one of my boys by name, therefore intentionally excluding my other son. Very common for 8th grade boys to do this. Dick move, if you ask me, and something I would be sure to tell my own is super mean and inappropriate to do/say/make someone feel. And also, why? Yuk. So , being the well-informed, poke-the-bear, “why” person my child is, he asks the boy, “what the frick? Why didn’t you say hi to me but you said hi to him?” Now, remember, this is on video, so audio is all recorded.

The next thing that happens is a series of events that I will not detail too much, but the brother of the boy that didn’t want to say “hi” decided my son shouldn’t be asking questions. He approached my son, threatened him multiple times, shoved him and continued to threaten to beat him to death. This brother is EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD.

Just a week or so prior, I’d been made aware of another video that included the same boy. This video was at a church camp and in it he is calling another kid the R word (the child has special needs) relentlessly and making hand gestures at the same time while laughing at the child.

This is recorded forever in time for people to see.

The reason I’m writing about this now? That night, I was so mad. I was so angry that an 18-year-old man boy put his hands on my child and threatened him.

I reached out to a friend that I knew would know the mom’s phone number and called the mom. Man, I was mad.

I explained what happened and was surprisingly calm. I also explained that if I was a different type of person, I could certainly call the police and have her oldest son arrested for assault for what he did. She apologized, but it soon turned into a conversation where I felt she was making excuses for her younger son and it turned into a conversation about how she and her son had been to the school and the dean of students about this and that and this and that. About my son.

#1. My husband works at the school. There has never been a lack of communication between the dean of students and my husband when any of my kids are acting out of line. Ever. In fact, if it’s been awhile, I’ll reach out.

#2. I am not ever delusional in thinking my kids are innocent in any situation. For example. I asked in this situation, did you actually say “frick”, or did you say “fu?k”.

#3 the dean of students may have had many conversations with this parent, but after digging further, found out there were other provocations that took place or reasons behind what happened. Or maybe less trivial than they seemed. Who knows.

Again, why am I writing about this now?

Well, at the end of my conversation with this mom, she said she was going to talk to the moms of the friends in this group. Why? And now, since the first day of school this year, almost every single kid that was a mutual friend in this group will no longer talk to him, include him, text him, call him a friend…. None of it. They dumped him. When he asks them why, they won’t tell him. Makes for a really difficult situation when you have two 8th grade boys.

One that’s included, and one that used to be.