Running On Empty...No More

I remember a math teacher who encouraged me because he saw something in me, a potential to problem solve like none of the other kids in my class. It was unusual at the time to have a girl who was better than a boy in mathematics, and I have to be honest - that alone was thrilling ! He made me believe in my own capabilities when I didn't even know that I had such capabilities. He believed me right into a math degree in college, where I was surrounded by all-male classmates and teachers. The struggle was real at times, and I recall encountering a teacher who made me feel very small, like my contributions were not worthy of his classroom. I was even told by another teacher that no females were able to succeed in his classroom, so I might as well consider dropping his class before it showed up on my transcript. What an arrogant ass he was. I'm happy to say that he is no longer teaching, but my confidence was quite bruised that semester when I flailed in class. I'm certain he wa

Dale Carnegie once said, "The expression one wears on one's face is far more important than the clothes one wears on one's back." I have always believed that. But what happens when one loses her face? This is the story of when I lost mine. As we ate dinner the night of December 29, my food tasted funny and I had a headache along the back of my head. My tongue and lip felt a little numb. I'm usually a good cook, so I chalked it up as stress from the holidays. Tomorrow my dad would be 72, and I was going to focus on preparing food for the dinner my mom was having in his memory. I went to bed early, thinking that if I were getting a cold, the extra sleep would help. When I woke up, Chris and Ben were leaving for a doctor's appointment, Nate was going to his girlfriend's house, and Gracie was heading next door to play for a while. I sat down to have breakfast - a bowl of fresh fruit - and thought it was odd that I was having difficulty eating it. The juice

"We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him: who have been called according to His purpose." Romans 8:28 As I write this, I need to remind myself that there is always a higher purpose, one that I cannot pretend to know, yet, but need to believe exists. From experience, I KNOW it exists, yet I'm still asking "Why?" How many times have I realized years after a heartache of my own that there was a great lesson to be learned in a disappointment or failure? But how does a parent impart that wisdom on a child? My son is also asking "Why?", and I am certain it won't be the last time. Benjamin is my middle child, the one who is most like me - an overachiever who has little patience for his own imperfections. He gets it honestly and without pressure from either parent; he is his own worst enemy when it comes to criticism. But he also has a generous heart with the ability to rise above his own suffering and rejoice in those

In the wake of my father's death, I am stuck between yesterday and tomorrow, but not in a "seize the day" or "smell the roses" or "enjoying today" kind of way. I feel like time is just sitting here and I'm unable to move forward. I am clothed in a palpable weight of sadness. People mean well. I know they do, but I'm surprised by statements of how "blessed" and "lucky" I was to be with my father in his final days and hours. I don't feel blessed or lucky at all. In my world, if you did not have to watch your father suffer from the cruelest of diseases and then lose the battle, then YOU are the lucky one. It's not a gift that I no longer have this beautiful man in my life. I'm not lucky that we fought hard and had hopes of sharing another holiday together, only to have time run out. I'm not blessed that I got to hold dad's hand as he said goodbye because it means I'll never get to hold his hand again.

"Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." I Thessalonians 5:18 As my dad continues to receive daily treatments at Johns Hopkins, I am in awe of the people we meet every day -- from the 5 year old child with a rare form of cancer to the Congressman who suffered a stroke while having a brain tumor removed. These people are all fighting for their lives. And each one of these people has one thing in common -- they are thankful for today. I have spent countless hours trying to understand why my dad was (un)lucky enough to get such a rare form of cancer. Countless hours reading about it on the Internet. But these days, I am just like the 5 year old and the Congressman - simply thankful for today. Thankful for the time I have left with my dad. Thankful for the car rides to and from the hospital, where I get great marital advice from my father (like, "never share a bloomin' onion with your spouse"). Thankful that my

My father is the funniest man I've ever met. Sometimes, I laugh because his humor and wit are terrific and he has every intention of seeing me throw my head back and laugh like a hyena. Other times, he has no clue just how funny he is. Today, I experienced the latter. Dad is on chemo and radiation, and while that is not funny at all, his chemo chat today was no exception to hilarity. He is required to drink water prior to radiation -- not a ton of water -- but more water than he's accustomed to downing at one time. Mom and I suggested that he pretend it was beer, but he was having none of that. He turned to me, after chemo and as he's prepping for radiation, and said, "You know what the hardest thing about this is? Drinking all this damn water." Really, Dad?? The hardest thing is the water? I am still laughing at the look I got, and I snapped it just in time.

I have waited my whole life for my father to say "I love you." These words do not come easily to him, they never have. I know he loves me, but I never hear him say it. Recently, my father has been diagnosed with prostate cancer. He's not looked well since Christmas and on April 23, 2014, it was confirmed that he has the Big C. Since then, I have thought of nothing else in my spare time. Will he make it? Am I able to do anything for him? Will he suffer? Will he ever tell me he loves me? His PSA score was normal, but his Gleason rating is a 10. I knew nothing about either of these things until April 23, and now I know he has a very aggressive form of prostate cancer. With radiation, the doctor says, he could extend his life 5, 10 or 15 years. My dad is very positive and says "I couldn't ask for more than 15 more years." Then we see another doctor who feels the slides from the biopsy should be re-examined. He "sees something". Upon further examina