2014: Insert Reflective Inspiration Here

It's December 30, 2014. In approximately 26 hours it will be a new year. It's always around this time that I become reflective of the twelve months that have flown by. What did I accomplish? Did I do everything I could to make it memorable? What will I remember about this year 30 years from now?

January 2014

This year in particular has been a mix of highs and lows, of joy and sadness. I know all years ebb and flow, and I've had a rough past few years anyway, but this was the year that the previous four finally came to a head.

Obviously, the big event for me this year was losing my mom in March, and if you've read my blog even a little then you know that this has been difficult for me to come to terms with. Some days my grief washes over me like a rogue wave, sudden and unexpected, and other days I feel... OK. Her absence in my life is physically felt in the way my chest tightens when I think of her, which is quite often. Every single night since she died I lay down at night and think of her before I fall asleep. I imagine her laughing, and growling, and sitting at the table reading. I wonder what we'd be doing now if she were still here, or were never sick to begin with. I wonder if I'm going to die the same way. Some nights I cry, other nights I smile, occasionally I do both. It's a battle I'm sure I'll always fight and tonight, I'm OK with that. I can't tell you if that's how I'll feel tomorrow, but grief and I are on a day-to-day basis.


While my mom's death has certainly been an impacting event on my year and life, there's also been many, many joyous moments that I wish to remember and celebrate as well. Nathan and I started the year with a toothless little baby just learning how to crawl. We're ending the year with a walking, talking, temper-tantrum throwing 19-month old toddler who has somehow managed to gain 11 teeth and found his way in to a part of my heart I didn't know existed - all in the past twelve months! We celebrated another year of marriage, went to the beach (though it was a bit different than I remembered...), went to weddings, celebrated engagements and babies with old and new friends, and survived our first-full year of parenthood together.

Finn learned to crawl in January of 2014

By June 1, 2014 he was walking.

And now he's talking - with about 10 words in his vocabulary arsenal, including "cheese."

Though our year has definitely had sad moments, we are still undoubtedly blessed in this life. Looking forward to seeing what 2015 has in store for the House of Harris!

May love and laughter light your days,

and warm your heart and home.

May good and faithful friends be yours,

wherever you may roam.

May peace and plenty bless your world

with joy that long endures.

May all life's passing seasons

bring the best to you and yours!

-Irish Blessing

Cancer is a Jerk

First, let's get one thing out of the way - all cancers suck. Every single type of cancer that has ever affected any person absolutely, 100 percent, without a doubt sucks. With that being said, however, there is one type of cancer that has had more of a direct impact on my life than any of the others, and that's lung cancer. Lung cancer is what took my mom back in March. It's what made me more familiar with chemotherapy, radiation, and the third floor oncology unit at Henrico Doctors' Hospital than I should ever have been at 24 years old.

I say all this because November is Lung Cancer Awareness Month. Did you know that? We follow up the pink-themed October with recognition of a cancer nobody wants to talk about. Did you know that lung cancer is the second leading cause of death in the United States? It also causes more deaths than the next three most common cancers combined (colon, breast and pancreatic). Isn't that crazy? On top of that, the five-year survival rate for lung cancer is (scroll now if you don't want to know...) is "53.5 percent for cases detected when still localized within the lungs. For distant tumors the five-year survival rate is only 3.9 percent." ( U.S. National Institutes of Health. National Cancer Institute. SEER Cancer Statistics Review, 1975-2010.) 3.9 percent! 

 I don't say this to scare anyone. Really, I don't. I write this because it's still something I try daily to wrap my mind around - to understand the disease that took my mother's life and destroyed a part of mine. I say this because I just spent a whole month rocking my pink and supporting those who are facing the fight with breast cancer, but one page turn of the calendar and it seems mighty quiet, especially when you consider how many people lung cancer is going to claim this year (about 159,000). Do people even know what color the lung cancer awareness ribbon is? It's white, in case you're wondering.

I think my family did a pretty good job at keeping my mom's health underwraps. Not a secret, but certainly not broadcasting it. Looking back, I'm not sure we'd do it any differently, but now I feel like I want to share her story, or at least parts of it, for everyone to remember how strong she was; how insanely brave and optimistic she was. 

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My mom was diagnosed with lung cancer in October of 2010. She had gone to the hospital because she wasn't feeling right and the doctors suspected pneumonia, only when they took the chest x-ray they found a mass on her lung instead. The scans in the following week showed that the cancer had not spread at that time, which was amazing. She was one of those rare cases where the cancer was caught in a very early stage and her prognosis was positive.

She underwent surgery to remove the lower lobe of her right lung in November (the week before Thanksgiving) and began "preventative" chemo treatments beginning in December. At that time, the doctors were confident all of the cancer had been removed. She finished her chemo treatments in March 2011 and was declared "cancer free" in May, mere weeks before my wedding. 

I put cancer free in quotations because she was, in fact, not cancer free. In January 2011 my mom began seeing colored spots. She went to her oncologist who referred her to her eye doctor who said it was old age and gave her a new glasses prescription. In June, weeks after being "cancer free" my mom had a seizure. It was only then that they found she had lesions on her brain - five, to be exact. It turns out that she was deemed cancer free based only on a chest scan, not a full body scan. Doesn't that seem silly?

Because of the lesions, she underwent ten rounds of radiation to shrink them, and  radiation, for her, was so much worse than chemo ever was. In early September, she went back to check the progress of the lesions and we received positive news - they were shrinking. Because the lesions were now smaller, the doctors decided to have her undergo yet another type of radiation known as Gamma Knife. This type of radiation is much more targeted and was completed in a single six-hour session, but required bolting a head stabilizer into her skull to keep her completely still. It was agony for her, but it helped shrink the tumors even more, so it was a successful treatment.

In October 2012, we received news that the cancer had spread to her liver where she had three small tumors. She underwent several more rounds of chemotherapy to target these tumors, and we learned at her next scan they were not responding. So, they immediately set her up with another, more aggressive chemotherapy. Finally, the tumors were shrinking. Then, she had another almost-seizure, and a scan revealed she had a plum-sized tumor where her other tumors had once been. Because of the size of the tumor and the fact that she had already had such a massive amount of radiation, the only option at this point was to remove it. On December 14, 2012 my mom had brain surgery to remove the tumor.

In summer 2013, the tumors in her brain were back. She went through another round of Gamma Knife involving the head stabilizer, but eventually they had to be surgically removed. She underwent that surgery on August 8, 2013, the day before my birthday. In November, my parents told us that the cancer had spread - it was now in her brain, liver, lungs, and her tailbone.

My mom spent the next few months fighting the good fight but the cancer took its toll. The steroids she was on caused her vertebrae to crack and she was hospitalized several times to undergo a procedure to fuse them together. She was in constant pain, and was losing movement in her legs. She used a walker, and eventually a wheelchair to get around, and in December she was admitted into a rehabilitation center to help regain use of her legs. She came home the week of Christmas, and was readmitted to the hospital New Years Eve. She moved from the hospital to a new rehabilitation center in January. Her stay at this rehabilitation center was difficult. She was undergoing physical therapy but found her strength to wane. She used to say, "When I get my strength back, I'm going to hold Finn." There was never any other option for her, even at the very end. I'm going to spare you the end of my mother's life. It's not something I find value in sharing, yet it's not something I'll ever forget either. Suffice it to say if you've ever seen a cancer patient's last days, you know how horrendous it is. It's haunting, to say the least.

My mom succumbed to her cancer on March 8, 2014, after fighting for nearly three and a half years. In that time frame, she was nothing but positive. When faced with the fact that she would lose her hair, she said, "Hopefully I'll have blonde curly hair next!" She read her devotional every day. She reiterated to those around her, like me, who were afraid that she was, "in God's hands, one way or the other." She was my calm during her own storm.

I miss my mom every single day. Every single day I am aware of her absence in a way that is hauntingly physical - like a weight that just can't be lifted. I think of her all of the time. The other day I flipped through the pages of  a new book and the smell took me right back to the Goosebumps books she used to buy and read with me as a kid. When they turned Goosebumps into a TV show, she was so excited she made us t-shirts and a graveyard cake to celebrate.

I made cookies the other night and when I opened the bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips I immediately thought of making Toll House cookies at Christmas and how she was too impatient to let the butter soften so she'd melt it in the microwave. I used to make fun of how flat her cookies were but would sneak them right out of the freezer when she wasn't looking. The weird shape made them the best to  eat frozen for whatever reason.

Nathan and I got into an argument a few weeks ago, and she was the one person I needed to talk to about it. I would sit in her bathroom on the step of her tub and she would lean against her counter as I rambled on and on about whatever issue I was having. She would listen so patiently before offering up advice that I typically hated because it was right.

She did my taxes, listened to me whine, and made me dinner every Wednesday and Sunday. She visited my classroom just to see it, and growled when she was really, REALLY pissed off. My mom was strong, brave, and one hell of a woman. And lung cancer is what took her away from me.

I bet some of you had no idea the extent to which my mom fought, the agony she went through to continue living the life she loved so much with the people she loved unconditionally. I share my mom's story because she is worth sharing. Her battle is worth sharing, and her strength worth remembering. When you see me rocking my white ribbon this month, know I'm doing it for my mama.

Beachin' vs. Beachin' with a Toddler: 2014

This past week my family went down to the Outer Banks for a little vacation. Hurricane Arthur attempted to dampen the event, but failed to keep us away for more than the day it took to inspect our rental home. I spent the entire week prior making lists, packing, purchasing unnecessary items, and watching the weather like a crazy person. To say I was excited was an understatement, and when we finally received word Sunday morning that our house was cleared for habitation I was ready to burst. Pack 'em up and move 'em out!

There's really nothing quite like a little R&R at the beach. Except when you have kids. Or even A kid. Then there's really no R&R, unless of course that stands for romping & rolling. Rushing & removing. Ransacking and raging. Certainly no rest and relaxation as it used to be known. I knew being a beach-goer with a toddler was going to be different, but I was not prepared for the difference it would bring to my activities.

Beach with a toddler:
6:30 - Trash trucks are on duty. Hear toddler rustling about. Please, please, please go back to sleep.
6:45 - Toddler sounds the wake up call. Pull him into bed  with us and turn on cartoons. Silently plead with God for 30 more minutes of sleep. Toddler proceeds to crawl over parents and attempts to leap face first off the bed. Cartoons are no dice. We're up.
7:30 - Make executive decision to walk to breakfast. Being the only parents with a toddler means we're the only people up. Can't risk waking the hungover people. Load up with container of gold fish and cup of milk, and strap toddler in stroller. We're off!
8:00 - Order breakfast. Entertain toddler with straw papers, jelly pats, and gold fish (the edible variety) until food arrives. Feed toddler french toast sticks, which are a miss. Too eggy. Neighboring diners wave at toddler. Toddler smiles back and simultaneously pushes all the mushed up food out of his mouth and onto his belly.
8:45 - Decide it's still early enough to walk around without sunscreen. Enjoying the beautiful day when toddler makes retching sounds. Yep, toddler has thrown up all over himself. Exchange "WTF" glances with husband and begin mile speedwalk back to house.
8:50 - Make executive decision to pull stroller's sun visor down to hide toddler from approaching strangers. Nothing to see here, folks!
9:15 - Arrive back at house. Hose off toddler and stroller to remove chunks. Toddler loves it. Screams when the hose is turned off. Tote arching-back toddler upstairs.
9:30 - 11:00 -  Toddler terrorizes house. Attempts to remove plug outlets. Shreds toilet paper. Eats something weird off the floor. He doesn't choke, so whatever.
11:30 - Feed toddler lunch. Most of it ends up in his hair as he's used the lunch meat as a styling product. Pomenade de Turkey.
12:00 - 2:00 -  Toddler takes nap. Parents eat lunch and also lay down for 20 minutes, which turns into two hours. Oops.
2:00 -  Toddler is screeching. Retrieve toddler and attempt to get ready for beach activity. This includes applying sunscreen, seemingly equivalent to catching a greased pig. Toddler laughs as you chase him around. Finally catch him and put on swim suit and rash guard.
2:45 -  Parents and toddler are ready for the beach. Load up the beach bag with snacks, water, sunscreen, hat, towels, toys. Lug all of it and 26 pound toddler across dunes.
2:45 - 4:30 -  Chase toddler, who has no sense of life preservation as he decides to take a stroll down the beach alone. Also chase him as he's chasing the receding ocean water. Attempt to explain that yes, you have sand in your mouth. No, you can't get it out when your hands are covered in sand. No, you also can't rub your eyes when you have sand in your hands.
4:30 -  Toddler has had enough. Nothing at the beach can keep him content at this point.
4:30 - 7:30 -  Bath, entertain, dinner, bedtime.
7:30 - 10 -  Parents finally enjoy the beach... air. At least it smells salty on the deck. Also they drink beer.



Beach withOUT a toddler:
10:00 -  Wake up and check phone. Lazily roll out of bed.
10:30 -  Eat breakfast and put on your bathing suit. Grab a towel, your koozie and a beach chair and off  you go!
11:00 -  Pop the top on a cold one while reclining your beach chair and grabbing your book.
1:00 -  Lunch, and maybe a beach nap, falling asleep to the sound of the waves and seagulls begging for your Cheetos.
4:00 -  Pack it all in and head back to figure out what the rest of your evening looks like.
4:00 - 2:00 am - Do whatever the hell you want.

(Koozie courtesy of jandpaper)

And there you have it.

But really, while our time at the beach was different than any pre-baby vacation, we still had a blast. I loved seeing Finn's reaction to the water (euphoric), and he loved hurling himself into any sand hold he could find. With all of that said, though, we're still keeping our fingers crossed that next year is a teeny bit easier!

Mother Like Mine

For the first time since I can remember, I am up with the sun by choice. Not because I'm needed by Finn, or to get ready for work. I'm up because today, my heart is heavy.

Today is Sunday, May 11, 2014 - Mothers' Day.

Today is my first Mothers' Day where I have my precious son to hold in my arms. I'm working really hard to be positive and to see the good in my own motherhood and to celebrate how truly blessed I am, but it's hard when it's simultaneously my first Mothers' Day without my own mama.

It's the first Mothers' Day where instead of taking flowers to her at her house, I'll take them to her grave. The first time I won't buy a silly card for her because she can no longer read it. The first time I have to wonder where she is and does she know how much she's missed and loved? The first time I can't hug my mama on MOTHERS' DAY. Now that just doesn't seem fair.

When I start to feel envious of those who still have their moms (and let's be honest - it's frequent, as today everyone has a picture or post about their moms), I try to remember that none of them are MY mom. None of them help lead my girl scout troop, or created scavenger hunts for holidays. No one else let me sneak frozen Christmas cookies out of the freezer, or let me sit in their bathroom to talk when I needed advice. No one else made it to all of my school plays, concerts, parent-teacher conferences, or cleaned my puke off the stairs. No one sneaked my Facebook pictures offline so she could have a copy. No one else made sure that three kids were in three different locations so they could each participate in the extracurricular they wanted to. No one else sacrificed their time for ME.

Then, there's the fact that this year, I'm also a mom. THE mom to my sweet red-headed firecracker.

I get to change his diapers, get up in the middle of the night when he needs me, and listen to him cry when his teeth are hurting him. But that's just the start. I get to hold his hand as he stumbles through his first steps, comfort him when he's just face planted, make him giggle by tickling his shoulders. I'm the one that he clings to when the cows at the farm scare him. I'm the one that gets to see the grin on his face every morning when I pick him up out of his crib. I see the thrill in everything he points at, whether it's a fan, a car, or the dogs (and if I don't I'm really good at feigning it). And I'm the one he curls into at night when I rock him to sleep.

Sometimes being a mom is tough, but I'm tougher.

Earlier this week, I was tickling Finn on the floor. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his four teeth were showing as he was laughing, and I remember thinking if I love this kid any more, my heart may literally explode in my chest. Being a mom is something I'm still learning how to be, but I do know it's a love like I've never known.

Today, when it comes to my own mom I have no choice but to be reflective. I will cry today. I will be sad. But I will also cherish the memories that I have of her and be thankful that SHE was my mom. I will also remember the new-ish fact that I, too, am a mom. I am Finn's mom, and there's so much beauty in that to celebrate.

She Who is Brave is Free

God saw she was getting tired

And a cure was not to be,

So He put His arms around her

And whispered, “Come with Me.”

With tearful eyes we watched her suffer

And saw her fade away,

Although we loved her dearly

We could not make her stay.

A golden heart stopped beating

Hard working hands to rest,

God broke our hearts to prove to us

He only takes the best.

Hey Mama,

It's been a little over a week since you left us. I knew I was going to be sad when you passed away, but what I wasn't expecting was this hole I feel in my chest - this weight that doesn't seem to go away. I am constantly cycling through different emotions and I'm having a difficult time coping.

I'm angry. I'm angry at God for thinking this was the best plan. That He felt it was best to take away the promise of your life, to take a mother away from Jake, Sarah and me, to take Dad's wife and Finn's grammy. How could that be the best plan? How could leaving so many people heartbroken in your absence be what is best for you? For us? In the last few weeks you kept telling me, "Faith one way or the other." And, believe me, I'm trying really hard to have faith, but it's hard. I am also angry at your stupid doctor who missed the fact that you had cancer in your brain, even when you told him. I don't know what to do with my anger against him but it's there.

Someone recently told me that knowing your cancer was terminal would give me a chance to live without regret. I looked at that piece of information as sort of a silver lining as that is what it certainly seemed like at the time... I told you I love you every time I left and I had the opportunity to reiterate to you how proud I was of your courage and strength. And I would tell people, "You know, I get a chance to tell her how I feel before it's too late." So yeah, I thought I was living without regret. Turns out I was wrong. So incredibly wrong.

What I always come back to were those Saturday mornings a few years back when you and Grandma would go to breakfast and then shopping for the day. You always invited me, but at the time, 7:30 am seemed like the most ungodly hour, and I frequently chose sleep over time I could have spent with you. I wonder now how that made you feel and I cry a little every time I think about it. I come back to all those petty arguments I had with you over stupid things, like cleaning my room or going through my junk mail. I am sad about all the missed opportunities to spend time with you, to hear your experiences, and I'm sad about all the times I said, "MOM. You've already told us that story a million times." What I would give to hear those same stories one more time.

I'm jealous of everyone who still has their moms around. Nathan and I ran some errands on Saturday and we stopped at Applebees for lunch. I swear, it must have been mother-daughter day there. I wish we could have lunch again. I'm jealous of Nathan whose mom is still here for him. I'm jealous of all the people who look at me or our family and try to sympathize, but most have no idea what this is like. Yeah, I'm insanely jealous of people who don't know what this sort of pain feels like.

I'm trying really hard to look at the positives, though. I know that's what you would have done, and it's probably what you're expecting us to do. You did a hell of a job raising our family to be strong, and we're certainly all trying to do that now. We have an amazing daddy, and I have a wonderful brother and sister in whom I find comfort. There was also never a question about how much you loved us. I know you would have gone to the ends of the Earth for each and every one of us. The question is, did you know I felt the same? Probably not, and that tears me up too.

The last time I really got to see you I was rolling you around the halls of Lexington. I had absolutely no idea that would be the last conversation I would have with you, but I will forever remember it and the promise I made to you. You told me you loved me. I told you that I loved you too, and you asked me to make sure Finn didn't grow up not knowing who you are. I was sort of taken aback that particular conversation was happening but I assured you that would never be the case. Mom, I will always stand by that promise. You may not be here with us physically, but Finn will always know who you are. He will be well aware of the most amazing grammy he never got to know.

We've looked at a million pictures since you died. I wish we could have looked at them together to talk about them - did you know you had the most incredible smile? Besides that, what was also evident in every picture was the amazing mother you were to us. You are the example of what moms should be, and I will strive every day to be that kind of mom to my kids, even though I'm sure I'll never live up to you.

I don't know if this hole I'm feeling will ever go away. I've been told that it won't but that I'll find a way to cope with it. Until then, I guess I'll have to deal with the thoughts I have of you. I think about you all the time. The other day I bought some birthday cake M&Ms and caught myself thinking that I needed to save some for you to try. You would have loved them. I think about you when I'm rocking Finn in the glider you bought us, since "My grandbaby needs to be rocked." Or when I see the wicked witch is going to be on "Once Upon a Time." You are everywhere I look. In the wind as it blows the coconut windchime hanging from my pergola, in the lights that flicker in my house, in the sunshine that warms my face...

Thank you, Mom, for always being the mother I needed, even when I wasn't the daughter you deserved. You were so strong, especially throughout your battle, but now you don't have to suffer anymore. I am proud of you, and I am proud to be YOUR daughter. I love ya always, and I'll forever carry you in my heart.

Love Always,

Angie

Seven.

Height and Weight: Ehhh. I don't know? We really don't check on his weight and height except for during his well checks. The next one isn't schedule until March, so until then I'm left to my own estimation (which, for the record, is terrible.) BUT, if I had to throw a number out there... let's go with 19 lbs. No clue about the height, but I can tell ya he's certainly not getting any smaller.

Accomplishments: Finn is officially a sitter. You can plop him down anywhere and he'll SIT there. He's still a teensy bit wobbly, but he's got to start somewhere. He's also working SO HARD on crawling. He can get himself on all fours and then starts to rock. I know it's only a matter of days before he's truly mobile.

Sleep Habits: Sigh. Still fairly predictable but a few bad nights have been thrown in for good fun. He goes down between 7-8, and is up for the day between 7-8. The issues have been surfacing in the middle of the night. Some nights he wakes and starts to play for an hour or so. Others, he wakes seeking attention. Hoping it's just a phase that passes soon.


What's in His Belly: So much more than at six months. Finn has made his love for fruits well known. He also is not a fan of green vegetables. Or carrots. Really, the only veggie he's currently gettin' down with is sweet potato. And isn't that technically a root? He's loving pears, prunes (GROSS), bananas, sweet potatoes, and oatmeal. Not impressed with peas, green beans, carrots, zucchini. We're workin' on it.

Best Moments:
Without a doubt, Christmas. How much fun is Christmas with a seven month old? Like, a lot. Finn was such a trooper throughout both Christmas Eve and Christmas (naps? What naps?). In typical baby fashion, he showed way more interest in wrapping and tissue paper than any of the gifts he received. Our living room now looks like Toys 'R Us headquarters. What do we do with all of it?

Also, thought  he was sleeping, when the clock struck midnight on New Year's Eve, I quickly ran up and looked at the best thing that happened to me this year. Awww. That one gave you a cavity, didn't it?

Worst Moments:
As a mother, I could easily have put one of this month's "worst' moment in the best category, but I don't wish to be cruel. On December 21, Nathan, Sarah and I took Finn to see Santa at Bass Pro Shops. We got there at 5:00, and they were giving out tickets for the 8:30 slot, which, if you're keeping up, is way past the bedtime of the Finn. Fortunately, we must have had the first-time-parents-what-the-hell-is-going-on-here look about us, because the lady at the counter slipped us a 6:30 ticket instead. She was an angel. Waiting in line was easy. Finn smiled at anybody who wanted to look his way. He did this up until the minute I put him in St. Nick's lap. That kid took one look at Santa and promptly burst into sobs. Click, click. I scoop him up after the picture and whaddya know. He's all smiles again. Whatever. At least it makes for a good picture.

Ok, and for the real worst moment award. I had put Finn down for a nap one afternoon, and as he sometimes does, he was playing around in his crib. I didn't have the monitor with me because I could hear up the stairs. I heard Finn talking, and then I started hearing a whacking noise. It took me a minute to realize that there was nothing in his crib that could be making that noise, so I walked up the stairs and found that Finn had somehow maneuvered the cord from the monitor camera into the crib with him and was flinging it all around. He was beyond thrilled with himself. Don't worry. We fixed that immediately.