Childhood Cancer Awareness

Three years ago in September my second daughter was diagnosed with cancer.

At 10 weeks old.

I remember thinking that her pediatrician was surely kidding. I remember being thrust into a world that I had never even acknowledged existing. I remember pure fear.

At the time I had no idea that September was recognized as Childhood Cancer Awareness month. I surely didn't know that my daughter was one of the average 46 children diagnosed each day and I sure as hell would never have comprehended that she would someday be one of the average 7 children who die each day due to various cancers.

Never.

Now I know and its worse than you will ever allow yourself to imagine.

I could go on and on about how very much I miss my daughter. How unfair it is. How God became real in my tears. How painful it is to hold your daughter as she breathes her last breathe of air. How difficult it is to even get out of bed six mornings out of seven...

But I won't.

Because that gets us nowhere.

What I will do is to shamelessly ask you to give money. Give it to organizations that focus solely on pediatric cancers; research and treatments both. (May I suggest curechildhoodcancer.org) I'll ask you to learn about Donna, whose mother Mary Tyler Mom is blogging about the 31 months of Donnas treatment over at the Huffington Press throughout September. I'll ask you to not close your eyes to lives being lost. Mothers are no longer able to kiss and tuck little two year olds in bed, Daddies are no longer dancing with their second borns to bluegrass music and sisters are wondering just how to draw their family minus the little sister who should stand next to themselves.

This is reality. It's not a sad movie or only someone else's struggle. It's 46 children a day who will loose their hair while their families cope. It's seven children who will be damn strong but will not be able to overcome this beast.

My daughter is gone. I miss her dearly. And I know that she is only one of many beloved children who are gone too soon. When I think of the parents who will someday have to walk in my footsteps, I grow weak. It's a burden and fear and it will always haunt me.

Donate.

Read.

Do it for my sweetest Piper, for Paxton, for Tyler, for Abby, for Mikiya, for Pyper, for Bo, for Ricky, for Merrill, for Reagan and for the others who fight no more.

Presidential elections and the Needham

  Presidential elections and the Needhams...

  They go hand in hand.

  Didn't know this little fact?

  Now you do.

  Because every four years this great country listens, choses and stands in line to elect a gentleman to lead us.  But apparently this is not the only trend rolling around town every four years...


  No sir...

We are so very overjoyed.

"Oh love that will not let me go"

Today at church we sang one of my favorite hymns.

If you'd have asked me a few years ago what my favorite hymn was, I'd have looked a little confused then probably blurted out "Amazing Grace"...as that is the only one I knew. But nowadays we sing hymns each Sunday and each Sunday I am struck by the simple pleas and prayers that each word will evoke. Beautiful.

But now I have one. Now, each time I see "Oh love that will not let me go" on the program I know I will have to choke back tears. That I will have to confront the immense knowledge that we will survive and thrive this sadness ( and others) because of only Gods great love. This great and strong and constant love.

"Oh love that will not let me go"
George Matheson

O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.


My favorite line is "oh joy that seekest me through the pain, I cannot close my heart to thee" for obvious reasons. It reminds me again that joy will be my strength and that I am incapable of turning my back on the One who holds me closely. And while I feel often how difficult and sad this place I emotionally reside at is, I also am put to ease that another human felt some sort of great sadness and chose to claim joy, write it down and put a melody to it so that I can sing it on a Sunday morning when I hurt.

Yesterday, a year later.

Yesterday, last year, my Piper relapsed. She did it stealthily and quickly and not for lack of fight. Pipers first relapse was devastating...although I dare say a large portion of the past three years were devastating though I never allowed myself to think of it as so. Much like Pipers initial diagnosis and her second relapse, this first one came out of no where and knocked us to our knees both literally and figuratively.

My knees still hurting for the falling.

I remember so many things so vividly. I remember driving on the loop on the way to the ER for her fever and feeling absolutely frantic...trying to call my mom, wishing Chad didn't have to go to class, trying to sort out just why this trip (of hundreds) was rattling me so. I remember Piper perking up as soon as she was given Tylenol and I remember sharing a popsicle and watching Sesame Street. I remember asking about blood work...over and over and over again. I remember my mom meeting me there. I remember Chad meeting me there. I remember calling my friend and asking her to get Linley from school and keeping her for "just a little while" that would turn into 72 hours. I remember Chad stepping into the bathroom and taking the call from Dr. George and feeling my entire body go cold, then numb, then the sound of rushing. I remember hearing of "suspicious cells" and "don't worry quite yet" and "come tonight or first thing in the morning". I remember beginning to shake and seeing Piper who was watching me and reminding myself to get it together already. I remember the drive into Atlanta, again one we had driven hundreds of times before. I remember sitting next to Chad and thinking how different the sunniness of this drive was different to the raininess of the drive to Atlanta after her first diagnosis. I remember getting settled into our room and the parade of nurses who streamed in with tears in their eyes for my little girl they loved. I remember so many little details and I wish they were never mine to have.

Despite me remembering this date, I am terrible at anniversaries or birthdays or anything that I should know. Even so, this date and week is deep within me. The day before Pipers relapse, a dear little boy died. The day after, a dear little girl died. These were two of my closest and sweetest families that we had walked with. I was surrounded by sadness and tears and I was overwhelmed and I was beyond blessed when that little girls
Mommy came into Pipers room, late at night, after saying her final goodbyes to her own little girl. And she spoke to me of Hope. Of fighting...and trusting God.

I often mentally thank this mommy for refocusing me. For reminding me how much my God loved both me and Piper, that her future was not in my hands and I would be better equipped to love her if I trusted God. I'm
Thankful for that, for remembering that.

Mainly right now at 12:28 in the morning, I am remembering being given the choice to take Piper home or to attempt to fight. Again. And I am so glad we fought. I am so glad to have had the moments and laughter and bonding with my girl. Even the moments that sucked the joy right off of my face were beautiful for they were the result of a warm and sweet and spunky and utterly desired and missed little girl.

One year and one day later and I can clearly remember so much.

2nd grade, here comes Linley!

This morning was the first day of 2nd grade for my sweet Linley Coe. She woke excited and confidently walked into her classroom and kissed me goodbye. When I picked her little self up at 2:30, she chatted my ear off about all the fun things have was going to learn, the great friends she had and how much she loved her shoes.

I am so blessed to be this girls mommy.

I was reminded this evening after dinner with new friends how blessed I am to be able to place Linley in the school she is in. That they love her has been apparent since she first walked through the door this time last year. Through the crazy upheaval of the past year and the effort they put into supporting us as we learn to raise Linley once again, as an "only".

She is loved by her mommy and daddy and school. And Jesus, which is so obvious and important to us.

Still rolling.

I feel like I should continue to let all know that we are indeed, still surviving.

Mainly because a good number of y'all who read this handy blog may not actually know me and see me and hang with me in real life to know that this is so. Thus, the random emails I sometimes get from people who are checking up on me. And thanks for that you sweet strangers/friends.

We are still rolling.

Life has hit a very busy season and I am welcoming it a little bit. We celebrated Pipers should be/would be 3rd birthday, we moved (yet again) and we celebrated our 8th anniversary. My favorite 7 year old is rocking at Mohawk and I have a new pair of blue shoes that may be worth a picture or two...they make me smile a bit.

Summer has been good to us.

And we are still upright. I'm coming off of a very hard two weeks for both obvious issues and other, more personal issues...there have been many tears and frustrations rolling about in my personal space. I'm trying, often fruitlessly, to keep on keeping on but moments when they add up can just plain knock me out.

Apparently, this is normal.

Or something.

So please don't write me off as a sad mother hiding away from life...I have ideas and plans and hopes that I will attempt to keep updated in my good moments. Just bear with me.

Planning to plant.

After the rigors of almost two years of chemotherapy for Piper, and prior to the subsequent eight months of chemo, radiation and transplant, was a beautiful time in our little family.

Even after Pipers first relapse, she was happy and seemingly healthy. We, of course, were in utter shock that the cancer we were certain had gone away had in fact, only hidden and was rearing its horrifically ugly head.

We had our wits about us and we knew this time to focus on details, to pour out affection and time and to hope. Big hopes that we never would have breathed without clinging to.

We now know the end of the story.

It's not okay with me.

It's in Gods infinite sovereignty but while I trust this, and while I hope for the eternity that awaits us all, I hurt.

Three months feels like both too many moments without Piper and yet, also as near as though these three special pictures had only been taken yesterday. This is how time apparently will be working for me as I grieve and hurt and miss this sweet face.

I have received more than a few emails and phone calls from friends who wondered how we were planning to celebrate Pipers birthday this Saturday.

I wasn't sure what I was capable of but I don't ever want to be too overwhelmed in my grieving to smile.

I plan to plant something. To put in the ground something that will grow and that will allow me to smile when I look at it. And to remember how much my girl loved wandering the flower aisles at Lowes and getting her hands dirty while planting pretty things. Even while at the hospital, she loved to visit the flower gardens and water the plants and pick a flower for me and to be outside. This is my plan and I would be blessed if anyone joined me.


Put something in the ground. Water it and pray when you see if and smile.

And if you are so inclined to do this for Pipers (should be) birthday, please share this with me...

Help me know that she is remembered and that she is loved.