It's OK to Say No to Crazy

One of the first things we thought when Eric was diagnosed (among other things) was... "We are just TOO busy for cancer!"  Eric's career was thriving (albeit with long hours and a lot of travel), I was loving my time as Primary President, my new business was busy and growing, the kids were occupied with sports, Scouts and church activities.  We were probably borderline chaotic, but over the years, juggling such a schedule had become my specialty. We had only been in Jersey for two years, but had started laying roots and forming friendships that filled the rest of our calendar with play dates, dinner dates and family barbecues. Cancer aside, the thought of loosing control of how we spent our time was a difficult pill to swallow.  Naively though, I was pretty sure I could just juggle it all.  

Soccer on a chemo day, no problem. Swim lessons on a surgery week... yeah, I can do that.  Slowly, however, the things that once had dominated our calendar all but disappeared.  I learned very quickly that "doing it all" was the wrong thing to do.  It left me drained of energy, irritable and feeling very overwhelmed.  The house suffered, the kids suffered - Eric suffered. We eventually just stopped showing up at soccer, we left gymnastics, church activities and Scouts only happened on occasion when energy allowed. Play dates and the running around required to get kids from here to there ended. Interestingly enough, I realized pretty quickly that I didn't miss any of that stuff!  I didn't miss the craziness, I didn't miss yelling at kids to find cleats or the last minute searches for ballet shoes and Scout Books.  I was able to shift my attention from keeping uniforms clean to quality time with Eric at doctor appointments and chemo.  I traded it for low key, quiet nights with my kids.  I don't remember which one said it... but one of the kids commented on our "new" schedule and mentioned how much they liked just being home.  After that, I never worried for a second that they were missing out on something. The transition that occurred in our family was awesome... suddenly, a soccer game in the front yard with each other was enough.  A movie or quick game of checkers was awesome. The highlight of the week was roasting marshmallows and sitting around our fire pit out back.  The chaos of running around was replaced with family time. At home. With each other. With Eric. Who can put a price tag on that?  I didn't miss yelling from the sidelines a single bit. I also found I no longer hungered much for outside social interaction to feel fulfilled. Everything and everyone I needed was right here within the walls of my own home.

As we've been emerging again from behind the cancer-screen... I'd be lying if I said we weren't enjoying getting back out there a bit. We have carefully chosen and added a couple of things back onto our calendar now that Eric is feeling better - but I have no problem turning down extra craziness. I love the serene, calm feeling in our home right now and I don't plan on polluting it again with a schedule that becomes crazy and overshadows quality family time.  Eric's cancer taught me how important it is to live more simply and most importantly, to deliberately allow family time to dominate our week instead of the unnecessary crazy that has become the accepted norm of this generation. I absolutely don't mind that their memories will be playing soccer with each other or beating me fair and square in a game of HORSE.

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Live For Today...

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN AND PUBLISHED ON REALIMPRINTS.ORG...

My name is Colette and I’d like to introduce you to my crew!  We go by “thebomsquad”… it’s a cute derivative of our last name and it describes us to a “T”.  We’ve been through some pretty explosive stuff and are grateful everyday to be together.  You might notice our lime green bracelets… it’s our family color.  Well, it’s my husband’s cancer awareness color – and we’ve all adopted it as our favorite.  My hubby’s health originally started to decline in late February of 2012, then was ultimately diagnosed with an aggressive form of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma later that May.  As anyone would be, we were devastated.  What followed was 9 months of brutal chemo treatments that left my strong, football-physic husband wilted like a washed up, ratty old towel on a deserted beach. Really. Chemotherapy can be that awful. The kids and I were exhausted, emotionally and physically as well – the toll it took truly felt unrecoverable and I longed to get our old life back. Good news came in December that year, his scans showed the cancer had receded significantly and what was left was dead! They updated him to the coveted “remission” status and in January we started rebuilding our life.  As his strength grew, our spirits began to soar. The relief and happiness we felt was pretty amazing… no longer did we take even the smallest things for granted. Dinners as a family, quiet Friday nights watching movies with the kids, low-key weekends… life was awesome.  In time, Eric returned to work and slowly our new normal began to emerge and because of what we’d been through, it was a stronger normal and maybe even a better one.

Sadly, it was very short lived.  In April of 2013, Eric began feeling unusually run down and tired. Other tell-tale signs and hot flashes seemed to return overnight.  It was literally only a few days time and what was happening was so obvious – my heart sunk. The following week was a regularly scheduled monthly check up – and after moving up the necessary scans, we learned his cancer had returned.  This time, it was a bigger beast (with gnashing teeth) and the fight ahead was clearly going to be uphill.  After already having been through it and understanding some of what might be coming, I decided there were many things I was going to change.  I looked at it as a do-over, an opportunity to “do” cancer better.  No longer did I want to live appointment to appointment… fearing the next result, dreading the next surgery or worrying about the next scan.  No longer did I let tomorrow’s schedule dictate today’s happiness.  As a family, we learned a unique way to live in the now, live for today.  Not knowing what was ahead became a blessing, it allowed me to simply be happy and content with today. This proved to work to our advantage and we weren’t as stressed. I think we all slept better, there were less tears, less acting out and we all seemed to cope much better with our crazy circumstance.  Through it all, Eric demonstrated the will and strength of an ox – and in a very real way became our hero. How lucky for our kids to see a hero in action – as never a greater example of courage and faith had they known.

In January of 2014 – after 7 more months of treatment and 2 failed chemo regimens, we went to a top Cancer Center in NYC where Eric underwent massive mediastinal radiation to eradicate the remaining cancer in preparation for a Stem Cell Transplant.  We told the kids the radiation rays would blow his cancer to Jupiter, and that it did. Once his status was upgraded to remission once more, he was admitted for a final round of high dose chemotherapy and a transplant thereafter to rescue his body from all the lethal treatments he’d received.  Through it all, he never wavered.  He never quit. Though his body was beaten and battered, he never let it overtake his spirit.  Not exactly the way I wanted my kids to learn how to be strong… but who better to learn it from than their dad?

In the 6 months since, we haven’t taken a single day for granted. Even the bad days.  Not knowing what might lay in the future for our family, we readily understand that today is a gift. This week is a gift.  Eric is a gift.  We are each a gift.  Life is precious. Our normal now is an awesome normal… we’ve been through so much, but in the process we’ve grown closer and our love for each other has grown beyond measure.  Eric has shown us what it means to love in one of the most incredible ways possible and for that… I can only love him more in return.  My view these days is a priceless picture; definitely earned from endless worry, a long string of heart-wrenching experiences and through buckets of tears… but it’s a view I am so grateful for and will forever treasure.

To one of the bravest, toughest – most amazing Dad’s I know… Happy Father’s Day, Eric!

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Beyond the Clipboard...

I have this darling friend named Camilla and one of my MOST favorite principles of love and service I learned during Eric's battle was from her and her husband.  I've been excited to share this story with you and was glad when I woke up this morning with the feeling that today was the day to get it written down.

The Relief Society is the Women's Organization of the LDS Church.  Worldwide, it has about 6 million members and is one of the oldest and largest Women's Organizations in the World. I've been part of this amazing sisterhood for nearly 20 years now; it's a huge part of my life and where most of my dearest relationships are formed.  It's not just an educational part of church where the women are taught and instructed in a one hour meeting on Sundays; another primary function of the group is to offer relief to others, just like the title states.  So, it was no surprise when Eric was originally diagnosed in 2012, these ladies where immediately on the job!  Calling, checking in, stopping by, offering help in many ways... they kept me in great supply of my beloved Diet Cokes, even dropped by cookie dough and treats for the kids.  Probably most importantly, by being present... it seemed someone was always there when I needed to cry. They also offered to bring in meals on Fridays through that first Summer.  Although I hesitated, (as no one EVER wants to have THEIR name on a clipboard...) but deep down I knew it would be a welcomed relief when the meals were delivered.  As soon as I gave the go-ahead... they wasted no time getting organized and the next time they met, they passed around a sign-up sheet on a clipboard with about 12 Fridays laid out on the list.

I wasn't in there that day - as my volunteer assignment had me on the other side of the building with the children - but what I heard both warmed my heart and taught me a lesson I will never forget.  My friend Camilla called me later that afternoon and explained to me what had happened.  As is customary when announcements are made at the beginning of the meeting, the clipboard and "the plan" to help was announced to the group.  The sign-up sheet was then passed around and by the time it got to Camilla's row, all 12 Fridays had been filled.  I wish you could hear the cute animation in her darling Brazilian accent as she relayed to me how she reacted to this list being full.   She said something like, "I was so mad!  I'd been waiting for an opportunity to help and when the clipboard moved about the room I was anxiously waiting for my turn to pick a week.  When it got to me, it was filled!  I thought to myself - WHAT?!!  I have to wait clear until September to feed the Bomsta's?!! No way, I am so mad!!"  She continued to tell me that on the way home from church that day she complained to her husband that BECAUSE SHE WAS SITTING IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM she lost her opportunity to help and was mad the days had been grabbed so quickly.  Had she known, she'd have sat right in the front!

Lovingly, and perfectly... her husband said to her, "Camilla.  Do you think the Bomsta's eat on other days of the week?  I'm just thinking out loud here... but maybe you could just call her and offer to bring in a meal on another day.  I don't know... like on a Wednesday?"

Oh my word!  As she was telling me this whole story, we were both laughing and I could see the whole thing "going down" in my mind.  What a fun sight... it not only relieved my worry about being a burden to others, it helped me see how many willing friends were around us... just waiting for a turn to help.  I love her sweet husband for pointing out, in such a sweet way... that a whole new level of angelic service is going beyond the clipboard.

Camilla, on the errand of angels, brought us a delicious, authentic Brazilian feast just a few days later...  

"When we speak of those who are instruments in the hand of God, we are reminded that not all angels are from the other side of the veil. Some of them we walk with and talk with — here, now, every day. Some of them reside in our own neighborhoods. ... Indeed heaven never seems closer than when we see the love of God manifested in the kindness and devotion of people so good and so pure that angelic is the only word that comes to mind." - Elder Holland, LDS Church Apostle

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A Lesson at Panera...

One afternoon during Eric's first year of treatment, we left early for chemo so we could grab a bite on our way.  We decided to stop at Panera and sat there eating like two, completely normal people. We chatted like any other couple, smiled at each other... and even let out an occasional giggle. By all appearances, we blended into the crowd and there was no way anyone could guess our awful predicament and circumstance. We weren't crying, we weren't upset... we were having a decent time, a normal lunch like anyone would.  At one point, I suddenly recognized how "normal" we actually looked.  Eric was bald, but he is so cute bald (okay, he's hot bald) - so who would know he wasn't bald by choice?  For a minute I felt myself pretend we weren't fighting for Eric's life or on our way to get poison pumped through his veins. It was refreshing to be in a place where people didn't tear up when they saw us, it was nice that no one hugged me and asked how we were doing - and I didn't miss the looks of pity at all.  We started enjoying ourselves, basking in our moment of - what appeared to others to be - just a normal lunch.  As we continued talking about it Eric posed a prolific question... "If we look THIS NORMAL, can you imagine what must be going on at the next table?  Or the table over there?"  Wow.  Good point.  What is it they say?  Looks can be deceiving?  Yep.  That's absolutely true.  In that moment, we looked like a happy couple - out to lunch during the week without a care in the world.  Yet, we were quite the opposite.  Full of anxiety, worry, stress with EVERY care in the world.  There we were... looking SO normal - and yet we were on our way to battle the scary invaders that had taken over our family and threatened to rob Eric of his life.  

Since that day, I've thought often about what Eric said and how we looked sitting there.  I've thought of the faces that were scattered around us and thought deeply about what might have been going on in their lives.  I imagine there were people among us that day who had lost loved ones, maybe having problems in a relationship, dealing with wayward teens or addictions.  Maybe some who were depressed, had lost a job or facing financial stresses.... yet in the disguise of a normal activity like eating lunch it would be impossible to detect.  So many of the toughest battles we face in our lives cannot simply been seen on our faces.  Wouldn't it just be safer (and kinder) to assume everyone is fighting a hard battle?  As I've practiced this, and I'm not all the way there yet... I've seen a really cool change in myself.  I'm quicker to help, faster to smile and a much less likely to judge. Most of all, I've found that it has added to my own happiness. We're all fighting battles... let's all be a little kinder, a little more quick to live the golden rule... what a difference that would make - no only in our own lives, but in the lives of others.

Image: {Here}