and don't be gazing at that mountain or river in the distance
and saying, "How shall I ever get over them?"
but keep to the present little inch that is before you
and accomplish that in the little moment that belongs to it.
The mountain and the river can only be passed in the same way
and, when you come to them
you will come to the light and strength that belong to them.
~ Kelty
This photo, snapped yesterday as we celebrated Dave's and Chris' birthdays, was taken the exact same day as the photo in my previous post was when we gathered a year ago for the same event.
The hours were filled with good food and drink, birthday cake, presents, the girls ruling in the Taboo competition (as usual), a pathetic Bears game on TV, jokes and laughter, and especially, the joy of being surrounded by Chris & Tasha and Sarah and Matty & Beth.
Dave and I love it when all the kids are home,
the best part of his birthday celebration he later remarked.
But as the thrum of yesterday's energy fades into the stillness of today, as I remove the leaf from the dining room table, wash the glassware and try to figure out what's for dinner tonight, my insides ache as I pull these photos into my post and stare at the gaping hole left by the lack of Erin's presence, and I wonder how I'll survive each occasion in the future.
Much of the time it's a struggle to imagine doing so, and I desperately hope that "the light and strength that belong to them" ~ the goodness and love of our beautiful family and the united front borne of our common bond ~ will sustain me through each event that occurs in spite of this chasm left by the death of my youngest child, especially as these days edge toward the upcoming holiday season that I look at with growing dread, and I keep repeating to myself ~ stay in each little moment, Mary. A day at a time... each little inch.
I'm publishing my blog post today at 5:23pm in celebration of a big event.
On this date 30 years ago, after working awfully hard,
my labors paid off,
and I gave birth to our first-born, Christopher David, at 5:23pm.
How can it be? 30 years ago?!
Was he really that tiny?!
From an early age, Chris' personality traits were quite evident.
He sets high, yet attainable goals for himself,
finding it necessary to regroup at times,
but always strives to do his best
with the task at hand.
Arming himself against potential villains in his path,
with protective head-gear and a quick get-away steed in place,
(one can never be too careful)
he forges onward and never shies away from a challenge.
He is not afraid to voice his opinions in clear, concise tones
so that all can appreciate his views.
Pooh Bear was waved for emphasis in this particular situation.
Insert a textbook or clipboard at present.
On occasion though,
he feels a more in-your-face effort
is required to make a point.
At times he winds up with his foot in his mouth.
Not to worry, you're in good company!
Through the years, his younger siblings have occasionally found themselves questioning important matters or are at a loss about what to do in certain circumstances.
Chris, considering his position in birth order a very serious responsibility, takes pride in paving the way for the younger ones.
He is confident with his responses as they look to him and ask,
"What Would Chris Do?"
Hanging on his every word, they're rarely disappointed.
At an early age, with the help of his Irish grandfather,
he learned to kick back and enjoy a cold one.
(Guinness was a little too heavy back then.)
Thank goodness, as this is an important outlet
during a disappointing football season.
And... every once in a while
he gets kind of crazy!
While holding those good memories of past celebrations pretty close Chris,
I wish you a very
that will enable you to coast, and then change course.
In a previous blog post I extolled my ability to multitask with a high energy level and near-neurotic attention to detail, and among my character traits listed a passionate enthusiasm for things with substance; the most prominent at this time ~ a focus on the cancer world and the effects of the disease on its victims inspiring my desire to smooth the path for those presently in the throes of it all.
I also talked about the way I typically dive into my passions head first or jump in with both feet depending on the circumstances. Yes, it's true. And it's also true that sometimes when that is either my instinctive reaction to a situation or my planned route of choice, I end up leaping in a less prepared fashion than I should. This carries the potential of a rougher-than-desired meeting with the ground if things don't line up as expected.
Well, with respect to my recent job endeavor, that rocky ground loomed with growing clarity each day as I tried very hard to deny what my gut was trying to tell me. In effect, I crash-landed with the harsh realization that I WAS WRONG! I resigned from my position at the end of last week.
Just when I thought I knew myself so well, I wound up discovering a whole lot more over the past several weeks, which really only serves to reinforce the awareness that I am not the person I was before December 15, 2006. This is certainly not a new self-revelation, but merely a vivid presentation in a new area due to my recent endeavor of leaping into full-time employment after not working in that capacity since before the day of Erin's cancer diagnosis, and doing so in a field I've only experienced on the receiving end.
I discovered the hard way that things are a whole lot different from the perspective of the patient, as opposed to the nuts and bolts of what actually happens on the other side of the counter. Yes, the nurses and other staff members about whom I previously wrote absolutely made our lives bearable, and most certainly did inspire me to pursue this avenue of employment, but an entirely different world exists from this other point of view, and I found myself unprepared for a good deal of it. I wouldn't have truly understood all this had I not taken the chance when this employment opportunity arose.
Through many a sleepless night, a DVD of valuable lessons played in my head. I had to hit the Rewind button on several, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
~ Things/jobs are not always what they appear to be on the surface. (a real no-brainer)
~ I am prone to having idealistic views of the way I WANT things to be as opposed to the way they really ARE at times. (take off the rose-colored glasses Mary, sometimes reality bites)
~ In a new situation, I have to walk before I can run, and at my age and after everything I've been through over the past four years, I'm only going to run toward something fulfilling. (there was not enough Gatorade offered on the job site to provide support for increasing dehydration)
~ I can still multitask with the best of them only when given the proper tools with which to do so, and I don't want to work all day every day at a frenzied pace because that environment doesn't afford the opportunity to be in the present moment with the people whose lives it is my goal to touch. (because the moments wound up being too fleeting and the setting too frantic)
~ I don't want to spend 10 hours away from home every day and return feeling so exhausted that there is nothing left in me to do anything except get things ready for the next day and go to bed. I've run on that hamster-wheel in the past, working 12-hour-plus days, and I just don't want to do that anymore. (there really IS life after the age of 50 and after 30 years of marriage)
~ In spite of hiding the Chivas from Keenan, I continue to find more evidence of shenanigans :)
Some may question a decision made too hastily without enough time given to adjust to my new surroundings and responsibilities. My response is to rest assured that even though I may not know exactly what I'm meant to do next, I DO know what doesn't feel right. The pace and setting of this particular job won't allow me to fulfill my professed intention to walk the walk and instead would only serve to run me ragged, and I have very strong convictions about my right to be as happy as possible after all I've endured.
You know, the great thing about wile e coyote (with a little help from the cartoon animators bestowing powers of super-human resilience and invincibility) is his ability to resurrect himself from the numerous crash-landings he encounters in his pursuit of the roadrunner. Yes, he often does wind up in a heap, but then he simply picks himself up, comes up with another brilliant plan and tries again. He hasn't caught him yet, but someday... who knows?
Stupidity or unfailing tenacity and resolute determination?
When your child has cancer, you learn to devise some brilliant plans in order to survive each crash landing and roadblock encountered as the disease stubbornly progresses through its stages. Those years taught me the value of heap-recovery and redirection of intended paths.
So, I'll go with tenacity and determination.
For now, I'll put on my lime green wings and coast,
and in time I'll figure out what comes next.
And yes, today marks 10 months...
Thanks to those who remembered.
As I walk through each day now, amidst vivid memories of the dramatic shift that began to occur a year ago at this time, I gather the images of Erin strewn before me like a bread crumb trail on the path of my daily existence, following where they lead my heart.
My ever thoughtful friend Karen forwarded this poem to me one day, from The Writer's Almanac.
Oh, to be carried in a pocket when one feels so raw...
Morning Song
Marcia F. Brown
Here, I place a blue glazed cup where the wood is slightly whitened. Here, I lay down two bright spoons, our breakfast saucers, napkins white and smooth as milk. I am stirring at the sink, I am stirring the amount of dew you can gather in two hands, folding it into the fragile quiet of the house. Before the eggs, before the coffee heaving like a warm cat, I step out to the feeder- one foot, then the other, alive on wet blades. Air lifts my gown – I might fly – This thistle seed I pour is for the tiny birds. This ritual, for all things frail and imperiled. Wings surround me, frothing the air. I am struck by what becomes holy. A woman who lost her teenage child to an illness without mercy, said that at the end, her daughter sat up in her hospital bed and asked:
What should I do?
What should I do?
Into a white enamel bath I lower four brown eggs. You fill the door frame, warm and rumpled, kiss the crown of my head. I know how the topmost leaves of dusty trees feel at the advent of the monsoon rains. I carry the woman with the lost child in my pocket, where she murmurs her love song without end:
Things have sure changed a lot around here lately. Mama is still waking up very early, but now instead of spending the morning together doing a lot of writing like we've done for months, she only sits with me for a little while as she drinks her first cup of coffee. Then she dashes upstairs and gets in the shower. I follow to see if we're getting ready to go somewhere, like for an early morning walk, but instead of putting on her sweats and gym shoes, she puts on some fancy clothes that she recently bought at the store, grabs her purse, gets in the car and drives away - WITHOUT ME! I'm having trouble understanding a lot of what's going on. She's using the words WORK and JOB a lot, and there seems to be a pattern developing. She leaves in the morning at about 7:00 and doesn't get home until 5:00. Good thing my bladder is big!
It's such a long day without her here, and sometimes I get really scared that she won't come back... just like Erin. Erin used to go to the hospital a lot for treatments and sometimes she even spent a whole week there, but eventually she came home and I was always so happy to see her. But, one day she went away and didn't come back. I was in the room that day when she had to go away. Mama and I talk about that day, and together we repeat She's really not coming back to one another. We get very sad and she still uses my mane when she can't find the kleenex box. I like it when she hugs me like that.
I still love to carry Erin's socks around the house, so they always leave a few pairs on the floor for me. Mama says we are all making adjustments and finding our new way, and change is difficult
and we all have to work through the things
that are different and scary and sad.
I guess she's right, but sometimes I just have to snuggle up with a little reminder of Erin and sleep on all those thoughts.
I have to say that Mama has been looking a little disheveled lately. She's been studying big packets of papers with a lot of writing on them. They've been teaching her about the words and pictures on them at that place she calls WORK. I often find her sitting at the island in the kitchen and talking about things like a Recurring HAR and EEV and Medicare Coverage and Interactive Face Sheets and P/F Guarantor Accounts and Primary Care Physicians and Referrals and... blah blah blah!
Over the two-week classroom training period, she had to take six assessments on the things she was taught. She says, "Who do they think they're kidding? Assessment really means TEST!" She hasn't taken one of those so-called ASSESSMENTS since college and all students have to score a 95% or better just to PASS the assessment! She was a little stressed out, but she did it.
On some mornings, she tells me her tummy feels a little yucky because she's nervous. I understand. My tummy has been a little yucky too. I threw up on the rug once when she was at work. I think I was just missing her a lot. She cleaned it up when she got home and told me it was OK. She said a patient threw up at work one day too. Accidents happen.
She walks around and babbles, Dr So-and-So is this type of oncologist and is in the Clinic on Mondays and Thursdays, and you in-basket this nurse for these three doctors, and they'll do scans at this location but they can't at that location, and you can schedule appointments in the lab by clicking on this button and... blah blah blah! She's trying to remember so many new things.
I've been thinking a lot about the way they used to help me remember how to sit and stay and come. They used treats and praise, and it took a lot of practice to get everything right. I used to get very confused about what they were telling me to do, but they were very patient. Mama says everyone at work is really patient and nice, and they help her because there is so much to learn, and new things come up everyday. She's working with ladies who have been there for many years and they know everything. I tell her she'll know everything someday too. I'm going to tell Papa to get some Peanut M & Ms at the store next time he goes, and I'll use them to reward Mama when she gets the right answer. That should help her learn faster!
She shocked me one day when she came home and said, "Keenan, my dogs are barking!" I wondered what the heck she was talking about. I'M her dog and I wasn't barking! I usually don't because it's rude. I was pretty jealous because I thought she'd met other dogs at this new job of hers that she hadn't told me about, and then I finally figured out she was referring to her feet! It's because of those SILLY GROWN-UP SHOES with heels she has to wear now rather than her gym shoes.
One day while she was studying the phone rang, and she answered it and said, "Cancer Center - Clinic B, this is Mary, how may I help you?"! What the heck is wrong with her? This isn't a Clinic, this is our house! DUH!
She tells me about all the nice nurses she's meeting, and about how they're so compassionate toward the patients. We talk about how Erin would have been such a great nurse. We used to say, "No one understands better than one who has been through it." and we'd both tell her she was REALLY going to understand her patients, but Erin never got the chance to do that. Then, Mama buries her face in my mane.
Erin had a blood pressure cuff, and one day she was messing around and I let her check to make sure mine was OK
in spite of all the treats I was getting.
Whew - I was fine! 120/80 ~ perfect.
Bring on those table scraps!
We're both having trouble with the fact that we can't spend as much time together doing things we know Erin would like. During the summer we used to go down to the lakefront, and while we walked the path and looked at the water we thought about a lot of important stuff, and Mama would stop and write those things down in her journal. I was always consulted.
The weather today is really chilly, which reminds me that winter is coming soon. On weekdays, we often walked the trails in the woods when no one else was there. It was so pretty and quiet without the crowds that fill the paths on the weekends. Mama and I stopped and talked about Erin a lot while we were out among those trees. We felt really close to God out there too. Now, our time to do that will be limited and it bothers us.
We'd often walk through the woods and over to Bronswood and spend time under Erin's pine tree. We felt a sense of peace while sitting in the snow and breathing deeply in the crisp air. Now we can only go on the weekends, and that's hard too.
But, Mama says she is really happy about her decision to go to work. Even though she can't be "in her head" with Erin in the same way, she feels as though Erin's spirit is in her heart as she walks into the Cancer Center and interacts with everyone. On her most-difficult days, and even when she has come home in tears a couple of times because she's felt overwhelmed, she knows this is what she wants to do. Every single day when we all sit together and talk about her day, or when the three of us go for our nightly walk, she says, I LOVE THE PATIENTS. This is what I need to do. This is where I want to be.
So yes, there have been changes ~ a lot over the past twelve months. Erin was still in college a year ago at this time... and now look where we all are. Each of us is adjusting ~ finding our way. Mama really misses spending time with her friends, and she's trying to find more time to write. There are so many thoughts swimming in her head that she wants to write about, but when she gets home she is too tired to put together sentences that make much sense. Instead, she tells me all about them and jots down notes, and then composes at a later time, usually on the weekends. That may change as she gets more accustomed to things at work.
These days, Papa usually gets home before she does, and he lets me out the front door so I can run to the end of the driveway and look down the street to see if her car is coming yet.
Then, he calls me back up to the porch, and on nice days he pours a glass of wine and we wait together for her on the front steps. She's always so happy to see me that she doesn't notice when I take a couple of sips.
So, it's all good. We're taking things a day at a time, and we're all learning how to do it together. Papa has even been cooking dinner most of the time, which makes Mama really happy. I think he's doing a great job ~ those table scraps are delicious!
Do you remember when you were in 5th grade and it was your birthday? Wasn't it fun to have a party with all your girlfriends and receive a bunch of cool gifts ~ perhaps some new clothes, a video game, a new CD, or maybe some great-smelling lotions and some bottles of nail polish?
I need to tell you about two young ladies from St Cletus School who recently celebrated their 11th birthdays together.
They hosted a party,
complete with yummy pizza and birthday cake and ice cream.
There were sounds of chatting and giggling,
and a lot of beautiful smiles lit up the room.
Just what you'd expect to find at the usual birthday party.
But... there was something REALLY SPECIAL
about this particular one.
No one brought gifts for the two girls
who were celebrating their birthdays that day.
You ask ~ Why not?
Well, I am so pleased to share the answer with you!
It's because those young ladies had read my blog post about BRENDAN'S IDEA to collect toys and gift cards for The Pediatric Oncology Treasure Chest Foundation, and after doing so decided to ask their friends to bring gift cards to donate to the Foundation instead of bringing presents.
They understood that there was something more important than receiving fun birthday gifts like those listed above. Instead of thinking of themselves, they put their own wishes aside and took the time to consider some children who are less fortunate.
I received a beautiful message from these girls ~
"Everyone hopes the cards can provide a little bit of happiness
to kids who deserve all the happiness the world can provide."
WOW!
Back in June, I wrote a post about Erin HERE, in which I said,
I'm filled with such intense hope that a little piece of her
is somehow carried forth into everyone she touched,
through the life she lived for eighteen short years,
before AND with cancer.
That thought, of her sustained presence in some form, settles my heart these days.
And so ~
Alexis
Grace
Eliana
Emily
Heather
Lauren
MacKenzie
Madeline
McKenna
Phallyn
Rhyan
Tajia
YOU have settled my heart.
YOU have led by example, which is the best way to make an impact.
YOU have Walked the Walk, and not just talked!
YOUR actions speak to those of us watching.
YOUR kindness, generosity and selflessness is a lesson for all.
I'm so very proud of and deeply grateful to each and every one of YOU.
xo
Last Monday evening Lyons Township High School hosted its Senior Night festivities for the varsity volleyball team, and in conjunction with this year's celebration the LT community graciously honored Erin.
Flyers were posted throughout the school and in the windows of local businesses the week prior to the event, encouraging attendance and promoting awareness of Erin's foe ~ Ewing's sarcoma. Donations for the Sarcoma Alliance for Research and Collaboration were collected through the sale of T-shirts designed by the members of the volleyball team, and also through the collection of that evening's gate receipts.
$2000!
We love the shirts! Thank you girls.
During this annual ceremony, each of the team's seniors is recognized for her high school achievements, future plans are highlighted including college choices and intended majors, and those who've earned volleyball scholarships are acknowledged. A booklet, created especially for the evening, details some of those plans and also includes fun facts about each of the girls.
Of course I had to dig out Erin's booklet
and photos from her Senior Night,
including THE OFFICIAL CAKE PICTURE.
Coach P reminded everyone that there is always
THE OFFICIAL CAKE PICTURE.
She's right. Here it is!
Erin played volleyball at LT during her freshman and sophomore years, and then was sidelined by her hip/femur replacement surgery following her cancer diagnosis in December of 2006, at which point she stayed involved in the program as a team manager during her junior and senior years.
I have no idea what was going on in this photo, but it just makes me laugh to see the expressions on the faces of the girls as well as Coach Joann Pyritz's reaction. From personal coaching experience, I know that sometimes you just shake your head at some of the comments your players come up with during a game situation!
Advil anyone?
This relationship began years ago, when Erin first met Coach P at the age of six as she ran around the sidelines during her sister Sarah's high school playing years. At that time she impressed Coach P with her confidence and tenacity by boldly informing her she would someday be "better than Sarah"! The youngest child in the family tends to be a bit more forthright:)
As the ceremony began on Monday evening, Coach P spoke to the crowd about Erin, and through eloquent words did an extraordinary job of capturing the essence of her spirit. She highlighted Erin's drive and athletic ability as a player, and then focused on her courage and positive attitude as the team manager once she could no longer play.
When each senior player was introduced, she was presented with a sunflower ~ the symbol of hope for those with sarcomas ~ as she joined her parents on the court for recognition. It was another lovely gesture of remembrance included in the ceremony.
Thank you to ALL who were in attendance, our little community once again ~ this time a sea of purple who filled the bleachers and rose to a standing ovation that brought us to tears. There were so many of you,
~ LT principal, assistant principal, and several of Erin's teachers
~ LT students
~ Parents of many of Erin's teammates and classmates who are now off at college
~ The Nazareth Academy sophomore volleyball team
~ Erin's volleyball coaches, from LT and Lions/1st Alliance
~ Players and families from Queen of Peace, the opposing team that evening
~ Members of our St Cletus family
~ The current LT volleyball teams and families
~ Anyone else I may have forgotten to mention above!
Your presence that evening spoke VOLUMES about the continued support our family receives that extends way beyond the walls of the buildings in which we gather.
And a special thank you goes to this year's seniors
featured below in THE OFFICIAL CAKE PICTURE,
who generously shared their evening in the limelight
with the memory of our beloved Erin.
in spite of everything that was good and beautiful
and gracious and pure,
or awful and hard-fought
yet risen above and conquered by the heart,
she died
erin, our precious child, died
it happened
nine months ago today
we loved her to pieces
and still, she died
that world where she played and lived,
the familiar places of which she dreamt while she rested
and waited to pass to the next,
the world, that she knew would exist without her,
is indeed existing without her
but those spaces are everywhere,
and the lack of her presence in them
screams in the emptiness
On December 15, 2006 I entered the cancer world, and my life changed irrevocably. From a mother's perspective, when your child is diagnosed with the disease, you contract it as well. There is insufficient biological defense within our systems, and no newly developed vaccine exists to counteract the insidious symptoms of horror, anguish, exhaustion and overwhelming suffocation by grief.
Any semblance of what I knew as normal shattered that day, and I stood helplessly as the shards of my existence flew in all directions, scattering about as I heard the words "I'm so very sorry to tell you that Erin has Ewing's sarcoma."
The largest shard found my heart, its flight path directed by my maternal homing device, and left it in a state that is irreparable.
Since December 18, 2009, I've worked earnestly to gather those strewn pieces of myself, align them in a cohesive pattern and move forward with the intention of orienting myself, finding my life's purpose now that Erin is no longer here. A portion of that process has been (and continues to be) accomplished through my writing endeavors, through the cathartic purging of ~ cancer/cancer treatment issues reflective of our own personal experiences, my responses to living a skewed existence both during the time Erin was sick and since she has died, coping mechanisms I've found helpful and comforting, reminiscent trips down memory lane through the use of many photographs with good times too abundant to count, and the encouragement of ongoing awareness through the avenues of blood donations and fundraisers. Your support through blog "comments", emails and generosity in response to those causes has been a critical part of my healing. Thank you.
While reading over my past blog entries, I discovered that the path to which I found myself drawn very shortly after Erin passed away and which I expressed in THE ROAD NOT TAKEN, written last March, is the same one I continue to walk, thereby affirming my continued resolution to engage in rather than detach from life.
For three years, I watched those who cared for Erin with a critical eye, most likely in a way that was more judgmental than I would have had I been the one with the cancer. My maternal protective instinct was front and center. I watched and I learned... a lot.
I found that it was not only the physicians that made the difference ~ God bless each and every one of them, those fine, educated, accomplished and compassionate individuals. They did everything possible, at first attempting to cure our child, and when that was no longer going to happen, they helped us make the best decisions for medical treatments that enabled her to remain engaged in a full life for as long as possible. And then, when it was time to take her home for the last time, they provided us with all the necessary resources, ensuring her continued comfort.
Even more than the doctors who were around only some of the time though, it was primarily the nurses, and then also the support staff of lab assistants, service representatives, registrars and even parking lot attendants & cafeteria personnel that helped create our new normal. Each had a hand in helping Erin learn to integrate successfully into a daily existence that was so unlike that of her peers. While she was getting hooked up to bags of toxic substances after school, her friends were all doing what she used to do ~ attending volleyball practice or going home to have a snack and watch TV.
Erin would get in the car after school, begin munching on the standard cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese I'd packed, pop open her Pepsi and say, "Let's go kill some cancer!", and we'd head off for her standing 2:30PM "practice" time. Daily drills included shouting "I call a chair in the back today!", accurate peeing into a "hat", and her very favorite ~ Port, port - where's the port? - Can we get it on the first stab please?!
All of those wonderful people not only performed the task at hand (scheduled labs, administered chemo, brought food trays promptly, etc) in an efficient and judicious manner, but they also used the time as an opportunity to take an active interest in Erin, getting to know her on a personal level and treating her as a unique individual.
They told her how pretty she looked, and asked how her vacation was and really listened with interest to the answer. They knew she was a Cubs and not a Sox fan, and they scheduled a room as opposed to just a chair on days I requested one because she had a test in school the next day and needed a quiet place in which to study. Later, our buddy Steve, who was Erin's home care nurse through the spring of her senior year, endured countless episodes of The Gilmore Girls after school during her 3-hour chemo sessions, and was often rushed out the door to "Please hurry up and unhook me because I have to get to the boy's volleyball game!".
The staff provided a positive atmosphere, a smile, a conversation pertinent to Erin's individuality and laid the groundwork for a sense of normalcy to the day-to-day circumstances in which she was forced to live for quite a lengthy time. They leant routine, and therefore, a sense of stability. As I initially floundered my way through the vast unknown of this foreign existence, I looked to these kind souls for guidance, and I found it through their competency and their grace-filled compassion.
Their direction gave me substance, something concrete to grab and hold as the cancer stubbornly forged on with a mind of its own. Through their example, I was able to understand that there are few things we ever really have control over in this crazy cancer life, but a couple of really important ones are the ongoing, consistent response and abiding dedication to the ones in need.
And then there's Erin who showed me, by the example of LIVING daily with her ever positive and spirited attitude, that it's truly possible to navigate both a world filled with chemotherapy, radiation & surgery, and a life where a "normal" human being ~ a teenager with interests outside the jaws of the medical giant ~ can really Have Fun.
After much introspection about all of the above, I find I need to stay with the cancer world. This existence, which I initially feared and detested, by necessity became my world, and I now find myself rooted here, grounded by an accumulation of STUFF (I'm at a loss for a better word!) deep inside me that needs to be shared with others through more than my blogging and awareness-promoting efforts, though those remain very important. This ongoing reflection has brought me to a crossroad.
Today, I begin the next step of my life, because I need to walk the walk I've talked about in my blog posts by stepping up to the next level. My new direction is full-time employment within one of the major Chicago-area hospitals in an adult oncology out-patient clinic. It is my intention to take my previously acquired work-related skills of accomplished plate-juggling (I'm up to twelve now!), an often neurotic attention to detail and the ability to smile and remain calm when things get chaotic, combine those attributes with the wisdom I've gained through those three years of critical observation and life experience, carry Erin's beautiful spirit in this broken heart of mine, and attempt to smooth the path for those who are presently at war with this potentially lethal adversary, deeply hoping to make a difference in my own little way.
Our friend Brendan lives in our little community, and he recently approached me with a fabulous idea.
My name is Brendan Stepuszek and I am 15 years old. After reading an article in the newspaper about the Treasure Chest Foundation, I thought that it would be a very rewarding Eagle Scout Project. Becoming an Eagle Scout is an honor and the highest position one can obtain in the Boy Scouts of America. In order to become an Eagle Scout I must complete 21 merit badges and hold a service project in the community.
Brendan is pictured above with Colleen Kisel, founder of THE TREASURE CHEST FOUNDATION. This organization began locally in 1996, and since then has grown to include 37 locations across 11 states. Donations of toys and gift cards are collected through various fund-raising efforts, and then sent to the pediatric cancer departments of hospitals. There, the gifts provide children/teens undergoing treatment with a "little something" to make their day a bit easier, and in some cases with younger patients, less frightening. (Please click on the link to find out more specific details about this wonderful foundation, including its history and a list of all of the hospitals that benefit from the generosity of donors.)
Brendan has chosen to direct his service project to honor the memories of both Erin and Tyler, whose family also lives in our community.
Please see his flyer with more information below.
Clicking on the image will enlarge it.
Tyler lived with brain cancer for eight months,
and passed away in 2007 at the age of three.
He was treated at Children's Memorial Hospital.
Erin lived for three years with Ewing's sarcoma,
and passed away in 2009 at the age of eighteen.
She was treated first at Loyola University Medical Center,
and then at the University of Chicago.
All three hospitals are named on the website's list of centers that benefit from the donations of generous individuals. From a personal experience ~ Erin often received gift cards when treatment days took a little longer than expected. They were typically $5 cards for a fast-food place, like McDonalds or Wendys, and we'd do a drive-through for some fries and a shake on the way home. She also received cards for Best Buy, iTunes, Starbucks, etc. It helped!
At the time, I didn't even consider what the source of those gift cards was. It was one of those "little details" that someone else took care of. This has been another AH-HAH! & DUH! experience for me, much like the realization that all those units of blood Erin received during transfusions had to come from somewhere and they actually weren't just making them all in the basement of the hospital.
Now I know!
Brendan's efforts are also highlighted in THIS ARTICLE in the local paper.
Please mark your calendars ~
Collection Dates
September 19th - October 1st
For your convenience, if you live in the area the addresses of the locations accepting donations throughout that collection period are as follows ~
La Grange Public Library
(Click on "comments" below for hours - thank you Bridget!)
10 West Cossitt Avenue
La Grange
Park District of La Grange
536 East Avenue
La Grange
St John of the Cross Parish Center
5005 Wolf Road
Western Springs
St Cletus
700 W 55th Street
La Grange
If you live outside of our area and want to participate, you can mail your donation to me at ~
Mary Potts
825 South Stone Avenue
La Grange, IL 60525
(Monetary donations to The Treasure Chest Foundation are gratefully accepted as well.)
Any semblance of what I knew as normal shattered that day, and I stood helplessly as the shards of my existence flew in all directions, scattering about as I heard the words "I'm so very sorry to tell you that Erin has Ewing's sarcoma."
Erin would get in the car after school, begin munching on the standard cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese I'd packed, pop open her Pepsi and say, "Let's go kill some cancer!", and we'd head off for her standing 2:30PM "practice" time. Daily drills included shouting "I call a chair in the back today!", accurate peeing into a "hat", and her very favorite ~ Port, port - where's the port? - Can we get it on the first stab please?!
They told her how pretty she looked, and asked how her vacation was and really listened with interest to the answer. They knew she was a Cubs and not a Sox fan, and they scheduled a room as opposed to just a chair on days I requested one because she had a test in school the next day and needed a quiet place in which to study. Later, our buddy Steve, who was Erin's home care nurse through the spring of her senior year, endured countless episodes of The Gilmore Girls after school during her 3-hour chemo sessions, and was often rushed out the door to "Please hurry up and unhook me because I have to get to the boy's volleyball game!".
Today, I begin the next step of my life, because I need to walk the walk I've talked about in my blog posts by stepping up to the next level. My new direction is full-time employment within one of the major Chicago-area hospitals in an adult oncology out-patient clinic. It is my intention to take my previously acquired work-related skills of accomplished plate-juggling (I'm up to twelve now!), an often neurotic attention to detail and the ability to smile and remain calm when things get chaotic, combine those attributes with the wisdom I've gained through those three years of critical observation and life experience, carry Erin's beautiful spirit in this broken heart of mine, and attempt to smooth the path for those who are presently at war with this potentially lethal adversary, deeply hoping to make a difference in my own little way.
