Wanted to share something . . .

Below is a cut and paste email from a friend of mine, Jenny D ERRR, Jenny Gerow. I wanted to not just to call her out (I did not even ask her) but to give you an idea of our perspective in all this as seen through those who care about us. This is one of many, but it was one today and it hit me hard. Also, by no means do I mean to exclude all the others who have said, emailed, mailed, and in-person let us know they care. What it shows is that so many are are there for us. That this impacts them too.
This is a quick but sincere thanks to all that have helped us. To our family. To our friends. To our co-workers. To Holly's travel soccer team (we miss you guys so much). To neighbors. To strangers.

To give you a quick background, last year at Breakfast for Santa at Forest Park (which was this morning) Jill and I attended for the kids. It was the weekend of unknown for us. We new Jill had cancer, but not how bad it was or what the treatments would be. At the time, our family knew but the kids did not. It was a challenge, clearly, to do that morning. But even then we wanted to show that life goes on no matter what.



Dear Greg and Jill:

This morning at Breakfast with Santa, all I could think about was that one year ago today, you were sitting in the same room, at the same activity, trying to act as if everything was normal. When, in actuality, your entire world had just turned upside down.

I felt this huge sense of wonderment, that it was a year later, that you had made it through so much, and ended up at the exact same place 12 months later. I can only imagine the difference in your thoughts and feelings today.

It affected me profoundly, so I am sure the moment was not lost of you either. I felt such a sense of relief and happiness for all of you. You still have obstacles and unknowns ahead of you. But you have made it so far and with such an air of positivity and humor. To, me it it seemed like a million years instead of just one. So it had to be infinitely more for you guys.

I remember sitting at this computer and reading the email. Calling Amy Crispin, and crying together with her. It had never hit so close to home for me, and it was a stunning shock. I will never forget the moment. But, what I remember most is the grace and humility you have both shown thoughout all of this. I hope if such a thing occurs to any other loved ones or myself, I can put up such a brave face. I respect both of you, and am very happy to have you in our lives.

In the next few months, please let me know if there is anything I can do. It helps me not feel so helpless while you struggle though your difficulties. I am so happy you are sitting looking from the other side of the battle. I never had a doubt you would beat it, but you scared the shit out of us. :)
Love,

Putting things in correct perspective (one year later)

This morning I had the girls. By that I mean it is a day when Jill leaves early and I get the kids ready and on the bus. As is not uncommon, this is full of various issues that pop up. Breakfast selection issues, clothing issues, school bag location issues. On top of that are the holiday additions (opening the Advent house, playing the Christmas thing of the day countdown thingy). On top of that are the variables - Jill calling to say Lauren is going to ride home with someone else and there is a note that needs to be put in her folder and birthday party gifts she has to take with her. Ugh. All of this goes fairly well, but it is so easy to get caught up in the ‘why does this have to be so hard?’ (TWSS) and the normal ‘I wish things were easier’ thoughts.

A year ago today, later in the morning I got to see my wife walk out of the back of the doctor’s office and tell me that we need to go into the conference room. I could see it in her eyes right at that moment that life would never be the same. That the lump in her breast was not the harmless cyst that we were expecting (I was there just in case). At the moment everything else meant f**k-all. Things like who was going to get the kids on the bus did not matter. They were just details of life. My wife being there a year later to even have the option of getting them on the bus was my concern.

As I have said before, there are two sides of this. First, I am thankful that Jill is currently doing so well that we can get stressed about such daily minutia. But on the other side, it sickens me at times that we can lose perspective so damn fast. Jill’s illness is going to be front and center again come Feb as she starts her surgeries. Then after that her going into menopause at 37 years old. And this is all the best case, which it looks like we are lucky enough to be going through.

Today is, as you might imagine, a very emotional day. Sad that it did not hit me until I was walking into work - that it was 12/2. Our date of learning of cancer. Lance Armstrong has 10/2 and that is Livestrong day. Everyone knows the day they learned. Right now the fears and pain are re-opened. I remember going to Lyndsay’s house to tell her. Calling my mom who saw my car at the Hospital and knew something was up. Going to lunch at O’charlies and realizing how we coast through things like answering the waiter’s question of ‘how are you two doing today’? And how awful that weekend as as we waited for official word (we more or less knew based on ultrasound) which was required to know how bad and what the next steps would be. So this weekend when the normal stress of a holiday weekend comes into play compounded with out of town family on site I will try to remember that at its worst it is exponentially better than this weekend last year. Every day is a gift and everything can change in a second. It really can.