family

To my Game of Temporal Lobe Fam

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Epilepsy is much like the weather. It’s unpredictable and always changing. A sunny, 85 degree morning can quickly turn into a 58 degree with scattered thunderstorms afternoon.

With epilepsy, you can never predict what will happen next. You prepare for a picnic. Lightning strikes, and you have to watch the latest documentary on Netflix.

The weather is very unfavorable when we really don’t need it to. But through sunshine and rain, each of you have been right beside me.

Whether you were there at the beginning or met me along the way, I want to thank you for supporting me.

Thanks for putting up with my nonsense. Thanks for listening to my randomness and laughing, even when my jokes weren’t funny.

You gals and guys are the best! It’s because of you that my Walk to END Epilepsy this past weekend was such a success.

From the bottom of my purple heart, thank you, my ever-growing epilepsy fam!

 

 

Seizure free for one year!!!

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Memories of the past three years float around in my mind. As I sort through the trying and sunny times, it’s almost impossible to put all my feelings into words.

There is heartache for the loved ones I’ve lost along the way. There is fright and frustration for the storms I’ve had to face.

There is embarrassment for all the silly things I’ve managed to do. There is love and gratitude for the kindness and encouragement my family and friends have given me.

There is a sense of accomplishment for sticking it through. And there are fuzzy, warm motions stirring inside today, and I can’t help but smile.

It’s hard to believe that 365 days have come and gone, but the day is finally here!

Today, there is a purple sunrise, and it simply feels like a dream.

I’m one year seizure free!

Dear Mom,

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Mom,
I could tell you that you’re the best friend any girl could ever ask for.
I could tell you that you’re the kindest person in the entire world.
I could tell you that you’re the strongest and loveliest person I know.

I could tell you all these things, but I’d only be saying what you already know.
Instead, I’ll tell you all the non-mushy things I’ve never said before.

Mom,
You’re the most stubborn person I know. You simply won’t stop to rest.
You’re beyond scary. Those “What did you say?” eyes will always haunt me.
You’re a master lie detector. You’re the reason why I’m such a bad liar.

You’re crazy, weird and funny. You’re simply one of a kind.
You’re the wonderful woman I’ll always aspire to be.
Mom, I love you, and I hope you have a great birthday!
 

Monday Reflections: Monday Blues

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I hold my breath and close my eyes hoping the pain will come and go. I try to go on as if it was just another day. There is no denying that the sunset has left and the sunrise has followed. It is another day, but it’s another day without you here. When I read the text message last night, disbelief is all I could feel. I didn’t cry. I didn’t get angry or ask why. I replied to my sister saying to let me know when the funeral arrangements would take place. I said goodnight and went to bed.

Today, I sit at my desk trying to hold back the tears. It’s not like I didn’t see it coming. You weren’t doing well, and the doctors said it would be a matter of days, but I wish they hadn’t been right.

I think about the last time I saw you and how now I never will. You grew up with my family. You were one of us kids. You were my brother’s best friend and a big brother to my sister and I. You made us laugh and helped us beat up our brother because he was too big. You were there to pick us up when we needed a ride from school. I still remember the white mustang waiting for us outside of school. Out of that small, two door car, two big, bald guys would get off to let us in the back seat. It was hilarious to see you both get out of such a small car.

As we grew up, you were there for all the milestones. My sweet fifteen, high school graduation, college graduation and wedding. Even through the difficult times, when my grandparents and great-aunt passed away, you never failed to pay your respects and give us a warm embrace.

Life is funny and has a way of bringing the smallest memory back to light. Each of those memories will make me laugh because of all the dumb things you and my brother would say. Those memories will also make me cry because your life was cut way too short, and we won’t be able to make new ones.

I’m not sure why things happen the way they do, but I do know you were a wonderful person and a great friend. Others might have thought you were a rough, tough guy, but those who knew you well, will remember the big teddy bear inside.

Missing Grandma

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Four years have come and gone.
1,460 days have arrived and passed.

Time wasted no time to stand still.
The world just kept turning round.

For 35,040 hours, I’ve missed you.
For 2,102,400 minutes, my heart has ached.

I know you’re in a better place.
I know your pain is no more.

But I wish I could hug you one more time.
I wish I could see your beautiful smile.

Time hasn’t eased the pain,
But it also hasn’t erased the memories.

Those dear moments will keep you alive.
And Grandma, I will always love you.

This is for you, the one I never got to meet.

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I could see your bright smile long before I ever saw your face.

I could hear your cries and sobs because you needed a diaper change.

I could feel your warm hugs when you needed my comforting embrace.

I could imagine all the memories we’d create through the years.

I could picture you reaching all your milestones.

I could. I could. But I didn’t get to.

I love you even though I never got to meet you, and I always will.

I’ll tell those that come after you how special you are to me.

A piece of you will always be in my heart, and I will never forget you.

When I give my last breath, we will finally meet.

In paradise, I promise to make up for all lost time.

I will hold you, make you smile and laugh.

Because that’s what mommies are supposed to do.

I wish I could say life is a bed of roses without thorns, but this would be a lie. My older sister was in her second trimester when she lost her twin daughters. My friend was just five weeks pregnant when she had her first miscarriage.

Besides being a mom to a kid with four paws, I have no children of my own. I’ve never experienced life growing in my womb, but I still feel a sense of loss. I can imagine my two eight-year-old nieces pleading for me to make them another tea party. I can picture their poor drawn color penciled Happy Birthday and Valentines Day cards, which would say I was their greatest aunt, or maybe even their best friend. Those cards would mean the world to me more than any beautifully crafted Hallmark card.

For all the moms who’ve lived this nightmare, I cannot say that I know what you are going through. I cannot say that I know exactly how it feels, but I do know that you aren’t alone. The world might feel a little more broken, but your family and friends are there to help you through it all.

Life is a bed of roses filled with painful thorns, but it’s still beautiful. Roses are wonderful, and need someone to tend to them. Let those who love you be your gardeners to help put yourself back together again.

Here and There

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This is something I wrote back in 2007 when I was adjusting to college and being on my own for the first time. As graduation season comes to a conclusion, I feel the following poem is only appropriate. Going off to college means being surrounded by an unfamiliar environment that is filled with so much potential. It means meeting new, interesting people who will make everything worthwhile. While both are wonderful and exciting, there is still a sense of loss for the life we’ve left behind. Continue reading →

It’s a…puppy!

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I’m a mother of a four-legged friend now.
I’m responsible for the well-being of someone other than myself.

I’m learning to wake up earlier than usual so we can go for walks.
I’m learning to distinguish her occasional whines and whimpers.

It’s nice having a little puppy following you around.
It’s wonderful knowing she’s mine to care for and love.

My little girl might not be a baby, but I think I know what my mom means.
When she says, it’s a great feeling being a mom.

Monday Reflections: Remembering Christmas

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christmas tree

This time last year, it was a little over two weeks since I had left the hospital. My body was weak, and my meds kept me asleep rather than awake. I was too tired to do anything, and when I managed to stay up, it was difficult to concentrate. I can’t recall much of the 2013 holiday season, although I really try to.

As I think about this Christmas, a smile forms across my face. This year, I can and will remember everything!

So what happened this Christmas?

Family and friends gathered at my parents’ house. Lights covered entire rooms, poinsettias topped every table and wreaths adorned each door. Dead center in the living area, the colorful christmas tree glowed, and underneath lay a pile of presents. Next to the presents, were my little nieces eager to open them up.

Chatter could be heard around the house, including the laughter brought on by my father’s jokes. The Chef Masters, my mother and older sister, worked away in the kitchen. Their cooking filled the air with sweet, savory aromas. Dinner was nothing short of amazing!

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the family’s Christmas elf. Organizing and making sure the right present was handed to the right person has always been my responsibility. I love this, and I look forward to entertaining everyone as I go around the room every year. My health had prevented me from passing out presents last year, but it never will again! I am and will always be the Christmas elf!

Today I reflect on the joy the holidays bring and how wonderful it is to spend it with the ones you love.

This year has been wonderful, and I continue to receive the best gift of all. I’ve had the love and support of my family and friends all these years. No matter how hard the travel or how scary this year may have seemed, they have always been on my Fighting Epilepsy team. Having them here is the best present I could ever receive.