Hope

I know I haven't blogged in a while and part of it is because of this post. It's one that I have been working on for some time and I think it's ready. I wanted to post this at a time when some might find this during a time of need and sometimes that time comes around the holidays.

One of the things I have pondered for quite some time is the concept of hope. We all talk about hope, some people dream about it and other wish for it. Hopwever, hope is one of those concepts that you can't really explain how it feels to you on the inside and when you are able to wrap your tongue around the words that fit into your little mold; it's a meaning that means different things to different people. It's a fourth dimensional concept that some people radiate through their lives and yet others look for it and find this little, simple, four letter word the most elusive thing that no matter how hard they try - it's just not there. Hope in a way doesn't work (or work out) for them.

When Christopher was first told of his cancer my dad and I sat down and he told me everything that he thought I needed to do, know and what they (my parents) were willing to do for us.

"Hope for the best. Plan for the worst," was his motto. It's an army motto. And well after serving several years in the army I wouldn't expect anything less from the "Colonel". But I did go to bed that night and think - how can one fathom to have hope if they plan for the worst. Isn't planning for the worst really giving up all hope? Is there another way to understand the meaning of hope? Is hope dropping to your knees praying every day for God to reach down and spare your family from something that you yourself don't quit understand? Or living it one day at time and just having a back up plan incase things go south?

Friends told me that Christopher had all the hope in the world and I all the faith. So did that mean that I wasn't hopeful? What did Christopher have that I didn't? Was my faith in God, not hope enough? I started to question the meaning of hope and how each person in my life had a different meaning of the word. I often wondered what it was that I was missing in something as simple as a definition. At one point, I even looked it up in the dictionary to see if there was something I quit possibly missed in translation as a child.

I often wondered, if as much as I blew smoke up skirt, that I was just plain and simple devoid of all hope. Or was that depression setting in and taking over my thoughts? Then Christopher passed away and I found it hard to fathom life moving forward. I knew it had to be done and in a way that required grace. No one could tell me how I should feel or what I wouldn't feel. I wasn't even sure what I felt my self. And after a few months my therapist ask me what I hoped for in life.

I paused, possibly even scratched my head and stared blankly at him. I think there might have even been the sound of chirping crickets heard in the room. I wanted to say, "What is hope and why should I even have it?" What came out was, "I'm not sure I understand the question." It was at that point that I realized that hope was something that I myself didn't really understand. The events of the past had clouded, even consumed, what hope meant for me. I was sad, numb, angry and yet in everything my "hope" was buried alive somewhere locked inside waiting to be discovered. Looking back at old blog post I read in my own words the "hope" that I described to my self and looking back on this version of my own digital-self, I could see where "hope" was a word in my vocabulary used as a good metaphor or adjective. Now, as anything with grief, everything is a process and somethings take time and somethings come to us when we least expect them.

The meaning of hope for me came over time and when I did least expect it. On the 2 year anniversary I took two days off from work to give time to myself to reflect on what that day meant for me. Losing the one I love(d) and becoming this new person that I didn't know I could be. Both days I went on a run and after each run I sat on my front side walk and I let my mind free of everything that might possibly cloud it and started to contemplate the day and the events of the last almost 4 years. This was the same sidewalk that Christopher and I would sit out on to talk. It was the same sidewalk that he and Ethan would wait for me to come home on. It was also the same side walk that Christopher ate a sundae on before he slipped into a sleep like comma. It was there that things started to fall into place and the doors in my head that had been locked under pain started to open.

Hope, for me, lives at the corner of Twin Falls and Pleasant Valley Lane. In a two story house built by two people who cared deeply for one another. With a sidewalk that could tell you stories about who had sat there and the conversation and tears discussed and shed there. A stoop where first steps were made by a bounce baby boy. A door bell who ring brought the joy of neighbors, aloof strangers and toxic conversations. A home who's walls have seen the photos of two, then three and then two again. Walls that if paid a pretty penny to talk would share the stories of a couple who loved, respected and dreamed of a life well into their 80's. A home who's yard spent many a night with two people staring up at the stars wondering how the view looked to the other.

Hope is a conglomeration of memories that I hold deep in my heart and reflect on daily. It is a house that I call home and a street that brought strangers together as neighbors and now friends. Hope is the peace I get when I sit out on that sidewalk and let the wind blow through my hair and listen to the sounds of my street fill my ears with joy. It's the sidewalk chalk drawings from the children that visit my home and the laughter that fills my house from great friends and family. Hope is where your heart finds peace in the understanding that everything happens for a reason (even if you don't fully understand it yourself).

As we enter into this holiday season, I pray that everyone who reads this blog has a place where they too can find their own hope when things seem grey. I place where they can be at peace with what ever tangle web the world has spun for them. A place of peace and tranquillity. Peace be with you all. I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Pax.

This is Real. This is Me. Year 2.

(Photo By Devine Memories (C)2010 Devine Memories - Check out her other great photos from the shoot that really express how I see where I am in this process of moving forward with my muppet by my side)

Last year I wrote about an event out by Christopher's grave and how that event in those brief moments allowed me to see where I came from and where I was hoping to go. I left the cemetery that day with a peace in my heart and thought only things could go up from here, right? I mean, I figured out how to make my self happy, I discovered what it felt like to listen to the silence in a different light and understood the pain of love lost - everything would just get better. That's the mathematical equation that I came to. Seems logical. Then came the holidays and I was hit with the biggest brick wall known to man.

I thought I could cruse right on through those mile stones that I already passed through and do it with all the flying colors of the freaking rainbow. I quickly learned that wasn't the case. What I did learn was how numb I was the first go round. Those moments when I longed for Christopher to hand me the gift he just thought was all so perfect or look at me with those loving eyes after spending hours in the kitchen planing a thanksgiving meal which meant I out did myself again weren't there. It's amazing how you can be surrounded by all the ones you love and yet feel completely lonely all at the same time. It's like two different people trying to fight for the same space that resides in one body. All the while, you want to be there to interact with those you love and yet you want to scream that this is all just so wrong. The one person you wish to be there isn't. It's in those moments that life seems less fair and brutal and you've been voted the punching bag.

Once the new year rolled around I thought to my self that I was going to take 2010 by the balls and slam it to the wall. I was going to rock this year and put it in my back pocket. I sat one night behind Christopher's laptop and opened a file that I had put on hold for a long time and I begin to type. Each night I typed a little longer and harder. I discovered in those moments that I had more work to do on myself. I saw the venom of anger striking through my fingers with each key stroke. Anger that I thought I had worked through and some that I didn't know I had. But anger non the less.

I discovered I was angry at the doctors for keeping me out of the loop on what I felt like should have been joint choices in Christopher's pain control. They took away three months of his life that I will never be able to get back from keeping him doped up. Truth be known, Christopher wasn't in pain, he had bad neuropathy and for whatever reason the doctors chose high level drugs that you would see on shows like A&E's "Intervention" instead of trying to help his symptoms of numbness in the bottoms of his feet. I felt like those doctors didn't view me as a wife or even a care giver. I was just the woman who paid the bills.

I know that in the world of medicine that doctors have to remove themselves and so I don't blame them for everything, but I do blame them for a lack of communication in the last three to six months of his life. Communication is key in everything. And while Christopher did come home and tell me that meds were being increased and why. It never made sense to me and I blame myself for not questioning harder and pushing more.

This and everything leading up to this was all part of a process that brought me to understand and accept the situation that has brought Ethan and I to where we are and it allowed healing on this aspect of my grief to also begin. One of the things I have learned about being a widow, someone who lost their great love and grieving for the loss of a relationship is you have to do what it takes to turn things around and make the situation work to your benefit. You have to have the courage to crawl inside your head and sit awhile while the world goes by. Even though it hurts to see the mental chalk board of why you react to the things you do and run from the things that might cause you more pain. You have to show the world the parts of you that you see as broken and love your self enough to allow them to be turned around and healed in the love you get back from your friends and family.

Yes, it's way easier to shut people out than to show the ones you love how the opening scene from Jaws was just the prelude to what you really feel on the side. And most of all, people will tell you are crazy, not your self and you might find friendships even lost. But it's who you are. You are still the same person just trying to figure out how to sort through this thing called grief. It's not pretty. There is nothing sensational about it. But it does get better. And the process never ends. It's on going. Time tells tales in the light we wish to see them in.

So where does this put me as I crossed over another full year? I went out to visit Christopher and while I was there I took a flower and walked down to the man graves who's widow I met over a year ago. I placed a flower on his marker and in those moments I took some time out to thank him for bring his wife to me on that day to help me understand a year later that it was in that moment when I met her that I was ok and that was the feeling I work towards feeling daily. It was a peace that allowed me to talk to her openly and so candidly about the grief that surrounded us both on that day.

I have worked through so much this year that I look back and hope that one day I remember all this so when the questions start to come from Ethan I can say with grace that sometimes we are left with no other choice than to say goodbye and take the pain that leaves our days engulfed in grey and harness the light within ourselves to make the sun rise again. It might not be as bright, but it radiates through us and those around us.

Ethan's Turn - A Letter to My Muppet

Dear Muppet,

This week brought a close to another year without your dad. It's so hard to even wrap my head around the idea that he's been gone for two years. There are days it seems as if I am still waiting for the one year marker to cross across my calendar and others where I feel like he's been gone for years. I guess it's just depends on where my mind seems to rest on that day.

Ethan I wish could expound from my heart how this was not the life that your dad and I had planned for you. We wanted you to have the most wonderful childhood filled with a sense of wonderment and joy, and there are days that I feel as though I/we have failed you. As your mom, I want to fill your life with the most enriching things and yet as a single parent I find myself getting wrapped up in the schedule of life. Trying to find that balance of when I can push dinner off for 30 minutes so we can play trains or skipping the one extra bedtime story because it's too late. Sometimes that balance eats at my soul and I think you will be grown before I know it and that I have missed out on so much of your life because there was only one of me.

But it's in those moments when I check in on you at night and take in your loving little smile that seems to never leave your face or those tender little sighs that you are content in your wonderland of dreams - I admire you muppet. Yes, I your mother, not only proud of you, but admire you. In your short little life you have done more than most people could have done for me and your dad in the last four years.

You gave your dad motivation to fight his cancer with the vigor of a thousand armies and yet reminded him how gentle he was. You were buddies, friends, and he loved you Ethan more than any set of words I can lay down here. He lived life to the fullest because you brought the best out in him. You reached into his soul and helped his fire burn a little brighter and made his fight a little stronger. The photo you and your dad "bump'n" honestly expresses the relationship you two had and it makes my heart break that you now have spent more time without him than with him. But I also have faith that our loss is in a way set to mold you or both us for something later in life. God's plan if you will.

Ethan, my little bug, my muppet, you amaze me daily. Through your yearn for learning or how, in the strangest of ways, you do the little things that remind me that you are a collaboration of love from your dad and I. Looking at you at times brings me back to him and the way he made me laugh.

You are such a wonderful child Ethan. You are kind and gentle. Caring and loving. You are one of the most compassionate children I know - you don't like to see people hurt and your the first one to help them when they are. When I cry, I love the way you curl up in my lap and hold my face and tell me everything is "gonna be ok - ok." You are so much like your dad. Ethan you are a light that resides in my soul and continues to burn and grow with everything you do. You steal my heart and take my breathe away when you yell and yet whisper "I love you".

You're everything to my everything. It warms my heart to feel your little hand reach out for mine and give it a little squeeze when we walk across the school parking lot and I do everything in my power not to burst into tears of joy when we race to the car in the afternoon and you turn back to see who's winning with that laugh that resides in your belly. My heart sings when your voice echos my name and you gave me the purpose and drive when I needed it the most. You help me find my way back to sanity when I feel as though I have none and even when I don't know what to do when I get there I just enjoy sitting there in your wonderland of imagination and creativity.

Yesterday we went to the fair and seeing you break out of your shell and share with the world your personality almost brought me to tears. You rocked those pictures and they will mean more to me than any other photo that ordains my walls. They are you - the budding artist, avid musician, the free sprit that encompasses my life and the lives of those around us. People can't help but look into your loving little eyes and get lost in your little laugh and the faces that make every one smile from the inside out.

I love you muppet more than you will ever know and I will never stop reminding you how much you mean to me. I know as you get older it will be "un-cool" to hang with your mom or snuggle up in my lap. But I will always be there by your side, admiring how much you have grown and how much you're daddy would have been proud of you.

Love you always,

mum

October 12th - A Letter of Love

To my dearest Love,

Yesterday completed yet another cycle to this situation of grief, life and learning. Two years ago phone calls were made, people were informed, and so began the deep stabbing pain that surround my heart. Life changed that day in so many ways. I sat staring off into space trying to figure out who would I turn to now to make my side-slightly-sarcastic peanut galley commentary to? Who would I call at the end of the day to say I was safe at home? How was the garage door going to sound now it wasn’t the sign that you were home?

All these things flooded my mind as if I stood face on and accepted whatever tsunami was coming towards me. This has been a path that I wish on no one and yet one that I think has taught me so much about life, love and the overall pursuit of happiness. I never took the little things in life for grated; however, I could never being to think about how much those little things meant to me and how in the months and years after your death I missed how those moments were erased from my life. There is something to be said about waking up in the morning and seeing the way the sun glided over your face and the peace that seemed endless in those moments before you would waked. Those were my favorites parts of my day.

Love, you know if I could, I would climb to the clouds and sit outside heaven’s door just to hear you breathing. In life I hung on every moment we had and treasured it. I spent most of this second year angry. Yes angry at doctors that gave you more pain medicine than I thought you needed, angry at cancer, your mom’s doctors for not ever explaining what it meant to have a parent with cancer, and down right furious at those in your life who filled it with pain. I thought I had moved past some of that anger, but yesterday on a run while I thought about during that exact time you were being taken away and I was confronted with people that were just purely toxic. However, in that same run, I left those demons out on the side of the road. They haven’t contacted me in almost a year and to be honest – I wouldn’t have it any other way.

While on my run I went down the trail we used to walk all the time and there among the trees was a little daisy. Just one. Blowing in the wind with all its bright yellow glory. It reminded me of the time you went out and bought my grandmother a Gerber daisy after hurricane Katrina. It was your way of trying to reach out to her and explain in your non-verbal way that even in great moments of tragedy there is also a choice to care and nurture the situation to being thus the beauty of life. She kept that flower living until she passed away. That little flower meant the world to her. And as I passed this little flower on my run I remembered the grace you had with life. It’s what helped me leave some of those demons out there. Yes I will have my moments when I let those shadows enter my mind and dwell long enough for a cup of tea, but trust me when I say I’m working on not inviting them back in.

One of the hardest parts about all of this was we were the greatest team. Yes we were strong people alone – but together we were unstoppable. And it’s taken me a long time to build my self-back up to the person I was. But then again I will never be that person I was. You can never go back when you have experienced something like this. You just have to accept that you’ve changed and pray that those changes are for the best.

Are those changes for the best? Well we will see. I’ve been writing like there is no tomorrow and all I can do is hope and pray that the words that flow across my computer will one day help Ethan in his understanding of what we had in life. And maybe it helps someone else who doesn’t have the love and support that I was given through our friends and family. But then again as you always say – “only time will tell”.

You’re story, your fight, your loving spirit will keep moving forward with Ethan and I. I even debated in a year or so becoming a volunteer consular for those people going through similar situations, but not just yet. I still have work to do to clear out my own mental hording of some things. But you move me to better my self and those around me.

Christopher, you are such a great man. Only a great man could move people years after death to want to better themselves and those around them. You amaze me daily; from the wonderful son we have and how smart and observant he is about the world around him to the little moments in my life when I can feel you standing next to me. You would be so proud of us both.

Love, I am so honored that we had so much time together even though it was cut short. I cherish those years more than you might have even known. You taught me so much about life and myself and while this not-so-new start has it momentary rough patches, I try to remember your love for everything to keep me focused. I know that you will no longer be able to catch me when I fall or keep me from falling, but your memory is what gives my feet the strength to stand up again and face this life with both eyes wide open.

You are the glimmer in my eye when I talk to people who need hope and the shadows on my wall when I myself need comfort. You amaze me love, thank you for everything.

I love you.

d

One Week From Today

In seven days, I will cross a milestone that I thought I would never cross; for during that place in my life, time seemed to stand still. Next Tuesday is the two year anniversary of Christopher's passing. For the most part I am ready to cross this point in my life and yet I have days where I'm grinding my heals into pavement.

Time is one of those things that keeps moving forward wether we want it to or not. Blessing and a curse, if you will. I will admit that year two was harder in ways than to year one. Milestones that I seem to fly through in year one where due to to still being numb from the whole thing and those emotions were expounded on in year two when that numbness wasn't there. But besides all the working through all the emotions that come with another year passing of something so life changing I think I can say, "I'm ok".

Life is still moving forward. Ethan is getting bigger and starts school next fall and I am completely besides myself that all this happens and Christopher is not here is see it. But I also know that he's here in other ways looking down. I'd like to think that some of those "tears from heaven" on the day of the race was him showering down how proud he was.

I've learned allot about life, myself and the things that make me happy. Being a single parent isn't the greatest thing in the world, but I like to think that with each day it gets a little easier for both Ethan and I. I even scheduled Ethan's 4 year photos the day after Christopher's death day - something I don't think I would have done a year ago.

As time moves forward - so do Ethan and I and I'm proud of the strides we made this year.

A Therapeutic Run

(This was on the back of the shirt I wore)

Friday night I couldn't sleep. I was for the most part anxious and scared. I was about to run 3-point-something miles the next morning and I was doing it for the grace and wonderment that I have for two beautiful people - Christopher and Ethan. I sat in bed at midnight thinking, "fall asleep, falllll aaaa sleeeeep," but I couldn't because my mind kept questioning if I was even ready for this, can I even do this? Yes, I've trained for a year, but on a treadmill, not the street - how different is it going to be? The treadmill kept my pace for me; I didn't have to regulate it on my own. Then some where in my own mental banter to myself I drifted unknowingly off to sleep.

I awoke at 6am to get ready and while I was making coffee I realized - it was raining. Damn it! I quickly grabbed my phone and checked twitter to see if the race was still on and it was - rain or shine. Again I began again my mental banter of if I could do this - was I going to crap out and end up stopping or walking some of it? I didn't want to, that was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to RUN this thing and do well at it. It was in those moments that everything began to fall together for what this run really meant for me. Yes the run was for memory of Christopher and for the future that still waits for Ethan, but for me it was (and ended up being) the most awe inspiring thing I think I have done in the last three and half years. And I needed it so much.

My neighbor Lauren ran it with me and to be honest I couldn't have asked for a better person to run with. She was there when I got the phone call and like so many of my other friends, family and neighbors she was there every step of the way through the last month of Christopher's life. She even came over and sat with me while I drank away my sorrows on the one month anniversary of Christopher's passing. She's one of those friends that lets you completely word vomit all over yourself and doesn't look at you any different. She just listens, smiles and lets you know that no matter how crazy life becomes or you think it's become, she's right there through the craziness with you. I could go on-and-on about this amazing woman, but lets just leave it at I was truly blessed to have her run this with me.

As we got to the race location the rain was letting up just a little and I started to think that this was going to turn out to be a very pretty day. First on my agenda was to find Jenny and tell her how incredible the turnout was; so we headed up to where the opening ceremonies were to be held. We got there just as it began to sprinkle again and it soon dawned on me that this rain just might not let up. As I stood in the rain getting completely wet my mind and memories were brought to the day Christopher and I said "I do". That day was so very similar to this one. Rain in the morning and just when we though it would let up in time for the wedding - it didn't. I remember the feeling of "great, I planned this oh-so-perfect-day and it freaking rains." Then at some point someone from somewhere said, "It's raining, like tears from heaven".

In those moments where I found myself lost in my memories I drifted back to Christopher's mom and the battle she lost with cancer. My grandfather who passed away just two months before our wedding. Christopher who almost two years ago left this mortal plain and my grandmother who passed just ten days after him. It was all so overwhelming to think that this rain, these tears that fall from heaven, made me feel as though they were all by my side. I did what I could to choke back my feelings.

Jenny took the stage and one of the first things she said was, "Kids are having Chemo today, this, it's just rain..." And as if gears in my head started to fall into place to yet another meaning for this race. I DON'T know what it is like to go through chemotherapy; I've always lived on the other side of cancer. The care giver/supporting side of cancer. And as much as I have gone through, Christopher had the worst part. To wake up every morning with a war waging in your body and all you can do is try and mentally fight it. To live in a body that when you want to go outside and play with your child; yet five minutes is all you can do because all your energy is drained. To know that you are going to die and leave behind the ones you love to keep going, to keep on living, even though as hard as you tried you can't be there for them. Or to be the son that never really knows his dad other than photos and stories - to never witness first hand how great your dad really was. With all of this - I don't know what it feels like and I'm sure it's worse than just what I have gone through.

We lined up and geared up for the race. Every second that went by I became unsure of what I was about to do. The horn went off and we started. Lauren was quick to give me pointers, "break from the pack, run to the side, try to get ahead of the walkers and jogging strollers". Then when we did break from the pack, "find your pace, you're doing great." And I felt good, I wasn't tired, the blood was pumping, the iPod was rocking out to "Back in the Saddle" and low and behold the rain had stopped. Before I new it the next song on my iPod played - "Stronger" and I thought to my self can this get any better! Then my iPod froze. It just stopped playing. Two songs in and not even a mile later, I had no music to zone out to, no mental motivation, "oh crap" was the first thought in my head. I had over two miles to go and no music to listen to.

But you know it was good that I didn't have my music. It was in that time that I talked to God, Christopher, and even my self. I told myself over and over; "God is at back, Christopher is by my side and Ethan is in my heart." I told Christopher how proud I was of him for going through chemo and always doing it with a smile. For walking up and down our stairs to check on Ethan when he didn't have to and when I knew he was completely drained. I expressed my feelings and love for him in a way that only I can with my words to him. My conversation with God was one that had less sarcasm than it's had before, I expressed my feelings of feeling dismantled and yet repaired by him. I thanked him for giving me strength when I thought I had none and grace when I thought I was foundering. All great talks and ones that I will carry in my heart for a very long time.

Before I knew it Lauren had finished and had doubled back to see where I was and I be honest I think I only had a half or quarter mile left to go at this point. She forced me to step it up and keep moving - she was such a great motivator. As soon as I realized that I was so close to the end I stared to get choked up. My feelings were bursting out at the seems and I thought for a moment that I wasn't going to be able to finish because I wasn't sure if I could run and cry at the same time.

Then out of the blue Lauren yelled something and the crowed started cheering and got 100 times louder than before. I took all those feelings that wanted to bust out and I let them out in a sprint to the finish line. I ran 3-point-something miles in 40 mins. That was 5 minutes off of what I had trained for. And to see my friends there cheering me on meant the world to me. And I could feel Christopher there, standing next to me and as if he whispered in my ear "that's my girl."

This day couldn't have been more perfect in so many ways. I'm so blessed to have those people and others in my life. I can't wait to run this again next year!

(from left to right: Lauren, Me and my friend "D")

The Run

One of the things I learned from Christopher was to never give up in anything; hell be damned. About a year ago I made the choice to run a 5k in Christopher's memory. The idea of doing something that takes time and training and putting in effort to finish something so amazing is something I had to do for myself; however the flu that year had other thoughts.

So I made the choice to keep training and keep running. One to stay and get in better shape because after dropping around 40 lbs after Christopher's passing I started to feel good about myself and my own health. So I trained with a trainer twice a week and let me tell you he put me through my paces.

Then one day while celebrating a friends new start to her life I met a woman. An amazing woman. Someone who I sat in awe of. She had lost her child to cancer at a very young age. Now I didn't know this woman other than a comment she left on my blog one day and that she was a good friend of my friend, but yet as I talked to her I felt a connection.

I can't remember everything we talked about; but what I do remember is thinking that no matter what I accomplish in this lifetime will never compare to what this woman had done. She took grief and tragic moment in her life and turned it into something wonderful and so very close to my heart. This wonderful woman made it to my list of people that I admire and look at with such open eyes at the awe she puts me in.

Her name is Jenny and she the co-founder of Heroes for Children. Her daughter Allie passed away September 13, 2004 from Acute Myeloid Leukemia at the tender age of 8 months 27 days. Allie and her family went through three rounds of chemotherapy, 80 blood transfusions, and a stem cell transplant and after after all of this her mother took her grief and channeled it into something so beautiful. Heroes for Children was created to help families dealing and coping with childhood cancers. Now while Christopher didn't pass away from a childhood cancer, cancer runs in our family. Ethan has lost his grandmother (Christopher's Mom) and his dad from cancer; which raises Ethan's odds, for me, in the "not so comfortable zones".

I left that evening in a sense of awe of this wonderful woman. I started following her on twitter only to find my self more in awe of what she does and how she manages to reach out to families and while she still carries around a part of grief; it is those volumes of emotions that keeps her moving forward. Which, to be honest is all we, as those who have lost ones we love, can do - move forward.

Every year they have a 5k run and after meeting Jenny and hearing about little Allie; I went home kissed my muppet (Ethan) and told myself I knew what run I wanted to honor Christopher with. This one.

So in less than a week I will dawn my running shoes, strap on my iPod filled with songs that I found on Christopher's little computer and take my place with other runners as we run to support those families dealing with childhood cancers. But my run for me will be very therapeutic as I will be for three people. I will run first and for most for the memory of Christopher and his fight to never give up no matter what it takes. How he keep moving forward even I am sure their times he wanted to stop - but he never did. Second, I run for my muppet. I run to show him that there are times in our lives that we must push ourselves only if it means to better ourselves. And lastly I run for this sweet little Allie who without her fight (and others) might this organization never have been formed.

I ask those of you who read this blog to check out the Heroes for Children website and if you can make a donation to this wonderful cause on my fundraising page.