And just like that...

Nora is 2.

I swear she looked like this just yesterday:

I wrote something kind of sappy, but I decided that today- this post is for Nora. So, I will write it just for her, in a way that she would want to read it.

This past year...

She has ridden more than 100 slides.

A conservative guess of popsicles eaten would be 1000.

She swam in the ocean.

 She speaks more words than most 4 year olds.

She watched fireworks (and not from a hospital window).

She built a sand castle snowman. 

She went to the dentist (twice!).

She met the Paw Patrol. 

She pooped on the potty (once, hopefully more of that to come!)

She went to 2 amusement parks. 

She was a flower girl. 

She has had roughly 200 baths. 

She has taken 2 dance classes.

She has sat in at least 50 time outs.

She wore pig tails. 

She says "I love you, mommy" without me saying it first.

She drove the ridiculous Cinderella carriage.

She rode a bike.

She went camping.

She rode the T.

She sings Happy Birthday.

She found her Easter basket all by herself.

She has eaten at least 50 lbs of mac n cheese.

She knows all of her colors.

She would wear her "Rubble Shirt" (Paw Patrol shirt) and Anna jammies every single day, if I let her.

Her first year on earth was tough. Her second year was one for the record books. I can only hope that her 3rd year beats them all...

Morning Decorations

Nora Beans, you are mommy's heart. You make me brave, even when I don't want to be. You challenge me with your strong will, but it's that will that gave you life, so I will adjust. You and your sister give me hope that this broken world will survive. I know it's a better place because of you. Shine bright always, my love bug. Mommy is so proud of you!

Light it up GOLD!

September never really meant a great deal to me. Of course there are special days in this month that I celebrate some birthdays of friends and family, but for the most part, September has never been a super exciting month in my life.

Nora, day 1.

I wish I didn't even have to say it, but September is Childhood Cancer Awareness month. I know it might not sound exciting. Heck, it might even sound depressing. Who wants to focus on such a sobering, tragic topic for a single day, let alone an entire month?!

Me. I want to.

Nora, day 2.

 I thought I knew more than most about cancer. But 20 years, 3 grandparents, 2 parents, and a handful of good friends later, I still had never heard of neuroblastoma. In fact, when Dr. Pokorney said the name over the phone, I had no earthly idea what she was talking about. When we got down to the triage area in the ER, it was mentioned again, and it sounded even uglier the second time.

Nora, day 4.

Talking about it is still not easy.  In fact, the lump in my throat is growing just typing this very moment. I still burst into tears at random times for (to the woman at CVS on Monday) no apparent reason. Seeing my girls fight over a toy is less annoying to me than to the next person because there was a time, not long ago, that I wondered if I would see that happen. And even though, with each passing day, and each clear scan, I have tried to settle into a normal life again, I am slowly realizing that our journey with cancer will never be over. The shadow it leaves is quite permanent. And I think I can speak for all of the other strong and beautiful families I have met throughout this tumultuous ride-theirs aren't likely to end either. The fear and anxiety can be crippling and the appointments are constant reminders of what can happen, no matter how hard you will it to stay away.

Childhood cancer is real. It's real for the children who must fight to live. It is real for the moms and dads who sleep in hospital cots, listening to monitors day and night. Parents that hold their babies of all ages while a nurse, dressed in a full hazmat suit, hooks up toxic chemicals to their child's IV pole. They know it's not safe, but they know it's necessary. They know that the only thing that can possibly stop those cells from dividing is what is in that horrifying bag marked with a huge fluorescent orange CAUTION sticker, as if they needed a reminder of how dangerous it is. And then they watch that liquid make it's way through the tube that connects to their baby's chest or arm, and they pray. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes they do whatever they can to distract their child and themselves. Sometimes, in the good fortune that their child is sleeping, they stare at them in disbelief that such a physically small being can muster the kind of strength it takes to fight cancer. One year later, I am still in complete AWE of Nora's strength.

Families that spend days, weeks, months and even YEARS apart so that their child can have a chance at the life they deserve. Childhood cancer is far from normal, but for some families, it becomes normal. Giving your child daily injections, a counter full of prescription bottles, where regular bottles used to dry. When your 3 year old helps flush her sister's port as part of her normal bedtime routine. When a slight fever turns into a blood infection, 2 trips to the ER and weeks of delayed treatment to recover.

It can be very difficult to find reasons to smile while your child fights for her life. Most days, you have to truly look for them. And some days, the really tough ones, you have to create them out of thin air.

Childhood cancer takes strength. To tell you the truth, it takes more strength than I knew I had. I still marvel at how our family was able to get through 2016. We were lucky. We live 20 minutes away from one of the 10 best children's hospitals in the country. Our families live close by. Our friends have had our backs since day one. We realize not everyone has had the same support. Those are the families we pray extra hard for each night.

Last "scheduled" round 8/26/16

Last "actual" round 10/24/16

While I don't have a single complaint about Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh of UPMC or a single nurse or doctor we have ever encountered there, I can't even tell you how much I wish childhood cancer research got the attention it deserves. Waiting for an open bed and delays in clinic appointments are the harsh reality that there are too many. I want to shout it from the top of my lungs until celebrities and athletes are wearing gold and drawing constant attention to such a worthy cause. I want to see gold cleats in the Steeler game in Cleveland next Sunday. I want gold to be as popular and common as pink. My little girl is worth it. Basil. Livy, Caiden, Emery, Amelia and every other neuroblastoma patient that we don't pray for by name each night is worth it. Every single one of the 43 kids diagnosed with childhood cancer daily in this country is worth it. Let's show them how much we care and LIGHT IT UP GOLD!

Cancer

Is there a word uglier than cancer? In my experience, no. Nothing has hurt me the way cancer has. No person, no words, no actions. Just cancer.

My grandparents, then my dad, my mum, my friends, neighbors...and then it came for my baby.

Nope. I will not sit back and watch. I won't pretend it's not happening. I won't do nothing.

Tomorrow, for the 17th year in a row, I will be walking in the Relay for Life. You can read more about what Relay is and how it has helped me cope with what cancer has done to me here. This is a post I wrote a few years ago on my personal blog (which has taken a backseat to this one). My feelings toward cancer are still the same, but my drive to stop this disease form ravaging more lives has only intensified.

Just pulling some hair...

It is going to be emotional, as this will be Nora's first year. Last year, she was in the hospital getting treatment. This year, she will be walking in 2 survivor laps with my dad, mum, and friends of ours that are more like family. I will get to cheer her on (through massive amounts of tears I am sure) while she reminds a field full of people that her fight was not in vein. Good things can come from unfathomable pain. Humanity can rise to the occasion and fight together toward the common good.

This fight is important to me. It has been for more than 2 decades. I imagine it will be forever.

If you think you can, you are welcome to join anytime form 10am this Saturday through the night to 10am Sunday morning at North Boundary Park in Cranberry Township. Our team is still Mel's Maniacs (Mel being my mom). I would love to see you and Nora would love to give you a high five!

Keep the Flowers.

On my drive home from work yesterday, I had my iPod on shuffle. A song I haven't heard in many years came on, and before the first line was over, a single tear rolled down my cheek. I found myself completely unable to get through the song without sobbing. It overwhelmingly resonated with how I have been feeling the past 6 months.

You can take those words to mean so many different things because they do. Weeds can be anything destructive in your life-relationships, addiction, lies, illness, debt...weeds can pop out of nowhere, or grow slowly and steadily over time. I have been trying so hard lately to pick my weeds. As a human being, I have too many to count, but right now, there is one that seems to grow so much faster and deeper than it used to. It is becoming difficult to get a hold of and increasingly harder to pull out: fear.

Please don't get me wrong, the past 6 months have truly been the miracle that I have been praying for. Nora is growing beautifully. She is incredibly smart, loves to be tickled, runs faster than her sister, is completely fearless, and remains the strongest child I have ever known. Heidi continues to be honestly the absolute best sister I could have imagined her to be. She is beautiful and funny. She is profoundly less shy than she was just one year ago. They are both shining lights in this world and I am grateful every single day for that. I really am.

But there is still this ache. It's right there in my side-like I just ran farther than I should have. No amount of water will help it and there is no "walking this off." It is just there. It hurts more some days than others, but it never completely goes away and I don't suspect it ever will. I am afraid. I know what can happen. My mind won't let me forget where we have been, and how quickly we could be there again. Everyday, I am faced with these weeds. I spend many moments picking them throughout the day. I can usually stay on track at the beginning, but by the end of most days, I am exhausted trying to keep only flowers in my garden.

No one wants these consuming thoughts. No one wants to be afraid or constantly fear the worst. I pray that with time, I will start to feel more like myself. I pray that I will find the ability to truly enjoy every single moment of my blessed life. I am trying, I guess it's just not as easy as I thought it would be. I thought clear scans would turn this permanent page and life would change completely and instantly. But it didn't. I know that makes me sound ungrateful, and that is the LAST thing that I am, but this new journey we are on is just that- it's new. It's not life as we knew it. We can't go back to the way it was on February 22, 2016. Life will never be the way it was before Nora had to fight to live. I wish it could, but I am just now realizing how much it can't.

And maybe that's OK. My weeds might be growing faster than I'd like at times, but if I know one thing is for sure, it is that my flowers are the most rare and beautiful the earth could offer. My blessings outweigh my struggles, and my girls are a constant reminder of that.

I've never been much of a gardener. In fact, last year, I actually killed an indoor cactus, but I will continue to fight to remove my weeds. And with the Lord's help, I will raise up 2 of the most beautiful flowers the world has ever seen.

Get rid of your weeds.

After all, the less weeds in your garden, the more room for flowers.

Here is that song I have been singing non-stop. She talks about it being 3 months. For me, it's been 6, but it might as well be 3 years.
 I hope you love it. I also hope that you love Kelly Clarkson. If you don't, I don't know that we can be friends. JK, I love you all.