The Strongest People I Ever Knew

My best friend Angie was the strongest person I ever knew.

Yes, that's me hiding from the picture.  So long ago.

She fought cancer for five and a half years.  Over and over.  Surgeries.  Chemo.  Experimental treatments.  She went through more than I could ever even describe to you.  And she wasn't alone.

Angie had a type of bone cancer called osteosarcoma.  It's a childhood cancer, it tends to occur in growing bones, especially arms and legs.  It can present in elementary age through adolescence, but it can come back for years into adulthood, despite still being considered a 'childhood' cancer.  Angie was 20 when she died, of a childhood cancer.  She lived that long - to be an adult - because she had some of the best doctors in the world, and because she was a fighter.  She had a strong spirit that, whether she literally or figuratively fell, just got back up and kept on smiling.  Sure, she had her down days.  Everyone does.  But she taught me a lot about what it means to be strong... that sometimes it's just... well, I almost said 'putting one foot in front of the other', and then I laughed, because I realized that would have cracked her up - Angie only had one leg.  Foot jokes were her favorite.  I remember her telling random people that her right foot itched, and they'd look at her, and lack of a right foot, and get this confused look on their face and not know what to say... because they just didn't know her well enough to know how often she made that joke (or that sometimes, it really did itch).  In any case... that sometimes your only choice is to keep going, keep trying, keep breathing... and strength is not the ability to do that, because we don't have a choice, but how you do it.  She did it laughing.  With her friends.

No picture is complete without a goofy face or bunny ears.

Angie met a lot of people in her fight.  She went to camp, went on ski trips, with other kids who had the same or similar types of cancer.  She told me all about them.  Their strength.  Their surgeries.  Their relapses.  The fun, silly, hilarious things they did together.  They were such a huge part of her story.  They understood what she was going through in a way that no one else did, and gave her somebody to talk to about it until the very end.  She took their setbacks harder than her own.  They made endless trips to the hospital less miserable.  Seeing a friend made her day.  And there were those of us like myself who were with her through it all, but we didn't understand what she was going through, not even close.  She needed those friends who did... even though she hated, so much, that they had to suffer through what she did.  She'd have taken every one of their burdens from them if she could have.

I found out tonight that Angie is seeing one of those friends again... he lost his battle to osteosarcoma this week.  I remember her talking about this friend often... that he made her laugh, that she'd run into him at the hospital and it made her day, how much fun they had together, how much they had in common, how much she respected his perspective.  My thoughts and prayers are with the family and friends of that young man tonight.  I've walked the road of losing someone I love to cancer, and it's a dark, hard road.  Would you please offer up a prayer tonight as well, for all the people this young man left behind?

There are other friends of Angie's who are still fighting.  Friends she admired for their strength, who she saw as stronger than herself (even though they - all the 'cancer kids' - had a kind of strength the rest of us can't even imagine).  Friends who were her first and foremost concern even to the very last moment.  I remember one of them came over the day before she died.  I can't imagine how hard that must have been... I know how hard it was for me.  I also know that neither of us would've been anywhere else.

Angie 'introduced' me... in person or just through her words and stories (which were vivid as she was a writer, and a very good one at that) to some of the strongest people I ever knew.  People who are fighting a battle I can't imagine.  Children, families who are staring cancer in the face and pushing forward.  People like her.  And there are thousands of them.  34 children were diagnosed with cancer today.  34 families will never be the same.  34 more kids will have to learn to be a whole new kind of strong.  And this happens every day.  Every one of those kids is someone's best friend, someone's daughter or son, someone's brother or sister.  They matter.  Their fight matters.

I'm just typing as I think tonight - I'm not sure exactly what point I'm trying to make... but I just want people to see them.  To see their struggle.  To remember their strength.  With every pink ribbon you see, imagine a gold one for childhood cancer.  Support an organization that helps kids with cancer, or funds research for childhood cancer.  Give a hug (or better yet, some chocolate) to the mom of a little one you know who is fighting.  Offer your ear as one to listen, your shoulder as one to cry on.  They are strong, but they are not strong alone.  They learn to lean on the people they love.  It's a battle we don't have to let them fight alone.  It's a battle that I hope and pray to see the day no one else has to fight.  Just... learn from their strength.  And love your kids.  Life is too short not to live it the way Angie did, the way her friends who were also fighting did... with strength and joy and love.

Little Yellow Flower

It was a Friday in May when I picked a newly nine-year-old Alivia up from school, walking from my car into the lobby to get her because the sheer number of car seats in my car makes it difficult to go through the pick up line.  As every day, the chatter and laughter of children bubbled around me.  I waited while the children were called to busses, then the rest of the children released.  Liv was usually one of the first ones down the hallway, but this day, the hallway emptied out almost completely before she appeared.  As I watched her emerge from her classroom, the reason for the delay became apparent.  She was struggling to work her backpack over one shoulder while balancing her jacket and lunch bag, as well as a piece of white paper folded in half and a little clear cup, no bigger than the kids' tumblers they often give you at restraurants, that was full of something dark brown.  From her homework recently, I guessed it was probably dirt - her second grade class had been studying seeds and plants.

When she reached me, I greeted her the same way I always did:  "Hi Princess, how was school?"  Then came the customary reply.

"Good," she said.

I reached to help her with her things and indicated the cup, which I could now see had a little green sprout less than an inch tall emerging from the dirt.  "What's this?"

"It's a plant," she replied.

I laughed.  "What kind of plant?"

"A flower," she elaborated, handing it to me along with the folded piece of paper.  "It's for you.  I maked this for you for mother's day.  I just do love you SO much Katie."

I almost started crying right there in the school parking lot, kids, teachers and parents still milling around.  You see, when I met this child eight years ago, she resisted all affection vehemently, and didn't speak one single word for two more years.  The first time she told me she loved me, I had been in her life for three years.  It came out slurred together in her immature speech:  "Ovvfoo!"  But I spoke her language and I heard her.  I still have a cell phone that had been on my lap that day, because the second time she said it I wanted to catch it on audio.  Sorry, electronics junkers, you're not getting that one.

Besides the obvious factor of how far she had come, you probably noticed that she called me by my first name.  This is because I am not her mother.  I have played an enormous part in raising her, there have been many times when her home has been with me, but I am not her mother and she had known this at least since she stopped calling me Mommy when she was four years old.  Don't ask me why she started - when she started to speak at three, that's just what she called me.  Then I was "Kai" for two or three years.  The first time she said my name correctly, I DID cry.

But I digress.  Here she was, handing me this flower that she "maked" for me, and a card covered in hearts that read "Happy Mother's Day!!!!!!!!!" on the front... knowing full well that I was not her mother... and the only conclusion I could draw was that this was her way of telling me that she loved me, and that she did notice that I cared for her as I would my own child, and appreciated it.

I bit back tears and told her "Thank you, sweetie, I love it!"  I buckled her into her booster seat and pulled out one of the cup holders, where she securely nestled the little cup holding my flower.  Then I got in the driver's seat and opened the card and read:

I have those words memorized now.  Right down to her sweet little mispellings.  The card itself is safely stored in a page protector in a book of Alivia's cards and drawings... along with these...

...among others, which won't upload properly.

We drove home, and I carefully placed the cup containing the little sprout on the windowsill in the kitchen where the sun would shine on it every morning.  We talked about remembering to give it water every day.

It grew to be a big sprout.  Honestly, at first, I didn't expect it to make it.  I brought home plenty of those little projects that fell victim to a 'brown thumb' that seems to run in our family.  Then it wasn't a sprout at all anymore - it was as big as the marigolds outside in our garden, but no blooms yet.  As we left for Florida in June, the roots were starting to press up against the sides of the translucent cup.  I told Alivia we'd move it to a bigger pot when we got home.

She never got to come home.

But I did move her flower to a bigger pot - one I painted myself when I was around her age.  She would have liked it.  I moved it as carefully as if I were performing brain surgery.  It wasn't just a plant, it would never be just a plant again... it was a symbol that my little girl loved me and I loved her.

And as we embarked on a road marred with legal and ethical obstacles, the flower continued to grow.  Everyone in our family made sure it had enough water every day.  That flower would bloom.  If, just maybe, she came home, we wanted her to see how much it had grown.

It bloomed as summer faded into fall... three beautiful, yellow blossoms.  I've never taken so many pictures of a single plant in my life.

When an early freeze came, we brought it inside at night and took it back out to get some sun every day.  I think it may have set the record for longest living marigold.  The day we went to court in November, it was still blooming.  It was the last thing I saw as I walked out the door.

My girl never got to come home.  Eventually the pretty yellow flower succumbed to the winter.  But we still have our memories.  Seven years of happy times with my princess.  More photos than I could fit in six scrapbooks.  The pictures and memories of the (not so little) yellow flower grown with a healthy dose of sunlight, soil, and water... but mostly love.  The card, the sweet words that told me that she knew, she saw, how much I loved her then and how much I will always love her.

My little yellow flower... was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be...

Looking Back on 2012

I did this last year, and this year has been another... eventful... life-changing... year... so I'm doing it again.  And praying that this time next year, when I look back on 2013, happy memories, not sad ones, are what come to mind first.

January
2012 actually started on the best note possible.  I hadn't seen my two youngest DBKs, A and AJ, in over four months.  I missed them terribly and I hadn't been feeling in the holiday spirit at all.  On January 1, 2012, I saw them again.  Watched them open their Christmas presents.  Held them in my arms, hugged them tight, told them I loved them.  It was a perfect day.

AJ, 2 years old

A, 8.5 years old

After that we had to slowly get back to reality.  It was tough.  I had my heart broken for orphans around the world with special needs.  I wasn't sleeping well at night, staying up late to pray for children according to events in their time zones.  I was having no success finding a job to aid in paying the bills, and anxiously awaiting tax refunds.  Even though it started so perfectly, January was a rough month... a month of wait and see.

February
In February things got a little better.  Taxes came through to pay the bills.  I started working on getting licensed to do childcare for my friend's kids.  It seemed like there was a light at the end of the tunnel.  I was also gearing up for two exciting trips - a statewide conference on Child Passenger Safety which would be held in April, and a national conference in Orlando, Florida on national highway safety priorities which would be held in June.  I had been granted a scholarship to attend both by our local Safe Kids Coalition.  I felt like things were going to be looking up soon - and they did, for a while.  Good news started coming down about the orphans I was advocating for.  More were making their way home.  Changes were being made in their home countries.  Families were committing to children.  I found myself more engrossed in the Reece's Rainbow community by the minute.

March
In March, the first thing that jumps to mind is something that happened one day when I was literally as far as could be from expecting it.  There was snow and ice on the roads, a rare occurrence here last winter.  It was late - 11 pm or so.  I was in my warm bed, under my electric blanket, writing about orphans, when my phone started to buzz.  Bill collectors, I was sure, but when I looked at the caller ID... it was the mom of my DBKs, whom I hadn't heard from since January 1.  I answered to find her distraught and needing me to come take the kids.  All I can say is that it was a miracle I made it the short distance to where they were living without incident on the icy roads, because I wasn't exactly taking it slow.  I was going to see my babies.  I picked them up.  They were excited to see me.  My heart was full to finally bring them home again, put them to sleep in their cozy, warm beds where they knew they were safe.

I had them for two days that time, and I never knew exactly why, except that it's likely tied up in what turned into a very large amount of police reports.  In any case, I was thankful to have them in my arms once more, even if I didn't know when the next time I would see them would be.

In March, I also began to share with my oldest DBK, M, who is not related to the other two, about the orphan crisis.  Poor sweet soul, it broke her heart to see all those children in such terrible conditions.  I found that we both needed to *do* something, and we also needed a respite from the pain we were discovering.  While my mind worked on what M and I could do together to make a difference for these kids, I planned a girls' night for us - we painted our nails, played games, stayed up late, and then went to a late showing of The Hunger Games, which was amazing and really played right into my determination to do something to make a difference.  M loved it and we began reading the books together, a couple of chapters at a time aloud, every night.  I'd already read them all - in three days, no less, because I'm one of those people who has to read books before seeing movies, but M, not much of a reader, wanted to read them and I thought it would be a nice way for us to bond.  And she only laughed at me a little when I couldn't pronounce 'muttations' correctly throughout all three books.  How do you pronounce it anyways?

As the month ended, I was feeling more at peace than ever... even if the future was unknown.

April
April is my birth month, and M's, and my mom's, so it was a big month around our house.  My birthday is April 6.  It was a Friday, and two days before Easter.  I'd been home all day, cleaning up so my friend's kids could come over while she went to work later.  It was when I noticed my 17 year old brother cleaning that I knew something was up.  I didn't dare to guess what.  I went on with my day.  My friend brought her girls over.  We all took a nap.  When I woke up, I went upstairs, where my mom was just getting home from work..... and had my babies with her!  My birthday presents were two big hugs from A and AJ - the thing I'd wanted most but hadn't even dared to hope for.  And we had another perfect day.  We played together, we braided hair, we ate cake and ice cream, and I was happy.  At the end of the day though, it became apparent that crisis had struck in their lives once again.  They had nowhere to go and would be staying with us, at least overnight, we'd discuss it more the following day.  Little did I know that when my mom asked for a couple hours with the kids for my birthday - she'd ended up getting me a couple months with them!  April found the kids moving back in most of the time, and many more happy memories being made.

M had her birthday party at Skate America - her mom went all out to make sure it was perfect.  I attended with A while my mom watched AJ, and both my girls had a blast, and I had a blast watching them.

At the end of the month I went to my statewide child passenger safety conference, which was great, but I definitely missed those goofy kids even if I was only gone for two days!

May
May was, most importantly, A's birthday.  Nine years old this year!  She didn't have a party with us this year (I don't know that I'm up to anything like her 7th birthday party... ever again) because she was getting something WAY better.  I was going to Orlando the following month for my national highway safety conference, and with my costs paid for, it cost me only a little more to bring her with me - and how could I not, with Disney World right down the road?  Pretty much everyone I know brought their families.  But since A's birthday was in May, it was a surprise super awesome present.  I wrapped up this big box full of balloons, travel supplies, and this sign:

She went to gymnastics that night so excited to tell all her friends and teachers that she got to meet the princesses.

The other thing in May that stands out in my mind is Mother's Day.  I honestly don't even remember what I got my mom, but I will never forget my very first Mother's Day gift.

Sweet A, when I picked her up from school that day, handed me this little sprout in a plastic dixie cup, and a carefully crafted card.  She handed them to me and said "Happy Mother's Day.  I just do love you SO MUCH, Katie!"

I nearly cried.  Later, after she was in bed, I did cry.  Because I'm not her mother, but I did a whole lot of raising her.  This was her way of telling me that she knew that, that she loved me like a mother just like I love her like a daughter.  The picture of the flower above was taken in the fall - it grew so far beyond that little dixie cup, we cared for it so well because that little flower meant so much to us.

June
Oh boy... talk about hot and cold.  June started out amazing.  Home with my babies.  Getting ready to go to Florida.  So much excitement.  On June 13 (a day which was formerly dark to me with history), I boarded the plane with my girl to go on our dream vacation.

We had a blast.  We met the princesses.  We played on the beach, swam in the ocean, saw family, went shopping, ate ice cream like there was no tomorrow, and took a million pictures.

Cinderella's Castle!

Beach for the first time!

Fort at St. Augustine

Then, on our last full day there, the world stopped spinning.  Crisis began.  As we were sitting there packing up our bags, A told me a secret... a deep, dark one that she probably never told anyone else.  I fully believe that it is only because of how far from home we were, how relaxed our days had been, that she felt comfortable sharing it with me.

It wasn't a secret I could keep.

I didn't want to make the call.  I didn't want to set the cascade of events I knew would follow into motion... but I thought I had to.  Honestly if I could go back in time, I would change that decision.

A tropical storm, hurricane, something, was brewing off the coast.  The sky had darkened significantly.  The waves were huge.  Red flags were raised on the beach.  The last time we played on the beach, it was almost deserted.

A storm was also brewing within me.  I fought to hold back the torrent of emotions I was dealing with that day and give my princess the final vacation day she deserved.  I tried to enjoy every single little moment, push the dark thoughts out of my mind and just enjoy her... but my stomach was in knots.

I will tell this story in greater detail later, although I won't share everything because it isn't all mine to share, but to make a long story short, we flew home the next day... I kept the smile on my face... it'll all be okay....

and then it wasn't.

That was the day I didn't even get to say goodbye to A before she was taken from me.  The day I didn't know I'd never see her baby brother AJ again.  I only saw A one time after that... and I hope she heard me when I told her I'd always love her.

After June 21, I spent the rest of the month in misery.  I felt sick all the time.  Nothing could make it better.  I can truly say the week that followed our return was the worst one in my entire life.  June ended darkly.

July
July was the month I tried to put myself back together... put one foot in front of the other... keep breathing... try just to survive each moment when each day was too much.  We hired an attorney to try to help A after social services let us down.  It was a road I never thought I'd be traveling.  The 4th of July came and went.  It's my favorite holiday.  I went to four fireworks shows, went swimming, spent time with my friends, family and M.  I enjoyed those things, I always do, but this year they felt empty.  Something was missing.  Something really important.  Where was A?  Did she get to see the fireworks?  Was she happy?  Was she even safe?

I was starting to mend.  Just a little bit.  There was still a big piece of my heart missing, but I was learning my new normal.  Then the week from hell struck.  It only started in July, but the worst of it fell there.  On Monday, July 30, I woke up to find my 17 month old kitten, Boo, dead on the floor of my apartment.  I almost didn't make it through the day.  I held him until we buried him.  I couldn't cry a single tear for a long time, and then one day they just all broke free.  I'm crying again writing this.  Another of the worst days of my life.  He was just a baby.  My baby.  I couldn't even sleep alone for days.  And July ended as darkly as June.

The day before he died

August
The week that ended July and began August was horrible.  It was supposed to be a good week.  Olympics, the State Fair, friends, but starting with the cloud of my pet's death hanging over us, it was just bad.  I can't recall the details, but I missed my best friend Angie (who had passed just over a year prior) dearly, something had gone amiss with A's case, I got into a fight with a friend, I was discharged from my doctor's office over a $20 bill, and probably some other stuff I don't even remember... I just remember that it was a very bad, bad week.  I buried myself in mindless television shows, sleep, and orphan blogs.

After some time had passed, I adopted another cat - mostly black, just a tiny bit of white on his chest.  I called him 'Soft Kitty' or 'S.K' for a week, until I named him Marbles because when he purrs (which he does almost constantly), it sounds like someone's shaking a bag of marbles.  I love him!  He's six months old now. I spent some time in the hospital with a kidney infection (two ER visits in one week is never any fun) and had a bad medication reaction, so I was feeling a little worse for the wear even by the end of August, not to mention having to find a new doctor because I have any number of medical needs that have to be attended to regularly.  All I could do was hope it would get better when the school year started and routine set in more firmly.

Marbles, AKA 'Soft Kitty'

September
Finally, a month that started out well.  At the very beginning of September, my friend Faith got home from Eastern Europe with her two newly adopted children, both of whom have down syndrome.  Another friend and I went to see them that weekend and bring some clothes for the baby (she was around 18 months when she came home, but the size of a 3-6 month old).  We talked a while, played with the kids, and I got to hold her sweet and precious baby girl, who thankfully will never remember having been an orphan.

I look dumb in this picture.  But she's cute enough for both of us

I don't remember much about the rest of the month.  It must've been relatively unremarkable.  I did go to the Buddy Walk with Shannon and Faith's family, which was a blast, it was my first year and it definitely won't be my last.

October
October was a month I didn't look forward to... at all.  Halloween, pumpkins, hay rides, costumes... did you know I took A trick or treating every year between 2-7?  It wasn't a holiday I was used to 'celebrating' without her.  I remember being rather depressed.  I also faced a good bit of financial difficulty that I was working to resolve, and we had finally been given a court date, which was looming frighteningly on the horizon.  It felt like limbo - there's not really any other way I can put it.  Like I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I was probably irritable and short with people I know and love, and for that I'm sorry.  I was under a lot of stress and I apparently didn't cope well.  As the month ended, my mind was occupied by nothing but what November would bring.

November
Not long passed before the tone for the month of November was set.  Our court date was early in the month.  We were in court for over two hours - which was nearly if not completely unprecedented for a case like ours.  And it was a rough two hours.  I will admit that I cried on the stand - to the point where my 'smudge-proof' (apparently not waterproof) mascara was running down my face in a raccoon-like fashion.  It was rough, and the other team didn't play fair, but I regretted nothing.  After social services let us down, it was the only thing we could do, the thing we had to do.

After court that day, I slept for two hours, spent some time with some good friends, and then slept for sixteen hours, straight and solid.  I woke up at 7:00, and thought it was morning (it was not.  It was the following night.)  But then I felt a sense of relief.  Not complete relief - we were still waiting on a decision, which could have said anything - but court was over and that in itself was a relief.

The decision, which, from my perspective was not favorable (although I will admit there are unknowns involved that could change my opinion) came just before Thanksgiving.  So much for being thankful.  I had my wisdom teeth out the day before Thanksgiving (we had our turkey early) and after 7 abdominal surgeries I thought it would be a cinch - I didn't even have to be in a hospital - but I'm definitely counting that as one of my worst surgeries.  I have serious dental fear and I do NOT like anyone messing around with my mouth.  It's actually still healing.

At the end of the month I picked up some extra work with a friend (I had already worked for one friend for the better part of the year) and things seemed to be looking up, teeth (or lack thereof) aside.

December
Through December I continued to work for friends and fundraise heavily for Reece's Rainbow's Project Angel Tree.  It was a tough month, mostly because of financial difficulties, but we made it work.  At the end of the month, I came upon the opportunity to work for a friend who I met through Reece's Rainbow close to a year ago and has three adopted children with down syndrome.  Her family was in need of a home health aide, I was in need of a job, and a wonderful organization locally agreed to employ me to work for her.  I've been doing that job just about a week now (officially - this is one of the friends I was working for unofficially previously) and I just absolutely love it!

I missed A and AJ a lot this month.  It was truly my first Christmas without them since A came into my life all those years ago.  I walked through stores, by the sections of little girls' clothes, touched the ruffled skirts and commented to whomever I was with how I would most certainly be buying this if I still had A.  Girly girl if there ever was one.  But I appreciated the time I had with M, we celebrated Christmas in the usual manner, just unfortunately less two kids.

I look weird because of the lack of eyebrows.

On the very last day of December, the little boy whose Christmas Warrior I was through Reece's Rainbow met his goal - meaning I had to make good on a promise I made at the beginning of Angel Tree - that if both Brett #19 and Elden 14G met their goals, I would shave my head - and that is how I would start out 2013... and I smiled on the last day of 2012 - not only because I was glad to see it go, like last year (and I was, considering some of the year's happenings) but because I was thankful, too, to see another year and have hopes for more good and even better things.

Because that's the kind of perspective spending a year advocating with Reece's Rainbow gives you.