Elvis, Kasie and one hell of a Death Week.

Moving to Memphis, TN at 23 years old was an eye-opening experience in many ways.  Sure, this “Yankee girl” had spent some time in the south – Charlotte, Charleston, Savannah…. but those places are the “east coast” south.  A fair amount of outside influences have soften the edges, rubbed clean the old and replaced with some shiny new parts.  Still genteel, still outlandishly hospitable with unbelievable food, yet somehow softer.  More open.  Breezy.  Very different from THE South.  THE South feels closed off.  Amid all of the wonderful southern traditions there is a layer of old pride.  It is stubborn, stifling, mysterious.  Always a bit mysterious…..

We arrived in Memphis during The Firm era.  The parallel of our arrival – a young banker joining the ranks of the long-standing financial institution – was never lost on us.  It wasn’t long after arriving, and already being called a damn Yankee by a very serious older {gentle}man, that the ultimate pop culture, mind-blowing event began to unfold right before our eyes.

Subtle at first, it was more of a hidden secret that slowly unfolded into the greatest people watching spectacle I could have ever imagined.  I had already seen a lot – Beale Street, Tunica Mississippi casinos, hole in the wall barbecue joints …I had even seen Graceland.  On a “regular” weekend.

The celebration of the death of Elvis takes over Memphis for an unbelievable amount of time.  10 days.  TEN DAYS.  The most loyal fans humanity has to offer come into the city happy as a puppy with two tails.  They are ready to pay homage to The King of Rock and Roll in ways you can only imagine. Sure, Elvis impersonators and blue suede shoes are the imagines that come to mind, but trust me when I say that seeing an entire family – babies through the granddaddy – pour out of van dressed in various forms of Elvis takes it all to a new level.

Elvis sets the standard in celebrations of the dead.

Never in a million years would I expect to have my own death week…my own surreal remembrance of someone who I call The Awesome Girl for so many reasons.  Every August, always aligned with the start of the school year, I find myself going back to 2005, tracking 7 days on the calendar that forever changed my life in ways I am still understanding.  I am religious about it.  My Death Week is marked Day 1, Day 2…and there is nothing in the word that keeps me from remembering, as best as I can anyway.   Truly, for the trauma of the events that unfolded, I remember far more than I ever thought I would.  And thank GOD I do because it is my way of honoring a woman who I loved and admired deeply.  Some say I torture myself emotionally, reliving details, walking around on the verge of tears….but how else do you handle the loss of a BFF?  At 32.  With a 2 year old.  And pregnant with Baby Elizabeth.  Who had a husband and a career and friends and family….. It is not torture – It is an honor.

It has now been 10 years.  Nine times I have walked this memory path with Kasie’s family and friends.  What I have realized is that the memories of that week are sacred to me.  What the week brought to Phil, Kasie’s parents and family…..it is truly incomprehensible.

I know now that losing Kasie holds more for me than just a tragedy and a yearly death week.  Much like Kasie there is beauty and love and magic….there is loyalty, humor, and just a bit of insanity in these memories.

This story, Kasie’s story, has been sitting on my keyboard just waiting to be shared, for years.  When I allowed myself to take the risk and share my family’s journey on a blog, it was only from drawing strength from Kasie.  She was a risk taker, a believer in herself, a cheerleader for her loved ones and friends….she would have said to me “Do this girl!  It will be AWESOME!!”  And I am starting to believe she may just be right.  But perhaps it isn;t my story alone….perhaps it is OUR story that should be shared.

Tonight we are going to celebrate the memory of a remarkable woman – someone who lived life with enthusiasm, believed in the pure gold value of family and friends, loved her son the tater tot to the moon and back…..someone who deserves more than anyone (even Elvis, King of Rock and Roll) her own Death Week.  Maybe we will come in sundresses found at Marshall’s for a song (ok, maybe not Bobby…wait…that would be hysterical!!)…..we will most certainly all come with love and daisies in our heart.

It’s time to talk about Kasie and the lessons she gives freely to all of us every single day.  She deserves nothing less.

Love you girl!

Retraction :: Original 2015 Intentions SUCKED so I made some new ones….

I don’t even know where to begin today….

I think the best place to start is to retract, on some level, my previous new year’s post  (go ahead – read it here if you haven’t already – Living 2015 )  It was soft.  It sounded….squishy.  My voice is in there, somewhere, but it was way, WAY too nice.  Here is the thing – all of my intentions are great for me.  They are.  But where is the challenge, the inspiration, the kick in the ass that I really want to give?  Not in that post.  Not for myself and not for you.  So I am giving myself a re-do.

Here is what I really want to say:

IT IS TIME TO WAKE THE EFF UP AND FIGHT LIKE HELL FOR YOURSELF AND OTHERS!

Let me see if I can pull this together for you…

Stuart Scott was a familiar voice to me since ESPN is basically on permanent play around here, and I never gave him much thought until last year at the ESPY awards.  It was a powerful speech made even more so because it hit so close to home.   And so so SO sadly I didn’t think about him much again until the news of his death a few days ago.  Shame on me.  You know why?  Because what he said in that speech is IT.  Those words, so very powerful in the moment, faded.  We moved on with our lives…. and so did he until he couldn’t any longer.

We are incredibly lucky to live in a world FULL of second chances.

Now his words are everywhere – Pinterest and Facebook and Instagram – powerful words spoken by a powerful man 6 months ago.  We resurrected his spirit – AWESOME!  Let’s not let that spirit fade again.

This is my favorite image from the many I have seen.  First it gives the WHOLE quote, which is important, and it also shows what is in his heart, even MORE important.

Do you see what is written on his arms?  Look closely.  2 things.

1. Kicking Cancer’s Ass
2. Making  a Difference

Kicking Cancer’s Ass.  Yes, sir, you sure did.  Every damn day that it did not control your mind or your thoughts or your heart.

Making a Difference.  Amen brother!  Every damn day you turned your focus on others it was unable to control your mind or your thoughts or your heart.

Playing teacher now….

Read his quote.  The whole quote.  Now what if we changed the word cancer to whatever you have in your heart that is the sludge, the regret, the guilt, the boredom, the FEAR?  Make this quote yours.  Not an easy thing to do, I know.  It’s hard to look in that dark place.  It hurts.  You might cry or feel overwhelmed.  Boy, I hope you do because it is the only way to see that truth.  I am going to crack open that dark place of mine for you….

When I die, it will not mean that I lost any part of my life to the anxiety of being a caregiver to a husband with cancer.  I beat my anxiety by the way I lived, why I lived and how I lived.  So I am going to live.  Live!  I am going to fight like hell.  When I get tired, I will lay down and rest and I will let someone else fight for me.

Can you do it?  Can you now write it down? (oooh, that makes it even harder)  Can you write it down and save it somewhere?  (harder still)  Can you say it out loud to someone else? (ouch!  stop!)

I look around and see SO much more that I want to do.  Right now I can fight, and I can fight like hell.

I cannot even begin to list all the reasons why I can do this, want to do this and I should do it…..but they are the same reasons as you I suspect…. privilege, education, intelligence, privilege, talent, confidence, privilege……

My challenge for us this year is to never again forget the words of this man, and other men and women, that speak directly to our souls.  Words are the most powerful tool we have to change, to grow, to inspire, to heal, to nurture.  And when those words are backed by sincerity and energy and action – holy shit we might just be able to change the world.

Now THAT is a New Year’s post!

(By the way I MUST say thank you to one of my inner circle peeps – Anne S. – for basically calling me out last night.  She told me she was waiting to see what I had to say about 2015 (good LORD the pressure).  I told her my heart wasn’t really in that post at all.  Her response “Yeah, I know.  I could tell.”  Ka POW!)

He’s Losing His Hair and I am Losing My Sh&t!

I have 3 totally irrational fears. I used to talk to my kids at school about these as a way to open up discussion for what we are really afraid of in life. I have NO doubt that someone could analyze these issues and provide me insight. Not interested. Sorry. No comment on deep seeded problems needed – I have plenty of rational fears without worrying about these. I learned from years of working with adolescents and teens that they love to see vulnerability. They want to connect in ways that are real and know on some level they are not alone. Oh, right, so do adults…..  We all have crazy in the closet – all of us. I’ll show you my crazy if you show me yours……

I am terrified of tidal waves. Not the aftermath or the impact so much but rather the sense of doom…..Looking out at the ocean and seeing an enormous swell build and build. I never quite get to the crashing part, just the anticipation of it.

And bears. Not in the tidal waves or on the beach but just lurking around…. Looking up on a run and seeing a bear nearby. Or knowing that I am in my house and they are OUT THERE….. Damn bears. Sneaky little mothers…

Madness. I’m afraid of going mad and not knowing it. I joke that I am afraid I am the person walking down the street or in the grocery store having full on imaginary conversations out loud. And I don’t know it!  It’s possible, right? I catch myself talking out loud sometimes. What if that is just the tip of the iceberg? My head is a noisy place most of the time. Maybe some of that noise leaks out…. While going mad, can you even know what is happening? Is the madness so all consuming, so concrete and real, that you don’t even know…can’t even be told what is happening? Is writing about madness the first indicator of madness!?

I am pretty sure I have not gone mad yet…but I do lose my shit from time to time.

Let’s tackle this past week – radiation decides that it is about time to let the world know, in an in-your-face, can’t-deny-it way, that Eric is being treated for a brain tumor. This is a first. Never before have my EYES shown me what me head knows is true – my husband has a brain tumor. And my heart…well my heart was broken.

That small little bald spot grew like kudzu. Fast and furious until it was a big ‘ole patch on the side of his head. It had to go. Patchy bald spots are substantially worse than a fully shaved head we both agreed. And so it went.

I could not care less about hair. It means nothing to me (ask Lauri Ann,my hair stylist…my favorite request for her is that she not cut my hair too short because I need to pull it up nearly everyday in what I call my cancer ponytail). But I do care about giving this brain tumor an audience. Attention. A stage. That is what made me lose my shit. I had to see it staring back at me. I have to see people look at Eric and know they wondered….choice or necessity? I see the shock in a person’s eyes. It is quick for some – just a fleeting flicker of being caught off guard. Others avert their eyes completely (really? c’mon.) I don’t blame anyone – I am still caught off guard sometimes.

So my heart was broken. I was sad. I felt like I was losing my shit and getting close to mumbling out loud in Whole Foods….and then I healed.

I acknowledged my hurt. I welcomed it in and let it stay for a bit. No denial. No push to suck it up and be strong. No pressure to stop thinking about it. I let it be. I accepted it. I cried easily and a lot.

And then I loved on it….

Yep. I loved on that hurt and heartbreak. I took away its power by showing it, and myself, love. When it was time I wiped my tears, woke up the next morning and chose love. It came in the form of creating a really funny picture collage of Eric’s bald head, alongside Pitbull and Dr. Evil, and posting it as a way to show our friends and family our new “look”. Humor and laughter and love. Take that tumor!

I focused HARD on the children God has given me to love. Always, always AK and C and their friends and our family….but I am speaking of other children, children in desperate need of my time, talent and treasures. My Rockstars. I turned every bit of my heartache and worry and concern into love for them.

• Ashlyn who needed physical strength this week so we asked our community for prayers and inspiration. We surrounded her with “You go girl” and “Kick that cancer booty”. She is now out of the hospital and getting stronger every minute at home.  She has a key necklace from Rohr Rockstars with the word “love” engraved as a reminder that she holds the key to unlock any door she wants because she is surrounded by love.
• Monique who desperately needs an adult in her life that believes in her and will help her get her HS diploma.  I promised her I will be there to get those credits, meet with her school, teach her to count money….I gave her my phone number and we text now.  She tells me how much she wants an education.  Her key has notches – the ups and downs of life – but it still works.  It can still open the doors – it is never too late.
• Dyasia, the little whippersnapper, who snuggled and cuddled on my lap because having someone read to her is a rare treat.  I read to her this week, played pretend with some string and water and a cup and had worms as pets.  I’ll hold on to her Rockstar key until she is ready….

It is OK to lose your shit.  It happens.  The real work, the real “stuff” is in the recovering.  How are you transitioning from one mindset to another?  What are you doing with that negativity?

Far be it from me to assume I know anything except my experience BUT….I think true happiness comes from the space that is created in your heart and soul when you reach out to others in need.  It is taking your own shit and finding focus elsewhere.  It is being kind to your own heart and allowing it to hurt and then choosing to move beyond.  It is not in denial – I still feel the same way about Eric’s bald head – but I do know that my time of allowing those feelings to take up my time are gone.  They now come and go, acknowledged, but set free.

Want to CRUSH a brain tumor? Refuse. And Move.

My husband is having daily radiation and chemo.  I choked on those words the first couple of weeks.  I sat on pins and needles waiting.  Waiting for him to feel sick.  Waiting on him to be tired.  Waiting on him to…change.  Just waiting.  And then, as with every part of this journey, I found my new (again) footing.  I found it in the stories he brought home from his radiation visits.  I found it in the friendships he was making with everyone at Levine.  I found it in the jokes he was cracking, the love he was giving and the life he was leading.  As I always do, I found all my strength in Eric.  I found my strength in our love for one another, for our children, for our life and most definitely I found strength in our laughter.

Three recent moments have fortified me and allowed me to shift from waiting to living – all occurred during yoga (yeah, no surprise there.  seriously y’all, yoga is the bomb.)  One was a sense of being of surrounded by STRENGTH.  The word filled my head and my heart and gave me incredible peace.  I am strong.  Eric is strong.  Y’all are strong for us.  I came home to tell Eric and as it turns out he experienced a very similar moment (different message) at the same time.  Never doubt the power of the Holy Spirit to give exactly what you need when your heart is open to receiving.

The second moment came when I was checking my phone during yoga.  Don’t judge.  I have a husband with a brain tumor, and I grant myself permission to check my phone any damn time I want – even during yoga! 🙂  He told me he REFUSED to be tired from the radiation (even if his hair was beginning to fall out).  I focused on that word the rest of class – it became my intention for 90 minutes of movement.  An excellent word and one I find myself reflecting on often.  What can we refuse?  We can refuse negativity.  We can refuse to give up.  We can refuse to back down.  We can refuse to stay silent.  We can refuse to run away.  We can refuse defeat.  It is an empowering word – a word of choice and strength.  We refuse.  And when we refuse the negative, the ugly, that which does not serve us in a positive way….then what?  We MOVE.  We move toward the positive.  We move toward action.  We move toward joy.  We move into peace.

The last moment is actually one I experience every single time I go to my yoga studio.  It is quite amazing really.  Here I am with a group of once strangers who now feel like family.  I have become very close to some, others I know by their first names.  Still others I know their face and we smile.  We have a rhythm.  We have a shared purpose and connection.  It is simply the safest place I have ever felt.  The magic to me is alive within that space.  I laugh every day.  Every day there is something funny, something joyful and pure.  Laughter.  It lightens my soul and brings me happiness.  Once I began to see it, I started to crave it.  Along with all the other wonderful yoga benefits, I have a place that I can laugh every day.

I’m not waiting anymore for the bad stuff to happen.  I have found my STRENGTH to REFUSE and to MOVE toward LAUGHTER.  That is how you crush a brain tumor!

The New Car Phenomenon

OK, before I get to this post I have to tell you about an AWESOME encounter I had yesterday at Dean and Deluca.  Eric and I were meeting up for lunch, and as he was finishing his order, I was browsing the drinks.  I am not meticulous in many areas of my life, but choosing a drink I find especially difficult.  Tea?  Water?  Bubbles?  Soda?  Calories?  Weirdly overwhelming.  As I am considering my choices, I feel someone approach me and put her hands on my shoulders.  She says in my ear, with a huge smile on her face, “Every time I see you I just want to say “Fuck it!!!!””  YES!!!  We laughed and hugged like two school girls sharing a secret connection. YES!  Let’s just say “Fuck it!” when we see each other!  Fuck it!  I’m still smiling….

When I have a connection with someone like this, about my writing, I am humbled first off.  YOU read MY post?  And you remember what I said?  And it meant something….geesh.  THAT is nothing short of amazing.  But what I am also starting to witness is how much we crave commonality with each other.  It seems as though we are dying to know we are not alone in our thoughts and feelings.

Searching for common threads in seems to be bubbling up to the surface in so many aspects of my interactions lately.  Sure, I have long had the “cute shoes”, “love your purse”, “awesome earrings” bonding but this is transcending that by far.  I am feeling more connected, more REAL than I ever have.  I even have my sister posting cuss words on Facebook about breast cancer… It’s a beautiful thing.

Eric and I talk A LOT about the new car phenomenon, especially as it relates to the fucking brain tumor.  We get a Volvo SUV – everyone drives a Volvo SUV.  Start a blog?  Everyone has blog.  Diagnosed with a brain tumor?  Everyone has {or knows someone who has} a brain tumor.  Volvo SUVs don’t scare me and I am totally up for the blog competition, but the sheer number of brain tumors certainly has made my knees weak from time to time.  I have relentlessly pushed our doctors to explain WHY there is a proliferation of brain tumors in south Charlotte.  Every four months they once again, patiently (ish), reassure me that the incidences of brain tumors has not risen, but rather our ability to detect the tumors has become more advanced.  Humph….  I’ll ask again in another five days.

I actually think the new car phenomenon is what we are all looking for on some level.  A connection, maybe validation, to reassure us we are not to floating around alone.  We aren’t.  There’s your validation.  Other people have brain tumors.  Other people struggle to raise their children or believe in God or forgive their spouse.  You name it, it happens.  I get all kinds of worked up every time I go to the Ob/GYN.  Why?  Mine is not the first hoo-hoo she will be seeing…..geesh I am not even the first one that HOUR.  But yet it feels so…lonely.  But we aren’t TALKING about it, are we?

I find myself going back to what I wrote earlier this week and that is finding ways to be REAL.  Sometimes it is hard, right?  We wear so many masks for so many different reasons.  Many are self-imposed (like the perfection mask) but others come from the world around us.  It is hard.  I am lucky to be swirling around lately with a lot of people who are ready for changes in their lives, their children’s lives and in the world around us all.  The world seems to be looking for something….joy, happiness, peace.  I am honored to be one small voice, one small story, in a big movement to realign our perspectives.  I don’t think it takes a brain tumor….but I do believe it takes voices.

Screw Perfection :: Choose Practice

I am starting to believe that “perfect” may be the ugliest, most vulgar, and destructive word in our language.

In life there is not a perfect anything {Chase, my 12-year-old son, would argue for the perfect game in baseball….ok, fine. You got me there}. But other than something completely dependent upon statistics, perfection simply does not exist. Why then, dear friends, do we insist upon striving for something that isn’t real?

Teaching at an all girls schools in Memphis, TN in the mid 1990s was the best professional, and in many ways personal, experience in my life. Never before had I had the pleasure of being surrounded by so many girls and women. It was beautifully female 24/7…..I was drinking the Kool-Aid of single gender education and boy was I hooked. These girls and young women were spectacular. They came to school to learn and to achieve and to grow and to lead and to succeed. The standards were high. The girls rose higher. This is how to raise our daughters.

Years upon years in middle school classrooms have given me an awareness into not just beautiful adolescents, but our larger world. They are little mirrors of the million things that are right and the million things that are wrong in the world around them. We don’t watch them closely enough. We are far too quick to dismiss them because of their age, or their immaturity, or their hormones….. But they are, and they live, truth.

Perfection in our girls rears its ugly head and wreaks havoc far too often in their young lives. Perfect grades. Perfect shoes. Perfect binder organization. Perfect hair. Perfect color coded notes. Perfect skin. Perfect attendance. Perfect life. A young woman in the choke-hold of perfection is one of the most heart wrenching tug of wars you will ever see. There is a battle deep, deep down in her soul that consumes her every thought.  And it isn’t just our teenagers, is it?  I see it everywhere around me in my own peers. Perfect family, perfect home, perfect marriage, perfect life….  This ideal world we design in our minds stops us from being REAL.  And if we can’t be REAL I suspect we can’t find the elusive HAPPINESS we all desire.

I cannot help but notice how many articles, books, posts are written around the theme of finding happiness.  (Trust me the irony of that statement is not lost one me).  I have declared over and over again that my husband’s brain tumor has been my gateway to finding my happiness, my true joy.  I have thought and thought a lot about why that is, and I can only come to one conclusion…..I just don’t give a shit about most things anymore.

I no longer strive for the perfect house, the perfect children, the perfect body… I understand that all of it is a farce.  Fake.  NOT REAL.  I just want to be real.  I want things around me to feel real.  REAL lets me know I am alive.  REAL inspires me.  Real can’t be faked, and it sure as hell is not perfect.

I would love to replace how we perceive the attainment of our goals (and the goals we set for our children) to shift thinking away from perfection and towards the idea of practice.  My fellow yogis out there are smiling a little because we know, don’t we?  Hold on though, this is not just a “yoga thing”.  It is simply a lesson that can be cultivated from the practice of yoga.  Yoga is never, will never and does not ever strive to be perfect.  There is no end game.  No finish line or perfect time or promotion or raise.  It is simply a practice. (ok, not so simple but I won’t get on my yoga soapbox in THIS post)

How awesome if our children practiced skills needed to be life-long learners?  How spectacular if we practiced being the best parents we can be?  What if we practiced being a good wife or friend or community member?  What if we used our strengths and practiced the art of creating a new business venture? Do you feel it?  The relief of practicing.  Maybe you could practice writing a blog (no don’t, I don’t need the competition).

Think about how freeing it is to say I practice having a great life.  No perfection, just practice.  Fall down?  Keep practicing.  Mess up?  Keep practicing.  Fail?  Keep practicing.  And what if you knew everyone around you was just….practicing.  Whoa.  Mind-blowing.  Life-altering.

The unattainable is everywhere we look.  And our girls….oh our poor girls…. not only do they see the unattainable perfection, they now live in a world where they have to also show their perfect selves.  Instagram, Vine, Snapchat, Facebook…..What if we changed their conversation in their heads.  No more perfect anything.  Just a life in practice.

Wow.

674 Degrees of Fired Up and a Small Act of Unnecessary Kindness

Some days my whiskey doth runneth over the teacup.  But this week, oooooooh this week, it has reached its boiling point {172.94 degrees Fahrenheitto be exact).  I feel the unsettling energy in my body, and my mind is zipping around, popping bubbles with wild abandon.  I have always spent a lot of time in my head, thinking, thinking, thinking …. sometimes it even drives ME wild.  Right now….over it.

I picked a whopper of a challenge for Lent this year…  I have been working on not complaining.  I’m like Jesus in the desert….ok, not really.  But this week alone I have felt battered by the world around me.  The drama was coming at me from all angles – a very public fall from grace, a lack of compassion and sensitivity by an organization that means a lot to me, and disappointing behavior on a more individual level.  My radar has been on high alert, and I have noticed close mindedness, hypocrisy, segregation, inclusiveness, lack of compassion, negativity, disregard, disrespect, arrogance and general asshole-ness seemingly everywhere.  Newspaper articles, facebook statuses, tweets, conversations overheard….

Yesterday I was out to lunch at one of my favorite restaurants in Charlotte by myself.  Sadly not by design (although I enjoy just being alone more than I ever have in my life) – I wrote down the wrong date in my calendar.  The upside (there is ALWAYS an upside) – I get to go back next week and eat there again.  Oh, I also forgot to bring my credit card (actually the whole wallet) so I had no way to pay.  Earlier in the week I locked myself out of the house.  See how this is going?  Again, I digress… ( see earlier post about my ADD self diagnosis).

There were a few people in the restaurant, it was still early.  Two ladies came in about 30 minutes after me and totally disrupted the zen of my vegetarian haven, at least for me.  I doubt they were all that loud in reality – I was just done in by the accents. (NOT complaining – it’s a fact).  If you know me, certain accents are like nails on a chalkboard and these two were killing me.  Killing me.  This is my rationalization for eavesdropping….

One of the heavily accented ladies got up and approached a young girl at a table nearby (not next to hers) who was on the phone.  She, too, was eating alone but talking to someone.  I never even noticed (and by noticed I mean heard) this girl at all.  But I DID hear the self righteous and rude scolding she received from the accent lady.  The poor girl was clearly mortified to be fussed at by a stranger as if she was a naughty toddler creating a ruckus.  Apparently her choice to speak (discreetly) on a phone in a restaurant (not fine dining by any stretch) was inappropriate and disrespectful to those around her – mainly the self important woman who went out of her way to be ugly.  She went on to wag a finger (what?!), cluck her tongue, shake her head and let her know in no uncertain terms that she was ruining everyone’s dining experience.

I was furious.

My heart ached for this girl – it was obvious she did not deserve the treatment she received.  I saw her wipe away tears….

I whipped out my notepad, and I wrote her a note that went like this….

I am regretful that you had to experience firsthand the ugly and intolerant nature of others.  Your phone conversation was discreet and in no way offensive to anyone else in this restaurant.  You handled yourself with grace and dignity on the face of a clearly unhappy or self absorbed (maybe both!) person.  You did nothing wrong. XO

I dropped it by her table on my way out and looked back as I walked to the door.  Her smile was one of relief.

I did something.  It was small.  It didn’t change the world.

For three and a half years I have seen some of the most amazing acts of care and kindness from people around me.  Flowers planted in my yard.  Handwritten notes.  Meals delivered.  Hugs.  Texts.  Responses to this blog.

Unnecessary acts of kindness.

Why not?  Why not stand up for someone?  Why not do the kind thing that crosses your mind?  Why not?  What’s the worst thing that can happen?

I think a lot about the risks we are, or are not, willing to take in life. Big and small. Precarious or safe. What are we afraid of?

I spent a couple of hours this morning with a dear friend of mine who loves to ponder possibility as much as I do. He is my sounding board and mentor for big picture thinking. I love our times, over coffee, when we brainstorm ways to innovate and to inspire and to evoke change. A passionate entrepreneur and me….(I don’t have one word to define myself so neatly) huddled together at Dean and DeLuca, conspiring.

We talked a lot about failure.  We talked a lot about risk.  We talked a lot about people and their motivations.  We talked about personal challenges and life’s pivot points.

I view everything in life 100% differently than I did three and a half years ago.  My pivot point – living with a brain tumor.

The act of something unselfish, caring or giving to another is the best (and the only) way to find happiness.  Was I still chewing on everything from this week?  Sure.  Eric still has a brain tumor, too.  But there is a shift that comes from refocusing your energy from yourself and your mind to someone else.

Next time you feel that pull, listen.  It may just be the voice of God leading you to happiness, showing you it is time to get out of your own self and connect and support others.

 

 

 

When do we get a trophy for having a brain tumor?

I keep looking in the mail everyday, but no one has sent me a medal for this blog. I haven’t even recieved a certificate to hang on the fridge for participating. Oh sure, people have told me they love reading it and have been unbelievably supportive. I know I am doing what I am passionate about, I am doing my best, and I am making an impact. But where is my token of success to show everyone I am a winner? I want my trophy. Or a decal for my car.

No, I don’t.

I’m tired of my children getting accolades for mediocrity, too. (Sorry this blog isn’t mediocre- it is awesome. Bad comparison). And my kids are anything but mediocre. However….yesterday Chase was awarded a medal for his baseball team going 1-2 in a tournament. Really? One win? How about a medal to the kid who stopped to be sure the other team’s catcher was ok when his hand was accidentally hit by the bat? What about recognizing him? Are we so bound by the belief that we have to recognize everyone or no one that we can’t even be authentic in our praise?

I have become unbelievably sensitive to my kids developing some Grit and Moxie. My two new favorites words…. Grit for the boy, Moxie for the girl. Sure, they could both have Grit, or both have Moxie, but I love the two words equally.

They are growing up with a father who has terminal brain cancer. Through no fault of their own, they right away have to have Grit & Moxie. They will need it because life is not always sunshine and roses. And they aren’t the only ones…

I have thought a lot lately about resilience. A statement I get all the time is, “I don’t know how you and Eric are doing it. If I were facing what you are facing, I’d be under the covers or in the corner sucking my thumb.” Actually, I probably would have said the same things at other points in my life. I could not have imagined what I needed to not just survive, but thrive, over the past three and a half years. In the future I will need even more of this intangible Moxie thing . I know I have it, and it isn’t because anyone has told me, or given me a trophy or a pat on the back. It is because I have fallen down and been able to get back up again. Resilience is learned.

I think we are failing our kids. We are giving them a distorted sense of self and what accomplishment means. We are giving them too much; they are not earning enough.

It happens on the fields, in our schools, at home…. kids are not being allowed to fail {safely}. When you read inspirational stories, or Pin quotes designed to lift and propel and aspire to achieve greatness, the theme is pretty obvious…. Nike is a master at marketing this idea. “Just Do It” is pure business brilliance but there is something else there….a challenge to find the Grit & Moxie inside.

photo courtesy of carolina-coast.tumblr.com via Pinterest

I want the absolute best for my kids just like all parents. I want them to have the best possible education, to live in a safe neighborhood, and to travel and experience the world around them. I want them to play on sports teams and to spend time with their friends and to enjoy these fleeting, carefree years. And I want them to develop Grit & Moxie that will carry them through the rest of their lives as they aspire to provide the same things for their kids.

We handle the f-ing brain tumor the way we do for them as much as for us. We need them to see that life is beautiful in the face of adversity and, no matter what, we get up.

The only way they know they can get up is if they fall down from time to time in the first place.

To be continued……

Lessons of a Shamrock Shake

I derive a lot of joy sharing with my kids the things that excited me when I was their age. Simple things, really. It is why I go over the moon for snow in the winter. I grew up sledding, building igloos, ice skating on ponds – I know the magic of a snow day. I want them to know that magic, too. The whole world stops just for them to play, clothes are endlessly dried out, hot cocoa is all over the countertops, and everything truly seems right in the world. We were lucky this winter with a solid, three day long southern snow. They built a sledding ramp, the dog went crazy running up and down the street and our snowman was even knocked down by little pranksters. Perfect.

In my eyes my childhood can be summarized in one word – idyllic. All I want for them is when they are 40 to look back and see their childhood as idyllic, like I see mine. What a gift to give them.

Two all beef patties, special sauce lettuce cheese….

McDonalds used to be a really BIG deal to me. It’s funny looking back on it now, but I got all jazzed up about going to McDonalds as a kid. I was lucky enough to have two sets of grandparents who lived near me, and my Mam and Pap were always up for a good McDonalds trip with us. Mam and Pap were always up for anything really. In my memory Pap always had the Big Mac – we sang the song and even tried to recreate the “special sauce” at home. Notice it wasn’t about that toy in the Happy Meal. Although I surely begged for it, that wasn’t what I remember.

I have to say McDonalds doesn’t quite do it for me anymore – my kids will likely remember Bojangles as our go to fast food (how lucky are they!). When it is Shamrock Shake time though, I just can’t help myself. That was the ultimate treat. It was something special – it was green for goodness sakes! Today I decided to take Chase and his friend Jackson for Shamrock Shakes after school. I was not disappointed by their reaction- had I never done this before??? Green, non-vegetable food is inherently exciting for 12 year old boys – throw in whipped cream and you have a winner. Grimace is gone from the cup and now it is from McCafe (what the …..?) but there is still a bit of Irish magic.

Teachable Moments

I went into this little outing assuming that a small piece of my childhood would be shared, and they would have a snack before baseball. End of story. As we pulled out to drive home there was man at the next stop light holding a sign that said “I’m homeless. Please help.” In my mind, in a split second, I thought about our blessings. I can pick my kids up everyday from school, I can take them for a treat whenever I choose, I am driving a safe and reliable car…. time for a life lesson. I glanced over and saw both boys looking at the man. While not unusual in Charlotte, it is not so common that it doesn’t catch their attention. I said, “You know what boys? I have a granola bar in my bag I’d didn’t eat today…should I give it to him?” I got some shrugs, some mumbles of sure….so I rolled down the window. (I had a sense of where this exchange would go but I kept my thoughts to myself). I gave the man the granola bar with a smile and said, ” I hope this helps.”

Give.

“Mom. He didn’t even say thank you. Actually he was kind of rude.”

No, son he didn’t. And that is ok. I didn’t give him a granola bar to receive praise and thanks. If he is homeless and he is in need, then our granola bar will be a blessing. If he isn’t, then maybe it won’t be. But that is not on me or on us. We gave. End of story.

Why should we expect praise and adoration for something we are doing to benefit another? Why should we get a pat on the back? We shouldn’t.

Going through our journey with Eric’s brain tumor has given me many gifts, including being even more aware of opportunities to create memories with the kids, but perhaps more importantly to deliver life messages. I know my childhood, my family, and how I was raised is what has given me strength during the darkest of days. Look for the opportunities to teach your kids the lessons you want them to hold in their hearts- even a Shamrock Shake can be a blessing in disguise.

we are not deluded – we are just f*** ing happy!

This would have been the PERFECT Valentine’s Day gift – how wonderfully spot on after 19.5 years of marriage! I may frame it and put in on my bedside table right beside our wedding photo.

Stark contrast to yesterday’s post? Maybe. Absolutely true most days? You betcha.

Eric and I got married very young, 23 years old.  Barely.  We were the first of our friends to get married, and we were all clueless.  Babies.  The biggest regret for getting married so young? We got screwed on the gifts. We really, really did. As we went though our twenties we attended more weddings, clued into the social guidelines surrounding weddings and wedding gifts, and saw our incomes rise….a lot. And Eric and I realized we absolutely got bamboozled by our friends! The creme de la creme of “barely-out-of-college-and-dirt-poor” gifts came from a group of four fraternity brothers. They scraped their collective funds (assuming it was change found in the cushions of the rust colored corduroy couch) and went together to honor us with 3 Christmas ornaments. From Belk. Sentimental meaning? Nah. Desperation? Yep. Total investment – $20. Priceless.

Living in Memphis, TN with only each other to really rely on, we truly grew up together. Luckily we tolerated each other well….we still do. I would say that neither of us are particularly easy to live with (although certainly one of us is easier than the other). We are both first born, type A, opinionated and competitive. We value humor as a way to survive the day, and we can be relentless when it comes to each other. I think we frighten people sometimes with our back and forth. It isn’t exactly bickering….but it comes darn close. There is never any malicious intent, it is simply what we do. When you mix in our massive differences – OCD vs ADD, wound tight vs laid back, smart vs brilliant (ha ha ha), some days tolerance is like winning a gold medal.

I know without a doubt that loving tolerance is all I ever want from this marriage – is it the pinnacle of a successful long term relationship. I have never wanted to be coddled and spoiled. I don’t want to be doted on, and I don’t want my kids seeing me that way. I always want to be challenged.

So here we are, nearly 20 years of marriage and dealing with a brain tumor that has no cure and really no treatment (or none that actually work). I know that some people think we are in denial (Uh oh! Yep, someone told me you said that!!!). I can promise you the last thing we are is in denial. We are simply fucking happy to be tolerating each other every single day. We have strong faith, incredible families, amazing friends, and lots of love. But we do not have denial. We choose to love and tolerate, to push and pull and we choose to be our own version of normal. It is survival.

Tolerance is the key to marriage – laughter is the life raft.

A New Kind of Love :: I Like to Call it Glioma Love

Boy, those ancient Greeks really got some things right. Seriously. If you ever have a chance to study in depth Ancient Greece (I’ll even extend to Ancient Rome – you are welcome Ann Clair!!) – go for it. The Greeks had an amazingly complex society and, in my opinion, a refined approach to life. It has always been the one part of history that has captured my imagination. So much so, in fact, that I was a Classics major for 2 years in college, complete with Ancient Greek as my language choice. To say that my academic interests are diverse might be a bit of an understatement. Others might simply point to undiagnosed ADD….there is something to be said for that theory, too. Ahhhh, but I digress…

Back to the Greeks (and my point). The body of Greek literature we have today is a treasure. It is at times a raw and real account of human nature, and at other times it is a lofty pursuit to understand the meaning of life and love. It is rich and diverse and completely unique to that time in history. Men (ok, here is a big of a snag in my Greek admiration – too many men in the philosophical driving seat) contemplated life, happiness and LOVE.

Six Words for LOVE
My life has given me the opportunity to be a bit of a philosopher in my own right, particularly in the past year. Most of my thoughts still live in my head and slowly they are emerging and coming to life on virtual paper. That alone is an amazing and transformative experience. I am pretty sure we do not allow enough time in our adult lives, and certainly in the lives of our children, to simply think.

All week long I have been thinking about love. I am not the biggest fan of the contrived Valentine’s Day, at least not as a romantic holiday. I do love it for the kids – I’ll take any opportunity to let them know how much I love and adore them. They need to know about unconditional love and feel it as much as possible. It will sustain them as adults during hard times – this I know for sure. You cannot spoil a child with too much pure, unconditional love. The Greeks called this storge – a subset of philial love which defines true and deep friendships. That’s beautiful. Words to define and describe different types of love. It is actually brilliant.

The Greeks had six words to describe different types of love. They acknowledged the differences between young romantic love and mature love between partners in a relationship. Ok, we all understand those and hope to experience both in our lives. We get the love of friends and certainly the love among family members, particularly the love for our children. But there are other loves, very important loves, that often escape our attention.

The type of love that I have been BLESSED with coming to know is something I truly never, ever considered in my life. It is the purest and most emotional type of love I have ever known. This love is excruciating at first, but has the potential to be joyous at the same time. It has shifted my entire world. There is nothing that happens, from the smallest, most mundane event to the bigger, more important memories, that isn’t colored by the this type of love. As a (relatively) young woman, it is an uncommon type of love, but I know there are others in my community whose lives have taken a turn just like mine. They too have felt the impact of this love. Some have taken the journey to the end of the road, some are where I am, and others are just beginning to understand this love.

As I watched both sets of my grandparents grow older, I saw glimpses of this love. When my father was diagnosed with cancer, I saw it in my parents. It is the love that represents “standing in love” – the Greeks called it pragma.. Pragma is about making an effort to give love rather than just receive it. I do think any committed, long lasting relationship has pragma. But there is a subset (in my humble opinion) of pragma – I’ll call it Glioma Love (GL for short). It is the intense love for another person that comes when the reality of losing your love partner, your life partner, to disease or old age is truly realized. When death is no longer a far flung idea, when it is staring you in the face in the form of an MRI or a diagnosis, that is when GL appears. It is the love that tears your heart wide open when you know someone will die. And maybe, in its most intense form, it is when the death comes far too early in life.

So the excruciating part of GL for me is knowing my husband will die from a brain tumor way too early in his life. When death is a fact, GL emerges. This love is not resignation. This love is not the loss of hope. This love is what happens when you and your partner in life both accept mortality. It is excruciating.

It is also produces some of the most flawless moments of love I have ever felt. This is where I believe the opportunity to think, to imagine, to hurt and to cry are the greatest ways to heal. It is about acceptance, not denial. It is about living right now, not in the unknown future or the inaccessible past. It is all about LIFE. Vibrant, emotional, energetic, flawless LIFE. It is the strongest and deepest bond that two people can share – the journey towards the end of life.

If you are crying, the way I am, that’s ok. That’s GL. That is understanding how powerful this is type of love, even if it is just in the form of a story, can be. Sophocles was spot on when he said….

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life:

That word is love.

My hope is that today, our designated day of love, you take some time to think. Not to be sad but to be joyous. Joyous in your blessings, joyous in your defeats and challenges. Peel the layers and find the love that resides in every experience we are given.

Happy Valentine’s Day

Dealing with a brain tumor is a lot of things [like it totally SUCKS] – but it is not UNFAIR

Filed away from my years of teaching middle school students is my list I call “Things you will never hear in a corporate board room….” Little nuggets that, said in respectable society, would astound and amaze, and yet in the alternate universe that is a middle school, were simply priceless. Many, many came out of my mouth, others out of theirs.

Hey Mrs.Rohr, is Uranus filled with gas?

(Quick aside – planetary studies involving Uranus have produced some the heartiest belly laughs I have ever had. To read a fictional travel pamphlet created by a fifth grade boy about the many pleasures to be found on Uranus is a rare treat in life.)

Mrs. Rohr – I think it is pretty cool that you made your hair frizzy today since we are starting electricity. It looks like you stuck your finger in a socket.

(Another quick aside – I did nothing special to my hair in preparation for the electricity unit. Humph.)

Of course I dispensed my own gems, nothing like my dear, dear friend and teaching partner Judy could whip out at a moment’s notice, but I held my own. I cannot think of a place that requires a heartier sense of humor more than the middle school classroom. Ok, well maybe the ER with your husband who is doped up on anti-seizure medication and loudly proclaiming a whole host of inappropriate activities occurring in the side rooms in the hospital. Actually THAT requires some humor. Luckily I have a huge one (sense of humor that is).

Anyway, those little {pre} pubescent devils can be so outrageous, so daring, so inconsiderate, so endearing , so hysterical…..they are just “so” everything. I miss them everyday. I also know that without my time with each and every one of them I would not have been able to handle my husband’s brain tumor diagnosis in the same way.

If you read my last post you know that Eric and I have chosen humor to diffuse and diminish any power his brain tumor has on our lives. It is not the only powerful force in our lives, in fact there are a lot of pieces in this coping puzzle. For me, something I used to say, and believed in wholeheartedly as a teacher, has become a bit of a mantra for me during this cancer journey.

Fair is not always equal.

Eric’s brain tumor SUCKS but it is not unfair. Fairness, my life being on an even playing field with everyone else’s, has nothing to do with this. If I accepted that terminal brain cancer was unfair, then I have to accept the idea that it has power over how I live my life. I am the only one who has power over my life. I make the choice, each and every day, about how I will respond to challenges, victories and everything in between. I can choose to allow disappointments to fester and label them as unfair, therefore relinquishing my control, or I can find acceptance and inspiration through those challenges.

Think about when you label something in your life as “unfair”. It is a slippery slope, my friends. It leads to excuses and circumvents the power we all have over our own lives. And what about kids? How are they viewing fairness in their lives? How often do they use the excuse that someone else, something else, is making their lives unfair? Resilience and moxie – that’s what challenges should give us.

Life is going to throw punches. Why not punch back?