Hi Friends and Family.

I have not been writing on my blog for over a week, because my heart has been heavy. Some have heard the news from our family, some have not. I feel it appropriate to share now what most of us have already heard.

On Thursday March 6, my parents went in for my mom's regular MRI. She'd been undergoing other treatments that had given her more time than we thought we'd have since last fall we were told she had roughly six months left. In November she had a 2nd brain surgery, which is what gave us six months more with her. Estimates of time are often just estimates, and people can die sooner, or live MUCH longer than doctors presume they will. It is often that we hear of someone beating the odds they were given. Sometimes it's will power, sometimes it's medicine working better than hoped, other times it's attitude. All of the time it's a miracle. So, here we are 5 months later. My mom is still here and we are loving every minute that we have with her.

March 6th rolls around, and she visits her doctor again. This time the brain scan showed an advancing tumor. My parents and doctors together decided that she would spend her last weeks, to possibly months, at home. The treatments are not working, and whatever they could do wouldn't really prolong things for her anymore. I kind of always knew this day would come. I made the awful mistake of googling her cancer when I was told the name of it a year ago. That was not a fun experience. I was at work, and had to rush to the bathroom after reading the statistics because I thought I would vomit.

I say this more easily now because I've had time to breathe, time to let it sink in. I'm not sure it ever really will, though. How do we ever let this sink in when we love someone so much? I don't think you can ever just say, "Thy will be done, Lord", and just go on your merry way without a care. I can accept God's will, but I don't love it. His will isn't always easy, in fact it's often extremely difficult. If it were easy, there would be no faith involved.

I spent the weekend, after my stepdad told us the news that she would return home to hospice care, in a fog. I somehow was blessed with an afternoon of peace, enough so to buy a new car because our car was falling apart, and we desperately needed to get this done. I know there were angels with me that day because I was supposed to be falling apart with sadness, yet I was excited and optimistic about purchasing a new car (which I ABSOLUTELY LOVE DRIVING). If there is an angel of anti-anxiety, a prozac angel, that is the one that was with me that day. Somehow I held it together through Friday at work, Saturday at the dealership, and Saturday night watching a movie with Justin.

I woke up at 5 am Sunday morning when Justin woke up to pee, and it felt like someone was sitting on my chest. I could not get comfortable and felt extremely off.  I had yet to cry, and I really didn't want to. I was afraid that if I let the flood gates open, all hell would come out with it. Like a Pandora's box of emotions. Justin came back to bed, and I told him I felt awful and couldn't sleep and explained the tightness in my chest, and the pit in my stomach. He told me I needed to cry, and that I'd been holding it in, but I needed to get it out. I told him I didn't want to. I really meant it. I wanted to be tougher than this, I wanted to not let it hurt me. But it was hurting me in a new way I'd never experienced before. My chest really felt constricted and it felt like my soul hurt. I don't know how to explain it other than that. My heart was breaking, in a way I'd never experienced. The worst way.

And then I took his advice. I just let it all out. We were there at 5 am in the dark on Sunday morning and I was just bawling. Tears were running down my cheeks into my hair and ears, soaking my pillow and the sheets below. I was angry at God for letting the treatments not work, I was worried for my family because all of our hearts were breaking and I didn't want us all to hurt, and I was scared of the future. A future without my mother. I was overwhelmed by all of it, and I just wanted to rewind to a better time in life, when my mom was healthy, and everything was ok.

Justin was amazing through it all. Encouraging me to cry to get rid of the chest pains, was genius. Then suddenly, he did what he always does when things are impossibly hard. He lets me cry it out, reassures me that I will be ok, and that I'm strong...and then he cracks me up. He started reciting poems off the top of his head that were similar to Shel Silverstein, and they were so good that he wrote some down and we've been trying to write more since then.

He is my saving grace. For whatever reason, he just knows what to do with me when I'm struggling, and not sure what to do for myself. I don't know what I ever did without him.

For whatever reason, my mother has to leave us before we ever wanted her to. I'm so grateful that we get notice, that she isn't just here one day and gone the next. I've had time to say everything I want to say, and just be with her during her hardest days. I got to braid her hair after brain surgery to keep it away from the stapled incision. I got to lay with her in the dark as she pondered aloud what this cancer would bring to our family. I've become closer to my siblings than I might have otherwise. I've gained knowledge of hardship, and what it does to your heart, to your outlook on life, love, God, faith, the world, and trials. I've seen more people be touched by my mother, than I ever thought she could reach, and I thought she had reached A LOT already. I've had my view on faith permanently altered, and formed a closer bond with God, but I'm still mad at Him.

I've seen people I hardly know reach out to me with the most appropriate words that I needed to hear on some of my hardest days. I've seen miracles, and prayers answered in the way I didn't want.

The most important thing I've seen though, is my mother, through it all, never relent in her love for her family, and God. She is perfect in every way, and I am eternally grateful that I am her daughter. I consider myself the luckiest girl in the world because of that fact.

Even though our hearts are breaking, we are all so lucky to have her now. I guess now, we just love her with all we've got and see what the future holds.

Above all what makes me smile the most right now is how Justin makes my mom giggle and laugh. She is in a lot of pain. She is miserable. And then he'll crack her up and the laughter heals her brain for a little bit.

We were visiting her at my grandparents' house last Thursday after one of her treatments. When she is tired, she has a really hard time with word recall and loses her train of thought very quickly. She will mix up names, and terms like "we", "you", etc. She was struggling at trying to tell me something and got pretty frustrated. It always breaks my heart. I wish I could fix it. I hate seeing her in any pain whatsoever.

Justin made her laugh about something dumb we were joking about. Then I started venting about how we were sick of cars since our transmission failed and is STILL NOT FIXED. I mentioned we'd get one of those carts that are pulled by a human, and we'll take turns pulling each other to work. When I said, "What are those called again?", she immediately said, "a rickshaw." As if she had never been struggling with her thoughts at all.

Miracles, people. Rickhaw is a really hard word. Most people don't even know it. But then, she is incredible with words, and the tumor and scar tissue can't even keep her down. I get stuck on a hard word, and my genius of a mom, a regular thesaurus, chimes in.

Laughter really is healing. I'm so grateful that she and Justin like each other so much. He really is great at making her laugh. We spent the weekend with her getting her to laugh and smile. I couldn't imagine a more perfect weekend right now. It is exactly how I wanted to spend my time.

Oh and during that we watched my friend's brother get a bronze medal in the olympic bob-sledding!

Miracles, people. Miracles!

I love my mom. I am incredibly lucky that I still get to spend time with her, and have her be able to talk to me, and still get to see her face. Brain cancer may be a jerk and may be beating the crap out of her, but my mom is a fighter.

Justin and I have spent some time really making our house feel like a sanctuary from the world. For us that involves positive attitudes, incessant laughter, love and a lot of really great items that remind us of all the things we find beautiful... and surrounding ourselves with all of that.

Here's a photo roll of some of the little details that really make a difference in it not being just another place, but our very own home.








And how could it feel like a real home to me, without a pet or two?

Guys.

My dream came true last week.

There are no words to perfectly describe my elation at finally owning a real, acoustic, upright piano.

They say never go to bed angry.
They say never get a king size bed.

Some say in order to stay together you should never keep secrets.
Others say in order to stay together you have to have your own things.

Here's what I say:

If you don't go to bed angry you'll stay up until 3 am fighting. Because fighting when tired breeds more fighting, until neither of you even know what you're talking about and you're just fighting because you're tired.

A king size bed allows us to feel like we have all the space in the world to sleep without anybody waking the other up. And we both REALLY value our sleep, so we need this. However, every morning we wake up piled in the middle of our massive bed. So get a king size bed, and use the crap out of it. You'll still love each other, that is, if you loved each other already.

My last piece of advice is this:

The couple that laughs together, lasts together. Nothing gets you through life better than a good laugh.  Tell me the last time you didn't enjoy a good giggle fest, laugh-a-thon or giant guffaw.

You can't, because everyone enjoys laughing. It happens because you're happy. Even if you're laughing at the end of the worst possible day and it couldn't get any worse, you laugh because deep down inside, there's a tiny shred of you that can see that it is somehow going to be ok.

I think I'll open a clinic down the street dedicated to laughter therapy. And no one will have to pay unless I got them to chuckle at least a little.

I don't think we've gone a single day of our marriage without the tiniest of chuckles. No one appreciates my dad-like sense of humor like he does. And no one can get me to laugh until I can't breathe as often as he can. We're two peas in a giggling pod.  See for yourself below.

(Pardon the blurred photos. We aren't able to focus a camera whilst taking selfies. Yeah, I said whilst. I say whilst, when I'm feeling good. Must be all this laughter therapy going on.)