The End of the Story

I have decided not to write out the last month as planned. The memory sticks painfully with me, and it probably always will. I don’t need the vivid reminder. I don’t need the rehashing of painful details. I don’t want to skim this blog in the future and remember what little bit might fade with time.

It still hurts and it still weighs down my life, but it is time to stop writing about that. Time to write about my awesome siblings and Dad, the time I spend with friends, the adventures in life again. While this blog has been a very helpful venting ground, I don’t ever want it to become a wasteland of my pain. And I think it will be nice to focus my mind on the little details that still shine bright rays of happiness into my life.

I am not done writing about Mom. She is gone, but she is still a major part of who I am. She was amazing and beautiful and wise. And I want to dwell on that, and not on her sick and suffering.


Tiny Reminders

She always did leave numerous, coffee stained notes laying around.

I was back out at Dad’s this weekend. I was handling it really well, it didn’t even particularly feel weird, until I made the mistake of flipping through some paperwork out of curiosity. I found a journal of Mom’s, one that Jenna had given her a long time ago. She had some Bible verses copied down in it, but nothing too personal. But tucked inside the pages I found a little sticky note. The top corner has my initials in it, followed by a simple comment: “my advocate – who fights for me-”

My mirage of okay crumbled. It still crumbles, every time I see the picture I quietly snapped so I would always have a reminder of it, every time I start remembering the words to myself in my head.

I have no idea why my mom thought to wright this down. An important enough detail she wanted to remember it, but also one that shares the scrap of paper with “There’s a harvest to get in this year!” written below. I am always protective of the people I love, but I didn’t know I ever did anything to make it stand out from the others who were on her side. I wonder what I did that day that she thought to make note of it. Why me out of the many people fighting for her? I’ll never know. But I am so, so glad that I could do something for her, so glad that we were close enough that we could have this connection, close enough to be equals and advocates and friends. Because she was always my advocate, always my support too.

It isn’t just little snippets of her writing that remind me of my loss. (There have been other scraps of paper, other notes, whether it was a letter to us kids or just little to do lists. They are all so her and they all really hurt). The stupidest thing is that I’ll see something, and unbidden the thought pops into my head “That outlasted Mom.” It’s terrible and such a stupid, horrible thought. I pulled out my violin today, thinking I could fill some empty, lethargic time with music. A few seconds of playing and I realized it would be hard. It had been Mom’s violin. We had learned to play together. I had played it for her the last day she was alive, because I always promised I would bring it out for her again to hear and I didn’t want to go back on that promise. She was pretty far gone by then but Roxy said she thinks she heard me. I found the rosin for the bow, the old, broken chunk that goes back however long ago when we actually played together – something past 10 years now I’m sure. And instantly “This rosin is here still and Mom’s not.” It’s not even nostalgic stuff.  “This stupid ketchup bottle,” “This notepad I haven’t used yet,” “The dang old cat is still alive, but Mom’s not.” I hate myself every time I think it, but it still comes to mind.

I think a big issue is that for some reason I feel like I should be okay now, even though I know it’s not true. I feel like I should just plow back into life and get beyond the pain, maybe it’s a lifetime of pushing pain aside that makes me feel like that. But when something comes up and suddenly I’m reminded I’m not okay. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not. And because I’m not the facade is easily broken by violin rosin and the beautiful curve of her penmanship.

Or realistically just a night like tonight, where I don’t have anything to fill my mind enough to distract me from the pain and suffering of these last few months. But I don’t know how this pain is ever going to go away so how else am I to cope than to just push it away?

By blog posting, apparently. I would apologize for gushing my pain out here, but let’s face it, that’s always been a major reason I had this blog, and there’s certainly more to come. But to have this one place where I can come to and just sob out the fears and thoughts of my innmost heart… it’s the only place I can, and it means the world to me. 

1 Week Later

It has been several months since I posted. Truth is I’ve had a lot to say, and not enough strength to say it. Easter was hard, because I saw how terribly my Mom’s health was fading. Mother’s Day was horrific, because I realized she was actually dying. 1 week ago she did.

At some future time I might try to revisit all that, to pour out so much of the fear and pain that has bubbled under the surface of my life for so long, but right now I won’t. Right now I want to just try to open up again by talking about the now and not the horrors of the past few weeks. I don’t yet have the strength for that.

This past week has been easier and harder than I expected. Easier simply because none of it feels real. It is hard to grapple with emotions when the emotions are tied to what feels like a dream. I can’t imagine the fact that my mother is actually gone. I can’t imagine not being able to talk to her again, how I can’t rush to her with my good news and bad. And so it is a vague fear of the future that fills me, but not a very precise one. Yet.

I sense a breaking in the dream coming. More and more things happen that remind me my Mom is dead, and more and more I feel the truth prick my heart with pain. I have a friend who is thinking of buying a house. Mom used to be a realtor, and I almost told her my Mom could probably offer advice on that. Someone mentions their mom in a conversation and a blunt voice in my mind rings “I no longer have one.”

Accidentally saying “My parents house,” or “I am going to visit Mom and Dad this weekend,” and thinking that those are no longer correct phrases, is only slightly more painful that actually saying “My Dad’s house,” and realizing that not only is it true, but my mind actually went to the right phrase first.

I fear so much for the future. For Dad without his other half. I don’t know that Dad has ever needed anyone besides Mom, they were always so content together. Now I worry what his life will look like without her. I worry about that big house, and the days Christian might not be living at home anymore. I worry about all my family without my Mom as our rock.

I worry about the day I get a random bloody nose or a bad flu and I can’t call her to ask her what to do. I worry about what should be happy days and wonder how they could be happy without her there to participate: holidays, when I graduate, if I get married someday, if I have kids someday.

I worry about major life decisions without her advice, I worry about struggles without her love to support me.

I wonder why she had to go through so much pain, why her body had to waste away to nothing, why, why, why…

And how in the world am I going to move on from this?

I can, for the most part, shove this all inside and ignore it, as I always have done with pain. But it creeps up and if I don’t surround myself with distractions it hits me, more persistent than any emotion I have tried to set aside before.

I wish she was here to hug me right now. She would know the right words to say.

I hope this doesn’t make me sound desperate and alone, because I have wonderful, amazing friends and family who have been so supportive of me through this. But they aren’t mi Madre, my Marme, my Mom, and they never will be.

And I haven’t figured out how to come to terms with that yet.

Bastille in Bozeman

I like taking photos of tickets with this. Something about the excitement showing in my eyes being more fun than just a picture of the ticket? I don’t know, but expect to continue to see them.

You guys! Or more correctly, you very few mostly strangers on the internet. BASTILLE WAS IN BOZEMAN! Now to translate this for you. Bastille (AKA the only band I buy every song of and adore oh so much my favorite band) not only decided to grace my beautiful state, but came to Bozeman, which is only a short 2 hour drive from home.

Now, I am not a particular fan of concerts. Anyone else I would have no real desire to see. Haven’t actually gone to but one concert back in 2010, had fun but it wasn’t exactly my thing. But I always said if Bastille even came as close as Colorado (the closest that people seem to actually get to coming to Montana some days) I would totally make the effort to go. So when Bastille announced on Facebook they would be here, I knew I’d be at the concert. I tried pulling some friends into the fun, but they, a. not having the obsession with the band, and b. protesting to the late Sunday night right before work and/or finals, declined.  I was unable to get a posse together. A solo adventure it was to be then.

My beautiful, beautiful state of Montana. I had to take several photos without looking at the camera to be safe while driving, and actually ended up with one that was decent. Yay!

I remember thinking in Germany how easy it was to find adventures, and how I really needed to make the effort to just get out and find some in my own state. Winter isn’t very conducive to traveling here, so I haven’t had much chance, and lets face it, some days I need a push. But here was my chance, and Bozeman had been one of my first thoughts for destinations all this time. An audio book on Boenhoeffer by Eric Metaxas made the drive short. I highly recommend it.

I have for YEARS heard about this chocolate shop in Bozeman. La Chatelaine Chocolat Co. Boasting of Truffles and hot chocolate made from scraps of truffles and all sorts of good things had been described to me. It was obviously the first place I went, and of course I find it closed! Sad day. But someday I will make it back up to Bozeman and get me some. An excuse for another adventure, perhaps?

“We will rule over this land, and we will call it… This Land.” “I think we should call it, Your Grave.” “Ah, curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!”

Nom Nom Nom

This forced a change of plans upon me. I pondered what this meant for my day for a few minutes, chilling in my car, wondering why everyone was wearing coats when I thought it was gorgeous outside even with the spattering of rain. Snacking on the way too plentiful pile of snacks I had stocked up for the short drive, and perhaps reenacting some Firefly scenes with cinnamon gummy bears? I admit nothing.

Feeling throwbacks to Germany when stores have year round Christmas sections.

The sad thing is that I had to carefully prop up my cellphone to actually make an effort to take these photos.  On a side note, aren’t cinnamon gummy bears one of the most perfect candies ever? Maybe it’s a nostalgic thing because Mom always would buy them when she was writing a book with a friend and the childhood feels of hanging out with the friends family every week are strong. But gosh dang it they’re good.

So the obvious answer was to go shopping downtown to kill a half hour or more (I may or may not have had that amount of time planned for chocolate shopping)



Obligatory wall of huckleberry products in Montana store is obligatory.






Then it was dinner time! Not that I needed any with the snacking I had done. But it’s the experience of it all, you know. So I headed to the highly recommended Montana Ale Works. Known, as you can imagine, for awesome beer. I am not a huge beer fan, but the food is fantastically worth going for as well.





The pomegranate mojito was fantastic. I asked my bartender what I should be getting for dinner, as I was torn between the taco and a burger. He told me to get one taco, as they were small, grab a side of house made tater tots, and a salad to round it up. I thankfully took his suggestion, and was very happy I did so. The beef taco was savory and flavorful, with a nice crunch from a cabbage slaw and the perfect corn flour tortilla over notes. The tater tots were spicy. I was not expecting the punch they packed, as people tend to oversell the heat in dishes. The jalapeno and pepper jack and divine crunchy outside with soft pillowy inside were such a perfect thing. Not sure the tots and the taco were something to pair together, but I honesty didn’t care. They were both fantastic with the mojito though.

Aaand concert time! Standing room general admission for me. And I ended up being about 12 feet from the stage. Parking was actually super easy too. Brick Breeden Fieldhouse is a fantastic venue.

Waiting, and waiting. And so excited so not feeling like too much of a wait. Read some of the Odyssey on my phone. I look like a total dork in this picture, but I was one, so all is cool.

Opening act was Mondo Cozmo. Not familiar with their work but they were fun. A little heavy on the instruments so I couldn’t hear the vocals as well, which is just a personal taste thing.

I absolutely love this picture. Great one of lead singer Dan with the blue light behind him. And actually semi okay quality with all the weird lighting going on

You are probably most familiar with Bastille’s song Pompeii, which came out about two years ago and was quite a hit. You know how usually you can overplay a song until you are utterly sick of it, but somehow there are those few golden songs you never get tired of? I never got tired of Pompeii, and when I searched out more of their music, I find I never get tired of any of that either. They don’t go the cheesy romantic way that is so overplayed nowadays, and pull inspiration from history and lore and the harder, more difficult aspects of life. Perhaps if I searched off the beaten path of music a bit more I’d find more of that, but something about this band has just always spoke to me for several years now. I was so blessed to see them live.

I even got to stand within like, 6 inches of Dan at one point, so fangirling was for sure happening. I apologize to everyone who’s toes I accidentally jumped on during the night, by the way. It was crowded and I’m not coordinated enough. I’m altogether surprised I didn’t lose my voice, what with screaming and singing and just getting over a bit of a head cold, and then driving home and singing to all their music for 2 more hours, and then getting up for work the next day after a long night. But I didn’t, and I’m super thankful for that.

See my dorky smile of happyness leaving the concert below. I still get that when I think of my adventureful weekend. So glad I took the dive to have a solo adventure. So glad I got to see my favorite band. So glad I am a dork and I let myself brazenly enjoy things that other people might not and that’s okay (thinking not so much of the concert now as I am of the afore mentioned cinnamon bear part of this post…).

Now for a 2 hour drive home. And work in the morning!



10/10, will certainly be going to a Bastille concert again the next time they’re close… or in like Colorado or something.

Hey Tweety Bird, What Do You Want?


Today I heard someone whistle, and the sound instantly reminded me of a meadowlark’s call. It made me realize that there are sounds that will take me back to some place, make me feel at home, and/or give me joy and calm, and the sound of a meadowlark is certainly one of them.

Some people think of robins when they think of spring. But it’s the meadowlark that makes me realize that winter is finally over. They’re the state bird of Montana, so it’s natural they are prevalent. We used to live at a place that had a giant chokecherry bush (chockecherries are certainly a topic I should expound upon eventually… I want to petition for them to become the state fruit)  and the meadowlarks would sit in it and sing all day, hopping around the field and just being so beautiful.

They have a very distinctive song. I remember my Mom once pointing out that it has the same rhythm as saying “Hey tweety bird, what do you want?” It’s one of those things that once you hear it you can’t unhear. And maybe it’s because of that that the sound always reminds me of Mom. And it reminds me of running through the fields and carving my name in sandstone formations that dotted our property or hiking up the road near the ridge line or swinging on the swing set, watching dad mow the sporadic lawn on one of those perfect, balmy spring days that make you want to take a nap in the sun.

They remind me of Montana and what it means to be carefree and they take me back to that time of innocent childhood.

It is, in short, a song that evokes the feeling of belonging, and home.

Amazing what a few short notes can do, isn’t it?


March 27th, 2017 – Updates

Mom had a test today.

The cancer has progressed. Obviously we had hoped that the chemo would have worked better than that. I wouldn’t say it’s a shock. But yet I feel like it’s shocked me.

Health is so incongruous. I spent part of the weekend over at my folks. Mom was feeling better than she had appeared to be for months. Still does. Yet…


Funny how a few seconds of tears and a few moments of struggling with a frozen computer clear your head. Those first few lines read so disjointed. Like I wasn’t quite processing, maybe. I process while I write a lot, but it tends to be much more wordy.

Does this news change much? I don’t know. My Mom still has stage 4 cancer, that’s not new. It’s still a terrible and precipitous fight for her. For us all. And we were certainly wanting some ground to be gained. But this doesn’t mean the fight is over. It just means we didn’t win the battles when we wanted. It’s a reminder of exactly how scary this all is and how modern medicine isn’t a super power cure-all like it’s easy to imagine it to be.

I don’t have a good close for this. I don’t like unwrapped up ideas. But that’s what this news feels like to me. Like I was ready for some closure but everything was just ripped fresh open again.

Book Preferences (Tagged In a Rapid Fire Post)

My dearest Amy over at Fernwehs Call has tagged me in a rapid fire Q and A about my reading preferences. As I always love to talk books, I thought I would rise to the challenge and answer the call.

ebooks or physical books?

Physical books are always my preference. I like owning them and being able to display them. I like the way it’s easier for me to get lost into the story for some reason. That being said, I have read a lot of books on my phones ereader (even back before I had a smart phone and my screen was literally maybe 2″ square) and love always having a book at my fingertips to read while waiting in line or for a few minutes here and there.

Paperback or hardback?

Hardback, mainly because they hold up so much better.

Online or in-store shopping?

If I know exactly what book I want, online. If I’m not sure, in-store. Especially used book stores.

Trilogy or series?

Trilogy. I like to get caught up in an expansive story, but I also like a finishing point. There are some really good series that keep me captivated for the longer read, but they’re harder to revisit because of the time involved.

Heroes or Villains?

Both. Any well crafted character intrigues me.

A book you want everyone to read.

Ooh. There’s books I love, but that’s not always the same thing, is it? I think I would suggest a book of short stories, not even a specific one. I think short stories are sadly underrated, and would like to see them rise in popularity.

Recommend an underrated book.

As someone who reads obscurer classics, there are so many. It’s really unfortunate so few people have read A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court by Mark Twain. That book is comedy gold, and so well written.

The last book you finished.

Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers

Weirdest thing you used as a bookmark?

Nothing to weird. Scraps of paper, dollar bills…

Used books, yes or no?

Always and forever. Used books are a great way to try something new without much investment, to build up your collection, and can usually be found in pretty decent shape.

Top three favorite genres?

Classics. Mystery. Young Adult.

Characters or Plot?

Characters. I’ll forgive a lot of issues in a book if I simply have well written, lovable characters.

Short or long book?

Long, if it’s well written.

Long or short chapters?

Short. I like natural stopping places where I can ready a little here and there and not stop mid-action.

Name the first three books you think of.

Endurance – Alfred Lansing (I was talking with a coworker about great non-fiction just yesterday, and this book rightly came up.)

With Fire and Sword – Henryk Sienkiewicz (I once started learning Polish because of this novel. An all time favorite.)

Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Profit, Spy – Eric Metaxas (Currently what I am listening to on Audible. Fantastic story about a fantastic man)

Books that make you laugh or cry?


Our world or fictional worlds?

Our world, though a fictional one is always welcome too

Do you ever judge a book by it’s cover?

Don’t we all?

Book to movie or book to tv adaptation?

Both! I love seeing favorite stories brought to life.

Series or stand alone?

Stand alone. Or series. Or whatever book is good and awesome. I welcome them all.

In Which I Visit an Animal Crematorium (for Funsies)

Does it need a caption?

Oh, how did I get to that point? Well, I suppose because I have a curious group of friends, in both meanings of the phrase (And in the best possible ways). It was perhaps two weeks ago when Kayla, Hannah, and I had a conversation about how adults should be able to go on field trips and by such learn fun things about our communities around us. It was a smidge over a week ago when a group of us were introduced to a man named Aaron, who worked at a pet crematorium. Now, once the topic had been brought up, he politely tried to keep details from us. We had none of it, and after a half hour discussion filled with our questions and a heavy dose of dark humor, the question was broached if he ever gave tours.

It is not surprising to learn he had not done so in the past. But that would not keep him from giving us one in the future. And we all magically had the 20th off. Because holidays and also because we had plans to close the bars down on Sunday night. For funsies. Gosh I love the adventures my friends drag me into.

Sunday night was an adventure in and of itself, (and not really as crazy as you are imagining it. I had a single amaretto sour, which was very good, and laughed hysterically most of the night),and Monday we awoke a bit too early and after getting some obligatory coffee, Kayla, Lisa, Kathy, and I found ourselves entering the Pet Crematorium.

Aaron started our tour by role playing his job with us, asking about our now-deceased pet and our options for cremation. The fictional pet was named Ralph, he was a pot-smoking 20lb beta fish who died when rubbing alcohol was added to his bowl. Because why not. Aaron then walked us out past the dog park to the pond where ashes were sometimes scattered. It was a beautiful little spot, with a resident goose who was known as “The Undertaker.”

The Undertaker

 Then of course we saw the actual workings of a crematorium. We watched as Aaron took paw prints of the deceased dogs, we saw the giant freaking jet ovens and the aftermath of that oven, and the large grinders where the bones were later processed. It was all somewhat gross but in a fascinating way. And I was with a group of people who had to know everything, like what the heck the green residue on the bottom of the oven was (much googling says it’s just random minerals) which made it doubly awesome.

And then we got into a long pun filled discussion about it on Facebook, and let the whole world know just how weird we are. I wish I had more pics, but I don’t think I could have beat Kayla’s epic Snapchat story anyway.

10/10 would totally go on weird field trips again.

A Belated Happy Birthday to Me!

I’m 24! Oh my. A double dozen years have I now lived. I mean, that and almost two weeks. Because I was going to post about it and then I got a cold and then a massive work load of things which kept me from posting. But here I am now!

I had an epiphany for how I wanted to celebrate, for I had always wanted to do a chopped challenge. You know the TV show, Chopped? I’m a bit of a foodie and love the Food Network, and have certainly watched some Chopped. I always love thinking through what I would be doing with the ingredients. So I asked my Dad to create me an appetizer and entree basket. (Dessert was relegated to gingerbread cake with caramel gelato. I wasn’t going to risk that on a chance basket. Yum yum.) Dad got totally into into it. He in fact got a little sadistic with it. I think he had almost as much putting it together as I did carrying it out.

My first basket

For the app round he gave me bok choy, kiwis, onion potato chips, and scallops. He knew I’d never eaten scallops, let alone cooked scallops, let alone liked much seafood in general. Oh, he schemed. But I was happy for the challenge. I tried breading them in the potato chips, but the chips kinda fell off. Didn’t keep me from cooking them to a perfect condition though. Also they weren’t half bad. I put them on top of a seared bok choi wedge, added some red onions for taste, and then had the bright idea to blend the kiwis with some rice wine vinegar. The dressing was honestly one of the best things I made all evening. I’m going to try it on fruit salads, though I don’t think it would be amiss on a regular lettuce one either.

Plating is harder than it looks

I plated with time to spare. Yay! It needed some apple, or something to give it a bit more dimension, but overall wasn’t half bad. It’s not the prettiest thing on the plate, I have some serious work to do on my plating skills.

Seared bok choy salad with potato chip crusted scallops and a kiwi dressing.

Second basket!

Sirloin steak, blue cheese, dark espresso chocolate, and candied peanuts. Hmm.

Sweet potatoes with candied peanuts and chili powder.

Lots of sweets here. I chopped the peanuts and added them to a skillet with sliced sweet potatoes and some chili powder. My most favorite thing of the night! A little sweet, a little spicy, and sooo good. Especially the second batch, which I didn’t burn.

Blue cheese stuffed steak with chocolate wine sauce, served with candied peanut sweet potatoes

They let me run a little over on time, because I started late on the steak (lesson learned there) and faced with a raw meal or a cooked one, they let me fudge on the time. This turned out a fantastic dish. I’m lucky there was enough peanuts with my peanut gallery eating them while I cooked  (haha, pun intentional). It was a great evening with my folks and we all had a lot of fun! 10/10, will definitely be doing it again.

The next day saw me celebrating with some of my girl friends. We went out to Walkers Grill downtown, a place I’ve always heard great things about. It was fantastic. I had a Basil Haven drink (it had St. Germaine in it, one of my all time favorite alcohols) which I must recreate at home sometime, a chipotle flatbread, and some blueberry tart thing for dessert. Yummy Yum. We talked for hours and had a delightful time.

Photo credit to my beautiful Kayla Kay

23 years of age had a lot of hits and a lot of misses for me. But overall I loved my life adventures. The two days I celebrated my birthday on were certainly a cap to it all.

The Never Ending Merry-Go-Round

Well, it’s been a while since I gave an update on what’s been happening with Mom, and truth is that I’ve been avoiding it a bit. I’m terrible like that. No more, here I sit to catch you up and continue the look into the past and how we got where we are.

It has struck me rather forcefully that her cancer battle has been very cyclic. There was that first diagnoses and round of cancer, all so new and terrifying. and then there was this blessed reprieve afterwards when it was easy to forget that the terrible ordeal had even happened. Indeed, if you had asked me at the time, I would have talked about Mom having cancer in past tense. Not that that time was completely full of sunshine, not at the first, anyway. I don’t think I realized how much chemo had beat down my mom until after the long months of slowly gaining her strength back and realizing that Mom could bustle about with energy and laughter like I hadn’t seen her for almost a year.

Yet the reprieve didn’t last, and, spoiler warning, Mom’s cancer came back. I vividly remember the night we found out again, how I had been at a job interview when I was told we were having a family dinner at my sisters. “Yay!” I had thought. “Family pizza night!” Until my sister told me that Mom had had a doctor appointment that day, and instantly the worries set in. Worries that were confirmed when we were told another round of chemo was coming. And so we rode the now familiar and terrifying  wave of worry and chemo and long long days in the hospital getting infusions once again with another 12 round, 24 week dosage that took my Mom’s health and crumpled it in its goal of trying to remove the cancer.

And then another wait, but this time not as blissful and ignorant because you know, not just mentally, but deep in your gut where the strongest fears live that a doctor’s appointment could suddenly change that. The break was shorter, and the healing less, when she went through another round of chemo. I don’t even know how many chemo session’s she’s had now. I just know she’s in the midst of struggling through another one, a 3 month short burst because post Germany a terrible mystery health struggle knocked Mom’s strength way back. Lord Jesus, help my mom find the strength, to find your healing.

In the midst of this terrible beating down, Mom also seems to have terrible, terrible luck that’s also been cyclic (as if cancer wasn’t enough). Near the end of her first round of chemo, she had a gall bladder attack which resulted in surgery to get it removed. On returning from Germany this year, she was afflicted with a terrible pain in her guts that brought her more pain and weakness and struggle than I observed even in her lowest point of chemo. The doctors thought it was possibly a viral infection, but tests came back inconclusive, so she was forced to wade through months of trying to simply exist, when eating enough sustenance was considered an achievement for the day. She’s finally feeling mostly over it, though we still don’t know what the heck it was. And it beat down her immune system heavily. The immune system that she spent so much effort in Germany to build up. It allowed her cancer to progress and now she’s back on chemo.

It terrifies me to think of this round and round process. It terrifies me that she hasn’t even been as healthy as she was in that in between of rounds 1 and 2. It terrifies me how these struggles in my life have taken on a normalcy.

Mom is a fighter. She’s facing the chemo, she’s still on the regimens that she was proscribed in Germany. She’s living and not wallowing in the struggles. It’s inspiring. I’m so grateful God has given her the strength. But it breaks my heart. Oh gosh, does it break me.