Guest Post: DJ Kate - Keepin' It Real and Being Brave

My friend Kate is joining me today to talk about something that's more than relevant for so many of us. And if it doesn't impact us directly, it certainly has impacted someone we know and love with our entire heart. 

She's talking about Breast Cancer. Breast Cancer is way more than the pink-washing that so many people think it is. It's more than just wearing ribbons and walking for the "cure". It's about the many women and men (yes, men get breast cancer, too) who fight the good fight and battle hard to beat this disease. 

And in discussing this Kate would like to talk to us about the many bravely labeled celebrities with Breast Cancer. Sure. These individuals are brave. No doubt about it. They battle as hard as the general population do. But Kate wants us to know more. 

That said, I introduce you to Kate and I ask that you stay with her til the end here. 

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Help Light The Night For Kids with Cancer! #LLSLTN

* This post is a part of the Light The Night campaign. I have been hired as an ambassador for this campaign. All expressed content in this post is strictly my own. * 

Have you heard of Light The Night? It's an event that is coordinated by the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS) in support of raising money to help eradicate cancer. More specifically, blood cancers.

One aspect of this campaign is maintaining a focus on children's cancers. LLS states that Leukemia is the most common cancer impacting children and adolescents aged 20 and younger.

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Empty. Or Maybe Not.

There's not a lot going on upstairs for me today.

I'm just sort of staring at this window, the page, opening and closing other tabs around it. 

Girl Scout Cookies are done. 

Hallelujah. 

I still have a few final boxes to deliver. I'll get there, though.

Mud Run this weekend. 

Holy cow. Crap. Sh!t. 

THIS weekend. 

Yikes. 

I know, right? 

The other night bringing our dog Bella up I fell. I smash-landed right on my right knee. It hurt like HELLO. It's still slightly sore. But I plan to persevere and continue on. 

While covered in mud. 

Lordy. 

I'm not a mud person. 

I mean, I like sand between my toes and all. And even more when it's wet sand. 

But mud? 

Yeah. Nah.

I'm excited, though. It's one of my #lifelist items. I have to finish it, because I doubt I'm going to sign up for another one once I make it through this one. Or so I think. 

Wanna see the course deets? Go Dirty and check 'em out. I think it'll not just be an incredible thing for my body, but for my mind, as well. Despite all my "Yeah. Nah." vibes up over there. ^^

Also? And as - if not more - important than my own fitspiration goals? A part of the proceeds go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. And that's important to me. Big time important.  

I'm participating in a 30 day workout "challenge" ... where my goal is to MOVE every day for 30 days. I'm also in a Spring into Fitness weight loss challenge. This one is really a challenge, with prizes and all. I've been a bit slack there. Mother nature and being female - easy place to lay the blame, right? 

I'm back on track now. I think. 

Danged spring-like weather and iced chai lattes beat me down, though. Even if I do opt for skinny ones. They're just my kryptonite. 

I guess I'm not as empty as I thought. My original post title. Empty. 

I think it might be not-so-empty instead. 

I have something else I want to pour out but I don't have the words right now. So I'll wait. 

Otherwise I'll write a bunch of crap and be like, wha? Why did I publish THAT?

I've had some hot posts lately, it's been kind of cool. I like to see people commenting because it makes me realize they're out there. I don't NEED comments, but I do. We all do. Even if we just blog for ourselves, as we all SAY we do ... 

Don't you smile when you see someone comment? Especially someone who you never would have expected knew you were out there? Or here? Wherever we are?

Yeah, you know you do. Me, too. 

Well, thanks for taking the ride with me today. I think I'll post now so I can feel accomplished for the - uhm - not morning. Damn. Where did that go? 

I think I still have time to toss some stuff into the crockpot for tonight's dinner. 

And to remind myself that if it isn't cooked in time it's the Benadryl's fault. The generic Rite Aid brand, though. But Benadryl has become like Kleenex. Although that's the worst one for me to use. I never ever SAY Kleenex. Even when that's mostly what I buy. I wonder if Kleenex needs a brand ambassador? I could SO rock that gig. 

Allergies? Check. Constant sinus infections? Check. Pets and dust sniffles? Yup. And a kid. I win!

Okay, peeps. Enough dawdling. Talk soon!

Oh, and if you haven't seen my latest vlog - where ya been? I talk about Mama's Comfort Camp with some of my peeps over at the Mama's Comfort Camp Birthday Celebration, so check out me and some of the most amazing women I know. Go on - you don't even have to come back here. It's all good. 

Peace out!

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When all that's left of me is love ~ Book review

Linda Campanella lost her mother to cancer.

There's no other way to start this review than to rip that Band-Aid right off.

Her loss is expected, and therefore not surprising, as if you were reading a novel and became attached to a character - finding her to be the focus of the story - and then ultimately losing her so quickly that the pain is almost searing through you.

But her loss is real. Which is a whole different ball game when it comes to loss. And cancer. Effing cancer. (I mean no disrespect to the author or TLC book tours when I use the light-verbiage that represents something way less light than you see there.)

Cancer sucks. It's heart-breaking. It tears apart families as it steals away people you love.

I'm no stranger to cancer.

Perhaps that is why I agreed to do this review. I figured taking someone else's approach to a loss so first-hand would give me a different perspective. As Campanella's view expressed here was not that she was sharing her mother's road to dying - but her final year of living. Living beyond what was expected, and living instead of dying.

I think there is a part of me that should have known better. It is very difficult to review someone's personal story when written by themselves, in honor of their mother's memory. Removing my heart from the personal aspect of this book is hard - if not almost impossible - to do. Honestly, the only critique I can share is that there was slight overuse of the emails/letters written by the author. These seemingly took away from the ones she shared that were written by her mother. And the frequency in which we reviewed them took a bit away from the ones at the end of the book - which to me held the most importance. The most perspective.

Linda Campanella shared her innermost self here on these pages, and the most intimate knowledge of her family members, including her mother at her most vulnerable time. I feel she was respectful to her mother's memory, and her family's loss, and has likely captured the spirit of her mom all these years later.

I find it hard to recommend this book to someone who is experiencing a similar road to loss -- only because I think that letting go of someone you love, expectedly or not, is a rough road that belongs to the individual and the individual alone.

For someone to review this book after a loss similar to that of Campanella might be rough, as well, but would surely give them something to relate to.

Again, this story is not just a story. It's life. It's her life - and I respect her for sharing it in this manner. And I am truly sorry for her loss.

** I received a copy of this book to facilitate my review from TLC book tours. I was not compensated for this post and all expressed thoughts and opinions are completely my own. 

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Letting go ...

Hope is an interesting thing. 

For some, it is equivalent to prayer. For others, it's all that there is to hold onto. 

For me, it comes and goes. It's in my heart. My mind. My being. 

And sometimes I let it go. Because I have no other choice. 

This month is the third anniversary of my aunt's passing. 

There was so much I held onto. So much we, as a family, held onto those few years ago. 

When we found out she was sick we hoped it was not nearly as bad as it sounded. 

When we found out how long she had been sick we hoped that this was an unnecessary exaggeration.

When she could barely speak I held out hope that I would hear her voice once more. I was lucky. I did. 

When I listened to my mother cry I hoped for strength. For her. For my father. For my cousins. For us all.

When the days went by and she remained in pain. Suffering. Sadness. I found myself letting go. Slowly. Letting go of the hope. 

I needed to let it go. Needed to so I could let her go. 

There was no way for me to rush home to see her. There was no timeline. No understanding of what might come. And yet - - the hope that she would hold on. Continue to fight. Was for me. For myself. For my parents. Most especially my father. I didn't want her to leave us. Didn't want her to go. 

But I didn't want her to suffer. In pain. Trapped inside of herself. 

So I let go of the hope. 

Set it free like a green balloon. 

Why green? I don't know - it just worked for me. For her. My beautiful aunt. 

A balloon drifting up into the sky. Carrying my hope - up - up - up. 

I let it go. 

And switched to a different kind of hope. 

One where she was no longer hurting. One where she knew she, too, could let go. 

And when I heard the phone ring that evening. Heard my husband's voice shift as he spoke to whomever was on the other end. 

I knew. 

I knew letting go was the best thing for us all. But more importantly, for her. 

I miss my aunt. I miss her crazy ways. Her laugh. The way she refused to smile for the camera, but her eyes crinkled just like my dad's. Like mine. 

I hate that she is gone too soon. I hate that there is so much she is missing. But I knew that it was time to let her go. To let go of the hope. 

**This week's Write on Edge prompt was about abandoning hope. This is my interpretation of that prompt and I hope you'll all go gentle on me for using it to share a personal experience that is prevalent in my mind and heart this week. Thanks for taking the time to read. 

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Time lost ...

She is gone two years today.

They never told us she was sick. My father, her own brother, only knew a week before.

He lost so much time. We lost so much time.

Can I say for certain I would have flown home to see her, just once, before she left? Not truly. Not necessarily, but I would have loved the chance to try.

How is it that family pulls together at times of hurt, and pulls apart over the years? In such a way - such a way that we know of nothing else. No other way to function.

This person. My father's sister. We lost four years together over our lives. All because of stupidity (it's easy for me to say it was hers, he is MY father, after all). My grandmother was sick and she never came. She took my cousins away from us. For so long. Too long.

I can still remember the day, so many years ago, we saw them again for the first time. At sixteen years old I knew how relevant it was. How incredibly important that they were there. We were a family again.

Friends may come and go from our lives, but families, families are supposed to be forever - right? Mine was. Mine is. Mine should be.

We lost my grandmother. By then we had reconnected. She, her children, a part of our lives again.

My cousin lost her husband. A loss felt to the core. We wouldn't have been anywhere else.

Then she got sick. Years later. So much time gone by. A different version of the beast. She beat it. My father, my mother. Stood strong. Stayed by her. Sat at the hospital with her children as she made her way through. And she did.

My mom got sick. Again, the beast. She supported. She loved. She made my mother laugh with her crazy ways.

Somewhere along the way one of my cousins got married. On one of the holiest days of the year. We missed it. We shut doors. We lost what we had gotten back. We - I - have yet to forgive.

And then we lost my aunt. Taken away too young. Too soon. And too quickly. I try to forgive them for withholding this hurt. For keeping my father away from her as long as they did. But it's not easy. It's not easy to just let it go.

As today I know when he looks at the calendar he feels the sting. He knows she is gone. He knows how much time he lost out on. How is that fair? It's not - truly. But we forgive. We move on. We let go. We know that there is so little time, that to hold a grudge, even one we find to be worthy, is not worth it after all.

For time flies by. So quickly. We lose what we have in an instant. And then we're left with so little. The pain. The memories. The hurt. If we don't let that go where does that leave us?

I miss you, Tanta. I forgive you for leaving us. Perhaps that is not fair, not even something I am permitted to say. And yet - I do. Because I have to find a way to let go. Be at peace with my loss. And love her, still.

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At a Loss ...

So many mornings I open my eyes and I don't feel like getting out of bed.

So many moments I say to myself ... Seriously? Could this child have any more energy?

So many nights I think to myself, I wish I could stay in bed for a week.

Maybe more.

I've known heartache.

I've known loss.

I've known love.

I know what it's like to be so overwhelmed with anxiety that you don't feel like seeing anyone. Where talking or listening is just too much.

The sound of someone's voice is just too harsh for your ears. Your eyes, even.

I know that feeling.

I know pain. I've lived through it.

I felt the pain of labor and gave birth to a healthy baby girl.

I've felt the pain of loss and moved on, lived my life. Lost grandparents. One before I even came to be. I've talked about feeling the loss of someone you've never even met. The loss of someone who knew of you but never knew you.

The loss of that last living grandparent.

The loss of someone the same age as you. A mere two weeks apart. The heartbreak. The pain. The devastation.

I've spoken of losses that were unexpected. Kept hidden.

And today, I open my eyes and know again that someone I loved is gone.

Not quite unexpected, but certainly faster than understood. More painful, perhaps. Maybe less?

One of my mom's best friends, my extra "ma" who would call me Daughter. I was her only. She had three boys.

Can you find another mother so late in your life? In your twenties? Is that even possible?

It is. And I did.

Remembering that the first time I met her, face-to-face was at my grandmother's funeral. Of all the stupid memories.

She was sweet. She was quiet. She was loud. Too loud sometimes. She hid away in the corner of the house when everyone was in the other room. She made ridiculous faces, purposeful expressions to make you laugh. And laugh we did. She did.

She even looks a little bit like my mom. Short with short dark hair. They could pass for sisters, and likely often did. She may as well have been.

Today I opened my eyes knowing she had left us. Knowing she was no longer feeling any pain. And knowing she was with her own mother again. And I cried. Because I am sad. I am sad to lose her. To know I'll never see her again.

All I truly prayed for after speaking to my mom for an hour yesterday afternoon was that she would get to say goodbye. I'm forever grateful to our friend's sons for calling her and telling her to come. Now. She held her, touched her, spoke to her. Got to say her own kind of goodbye.

Now that she is gone it is my mom I worry about. I remember her own battle with the beast. The battle she won. And I wonder how hard it must be to watch her friend lose her battle. That same beast. And the blessing that is life continues for us. And so we honor our friend by living it.

So we open our eyes and get out of bed.

I say, 'Okay!' to my daughter when she wants to play hockey with me at 9 o'clock in the morning. Indoors.

I think to myself, I'll get a good night's sleep somehow and wake up refreshed tomorrow.

I'll continue to experience heartache.

Loss.

And love.

And I'll never forget her.

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The Beast

I waited, sitting still for the few minutes that she was inside. I expected to wait longer, but she came out fairly quickly.

"You're done?" She smiled. Nodded. Tears filled her eyes, brimming at the surface. "That was quick! That's amazing. I can't believe how fast it was." More nods. I hugged her. "It's okay," I whispered.

"I know," she whispered back.

I held onto her, gently. She was fragile, yet strong. Stronger than I'd ever seen her. "You're amazing," I told her. She laughed softly.

"What'd you think of my mask?" she asked me, as we walked to the door. My turn to smile, a slight laugh.

"It's you, alright ..."

"I asked them if I could keep it when I'm done."

"What'd they say?" She shrugged. "Ah, you don't really need that. When you're done you'll be DONE. No mask to remind you. You'll know."

"I'll always know." She lifted her hand up to her neck. Touched it gently.

"Does it hurt?" She shook her head. "You sure?"

"Not so much. It's easier now." We sighed together. "They gave me lotion." I nodded. She looked so tired.

"Let's go home," I instructed. Silently we walked through the doors into the beautiful sunshine.

Cancer is a beast. But my mom? My mom is absolutely beautiful.

This post is in response to this week's prompt over at The Red Dress Club.

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Mission Monkey

My bad, my blog posted before I was ready.

Many of you may have already heard about Monkey, the sweet lil thing who belongs to Michelle over at Momma's Pixie Dreams. Well, she found out that her lil monkey has Neuroblastoma. And it's friggin scary. You hear that word and you just KNOW it means business.

It's Cancer. The "C" word. And it sucks.

So, as usual, the blog world is pulling together, and if you're able to help out, here's a link for you to donate:

And if you can't help out, please just head on over to Momma's Pixie Dreams to offer your words of support and encouragement. Because even a little love goes a long way!

There will also be an auction of sorts to help this family, and you can find out more details about that over at The Daily Dose of Reality.

Hugs to Michelle and her Monkey. And the entire family.

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Moms Rock The Economy: Jillybeans Jewels

So if you'll remember, I mentioned recently that I took the "Moms Rock The Economy" Pledge a short while ago. And since then I have been trying to make as many purchases as possible from fellow moms who have their own businesses.

I'd like to take a moment to review a business owner who has some really pretty jewelry out there. Her name is Donna, and she is the owner of Jillybeans Jewels.

I am admitting a little bias here as I know her on a personal level. But when I looked through her stash of stuff a few months ago, I fell in love with a bracelet that I absolutely had to have. I don't wear it nearly enough, because I tend to take things that are special to me like that and "save" them (don't we all?) and I also don't always have the right moment or occasion to really spruce up my every day - hum drum outfits of sweats and t-shirts. But I digress a bit there.

Anyway, I bought this beautiful bracelet from her, and just had to show it to you. Now, I know you'll want it, and maybe she can make you one that is similar (but not identical, come on, be unique, would ya?) but you can't have this one. It's mine.


Isn't it beautiful? I mean, it's perfect for my chunky wrist, since it wraps around and I don't have to worry about clasping it. Another plus for often-1-handed moms, no worrying about how to get the dang thing on by yourself!

Now, on top of this bracelet I fell in love with, I also bought a few extra holiday gifts from her (that I can't discuss just yet ...) and I wanted to share this special order I requested.

Basically, my mom purchased this beautiful bracelet to celebrate being cancer free (that's a whole story in and of itself, but in my pre-blogging days my mom suffered from and subsequently BEAT the HELL OUT OF head and neck cancer!)


It's truly precious, and all I did was send Donna the link to the website and the picture. I didn't even know where to begin. She came back at me with three different pairs of earrings to match this bracelet. Not one. Not two. Three. They were all really pretty, but I knew which one I liked the best pretty quickly, as it seemed to match up most perfectly with the bracelet.

So today, for the last day of Chanukah, my mom got these:


Aren't they pretty? And my mom really loves them, and was totally surprised. A perfect gift for my perfect momma.

Anyway, if you are looking to browse, or looking for a special jewelry order, for yourself, or for someone you love, check out her website, Jillybeans Jewels, and then touch base with her. Feel free to tell her I sent you, or not, either way, just go on and check her out. Happy Shopping!

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Breast Cancer Awareness

This is absolutely amazing, motivating, inspiring and just plain AWESOME!

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With tears in my eyes ...

I just finished an incredible book.


The Middle Place, by Kelly Corrigan. The book itself was the story of Kelly's battle with breast cancer and the parallel story of her father's battle with bladder cancer. The family life of a woman who is caught between being a mother and a daughter, a place I know so well in my own life.

And I am crying because at the end of the book, past the epilogue, Kelly shares an essay with her readers that, without welling up too much, is one of the most beautiful essays I have ever read in my entire life. She talks about being who she is, and the women in her life, and the way we, as women, go through stages of friendship.

We have history together, knew each other when we were kids, stood by as we lost family members ... grandparents, cousins, long-lost relatives. We journey through life together, move along through other relationships, friends, boyfriends, lovers, exes, enemies ... we move out of our homes, find our own place in life, meet the man we're going to marry! Time goes by, we become moms, ourselves. Recognize what our own mothers may have experienced all those years ago. Support one another through postpartum depression, healing, loss, anger, anxiety, things we'd never have imagined in our futures so many years in the past.

We lose touch, move away, battle things out. And then there is the illness, the parent, the aunt, the relative. A pain that nobody but your friend can understand. We reconnect. Find a way to hold on a bit tighter this time. Things may never be the same, or they will be ... someday.

Kelly Corrigan shares these kinds of sentiments and so much more. I wish she was my next door neighbor and friend. I hope she has the continued support and love she needs from family and friends, and that they all stay strong, as Corrigans do.

If you're looking for a heart-warming true story, I definitely recommend this one. I'm only sorry I waited so long to actually pick it up and read it, but perhaps there were parts of my own journey I needed to experience before I could truly feel her story. And so, now I have and I can honestly say it's one of my favorite reads of 2009. And for that, I thank her!

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Mostly Wordless Wednesday!

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Such a sad moment

I was giving my daughter a bath last night and my husband called out to me. His voice was muffled from the other room, but I could make out that someone had died.

"Who?" I asked, turning off the water.

"Patrick Swayze."

My heart stopped. How horribly sad. Patrick Swayze was one of my first loves. A man who I could watch over and over and over again. How sad that he should be taken from this world at the young age of 57. I didn't realize exactly how old he was until later in the evening. A few years older than my aunt, who we lost to pancreatic cancer this past March. What is it with this beast of an illness taking people so young? Horrible. Terrible. Tragic and sad.

I loved Patrick Swayze with all my pre-teen and teenage heart!

From The Outsiders.

To Dirty Dancing.

And Red Dawn (I saw it after Dirty Dancing, to this day I cry my eyes out every time I watch!).

Then Ghost.

Even after the not so wonderful Point Break, he stayed a favorite of mine.

Rest in Peace, Patrick. At least now you no longer feel any pain. We will miss you. May nobody ever put YOU in a corner.

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A sad day

Yesterday was kind of a sad day for me, which is likely why I didn't post.

I woke up, had breakfast with my little girl, logged on to check e-mail later in the morning and found out a very good friend of mine has just learned that her 4-year-old son has leukemia. How horrible and sad. My friend lives in Massachusetts, so I haven't seen her in years, but we are still connected by another period of our lives together. We went to graduate school together, and we worked on our second year internship together. I'm pretty sure I would have never survived without her.

So, that being said, you know that despite the distance between us, I am deeply saddened for her and the family about her son's diagnosis. I know that there is treatment, and I know that he can and will be okay, but I also know that they have a long road ahead of them.

She updated this morning and said that her little boy has to spend the next 30-something days in the hospital, since there can be complications with chemo that would cause problems, and it's better to have him under constant observation. How horrible this must be! They have a younger daughter, who is about 3 months older than my daughter, and I cannot imagine having to explain to her why her brother isn't home right now and what's going on.

And so, I'm here, supportive readers, to ask you to say a prayer, think a positive thought, throw out good health vibes into the universe or whatever else you might do to ensure that someone gets better, and while doing so, think of little Kevin and ask that he be covered under all of that. If it's not too much to ask, throw in an extra vibe or two for the entire family.

I thank you so much. Many of us can't even fathom where my friend is at right now, and I hope we never have to. Hugs to you all, and wishing you a wonderful Labor Day weekend!

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Help Defeat Cancer

All you have to do is "write your name!"

Stop by this page and support the LIVESTRONG battle by adding your name to a list that will hopefully reach 30,000 and help earn a $30K donation towards beating this horrible disease.

I learned about this on My Half-Glassed Life, which is a blog written by the wife of a man (Jamie, of Jamie's page = link above) who is fighting the battle. Let's take a minute to help them out. It won't hurt, I promise!

Thanks! And Pass It On!

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So sad tonight.

I'm so terribly sad tonight. A friend of mine lost her husband today. He hadn't been ill for very long, but cancer travels fast and doesn't mess around. It's terribly tragic and horribly sad, and I wish peace and strength for her and her family. Most especially for her and her two little boys.

When I heard the news I started to well up. A little over a year ago we spent the day with their family, grilling, drinking, enjoying the summer-y weather. They found out in April that he was sick, the doctors gave him a year. What do the doctors know?

It's horrible to even consider their loss. He was only 32.

Please throw some thoughts of strength and love into the universe tonight for their family. And extra prayers if you have some. And hold your own family a little tighter tonight. I know I already have.

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An Angel and a King ...

How horribly tragic. How terribly sad.

First, this morning I read that Farrah Fawcett passed away. She finally succumbed to her battle with anal cancer.

And then tonight my SIL calls me and tells me that Michael Jackson is either in a coma or dead. What? Michael Jackson is dead?

I'm sitting here watching the 20/20 special about Farrah, and I'm so sad. She suffered so much, but was so beautiful.

And the King of Pop. Gone? As crazy as he was in the later years, he was and will always remain a legend. There will never be another like him. So tragically sad.

Rest in Peace, Farrah. Rest in Peace, MJ.

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I survived ...

Yesterday I participated in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. We walked 3 miles, and it was hotter than heck out there. But I made it!

The group of over 20,000 women, men and children from across the Triangle continue to raise towards our goal of $2 million to help find a cure for breast cancer.

It was an absolutely amazing experience. As I crossed the finish line I turned to watch a Survivor behind me, a woman who had been in a wheelchair for the entire race. I missed the moment that she stood up, but I did see her cross the finish line. My friend and I had chills. We both turned to each other and we were crying.

What a beautiful moment to witness, what a beautiful day to be a part of.

It's not too late to donate, Click here to do it NOW!

Thanks. And maybe sometime soon we won't have to Race for a Cure, we'll already have one.

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Feel Your Boobies!

Yes, I mean it! Feel them! You know you need to, have to, should. 

And while you're at it, check out this site:

http://feelyourboobies.com

For no money at all you can get a free magnet here:

Free Magnet, but PLEASE donate anyway!

As many of you know, I'll be walking in the Race for the Cure this June, and I hope you'll find any possible way to GO PINK and support the cause!

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