My Great Aunt Mae

I've had trouble trying to put my thoughts into words.

My Great Aunt Mae died on Saturday, May 10, 2014, and I've not mentioned it publicly until now.  Why?  Because words simply cannot express my emotions, they cannot comfort her family, and because I really don't know what to say.

She wasn't my Great Aunt Mae because she was my grandmother's sister, she was Great because she was filled with nothing but love.  People like her are so very rare.  She always had a twinkle in her eye; she laughed with gusto; and she took care of people without hesitation.

When I was 12, I, along with my brother and sister, was spending the summer in Wyoming with my father.  I forget exactly why, but my father and I had a huge falling out and I refused to speak to him.  I mean, seriously.  I would not utter a word to him. We had two weeks left in our visit and then we would be delivered to my Great Aunt Mae and Uncle Ed's home San Diego, CA, to meet up with my mom and grandparents who were coming in from Mississippi for a vacation.

After a week of my refusal to speak to him, my father relented and took me to my Great Aunt Mae's a week early.  If I recall correctly, I flew there on an air plane and my Great Aunt Mae (GAM) and Uncle Ed (GUE) picked me up from the airport.

What followed was one of the best weeks of my entire life.  EVER.  It was wonderful because I didn't have to share the attention of my GAM and GUE with my brother and sister.  I don't know if my GAM knew how special that alone time was for me,  but it was.

My GAM worked at the mall.  At Sears.  At the CANDY COUNTER!!!! 

She took me to work with her one day and I got to go all over the mall and window shop AND I got to eat candy from her candy counter!  I recall seeing a pair of canvas Nikes.  Lavender.  When my mom and mammaw came into town, I took them to the mall and showed then the shoes.  It was the only souvenir I wanted.  I got them.

Each night during this week with my GAM and GUE, my GAM made me a banana split.  Yes, every night.  Oh, it was my own little slice of heaven.  I was 12 and eating ice cream, no, not just ice cream, I was eating full fledged banana splits (without my brother and sister) every stinking night.

Honestly, that's all I recall of the actual events during my week with my GAM and my GUE.  And that's not really what made it so perfect.

What I really recall is the feeling of being welcomed.  I wasn't made to feel in the way, or as an intruder into their daily lives.  It just seemed like the most normal things for them to be taking in a 12 year old a week early and with all but no notice.

That feeling has stayed with me forever.  The details of how my GAM passed are not important here. What is important is what she left behind.  Of course, she left behind friends and family; a husband, her children, and grandchildren.   But she also left behind a 12 year old girl who was mad at the world until her GAM fixed everything in that moment in that little girl's world.

I hadn't seem my GAM in years.  But I know she loved me and she knows I loved her; and that makes everything a-ok in my world.

Ode to Billy Jack

I remember one night in the 1970's my papaw was watching me, Joey, and Karen while my mamaw and mom went shopping in Columbus, MS.  Someone let us (made the mistake of letting us) watch a Billy Jack movie.  I'm not sure sure which one it was, though I'm pretty sure it was "The Trial of Billy Jack", but I could be wrong.  Anyway, after the movie, the three of us kids were in the den (not to be confused with the living room, which is where the television was located) and we were JuMpInG oFf couches and the chair and just generally being, who else, Billy Jack.


Well, my papaw heard the ruckus and came to check on us.  I have no doubt that he thought we were actually fighting each other even though he strode into the room very calmly.  About the exact same time he walked into to the den, I was flying off the couch through the air with my arms drawn into my chest, one knee brought upwards towards my arms with the other other leg extended parallel to the floor (a-la BILLY JACK!)  most likely towards Karen or Joey, with the other cheering me on.

Like this, but much better, as only a 6 or 7  year old can do.

My papaw was a VERY calm man.   A man of few words.  That meant that when he spoke, you listened.  Well, he spoke that night.  He told us to stop jumping off the furniture and I'm sure he said something about 'acting a fool' and as he was speaking, my jump was over and I was standing back on the couch looking down, humbled, and nodding my assent.  I have no idea what Karen and Joey were doing at that moment.

But what I do know…

...is that as soon as my papaw turned around to leave I looked around, slung my head back and LAUGHED (it's Billy Jack for goodness sakes!!!  Who the hell is going to tell us to stop that???)  and then I took another flying leap off the couch.  Oops.   Papaw caught me in what must have been mid-air, whooped my butt (before Joey and Karen could even cheer!) and made me, and most likely my brother and sister, cry.   I cried!  Not because it hurt, but because MY PAPAW SPANKED ME!!!!  No, he BEAT MY ASS!

Well, that was a first.  A whooping by papaw?  Damn, dude meant business after all. Ouch! (In more ways than one.)  I had no idea that red and black couch was so precious.  My heart was broken.
So much for play-being the greatest fighter for social injustice of my time, AKA the Bad Ass Billy Jack.

Later I learned, that after my mamaw and mom got home from shopping, they asked my papaw how the night was and he replied, "I had to spank Kathy."  I'm almost certain they both shrugged and thought (or said) "Welcome to our world." and went about their business.

Thanks, Tom Laughin (Billy Jack) for bringing back this memory.  I don't look back on it as a sad or bad memory.  I look back on it with triumph and laughter.  Those were the good ole' days.  Jumping off couches wafter watching the man who stood up for this with no voice, BILLY JACK!!!!    Thanks and God Speed.  And no, I don't recall my papaw ever spanking me again, though he probably should have.

God Speed and Rest In Peace, Tom, AKA Billy.  

A Few of My Favorite Things, Part 1 AKA December Decorations

I love my Christmas Tree.  It's not stuffy or formal.  It's not color coordinated or fit for a Southern Living photo spread. It's a mishmash of the past and the present.  Over the years, I've gone from a live tree to an artificial one; from multi-colored lights to all white.  I have really, really cheap ornaments from the Dollar Tree to more expensive ones given to me as gifts and they all have a place.

As an adult, I started off with the intention of having a Snowman theme for my tree and decorations.  But, I also had ornaments from my childhood and my Grandmother and Mother's trees that I just could not part with, so they stayed.  A few years ago, I thought a Candy theme would be neat, but now, I have some Snowmen ornaments that will never get booted from the tree.  So I decided that, while it would be nice to someday have a tree that was fancy and looked professionally done, right now it is even nicer to have a Christmas Tree that actually means something for me and my children.  (Perhaps if I ever have a home and budget big enough for several trees I can break them down into themes, because that is super cool too.)

So, I'm going to spend this month blogging about a few of my favorite ornaments and decorations and why they are important to me.  Let me start with my newest ornaments:

Because we all want Peace.

My favorite place in Seattle, aside from my son's apartment.

I was just in Seattle for Thanksgiving visiting Zachary.  We always make a trip downtown to Pike Place.  It's just so amazing, not just PP, but Seattle.  When I saw the Pike Place Market ornament (actually purchased at  a mall, not at PPM) I decided that since Zach is only 24 and he might move around a bit in his lifetime, I should start collecting ornaments that represent where he's lived.  First stop: Seattle.  We'll have to see how this collection grows.

 I got the top ornament at a store called Earth Bound.  I loved the beading and sentiment behind it.  It's hipster yet meaningful. Peace. Enough said.

Not Today...

It's October 13 and it's National Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day.  I have Metastatic Breast Cancer.  That means I have Stage 4 BC and that my Breast Cancer has spread beyond the breasts and lymph nodes.   We've all heard the statistics: 40,000 women (and men) will die this year from Breast Cancer. And while dealing with any stage of any cancer is overwhelming, I feel compelled to point out that not one single person dies from Stage 1, 2, or even Stage 3, breast cancer. (But be aware,  20% of people initially dx with Stage 1, 2, or 3 BC will eventually develop metastatic BC.) And while awareness is certainly important, what we REALLY need is a cure.  Stage 4 is the killer and there is no cure.  And yes, I may die of something else besides breast cancer, but I've been put on notice that forgoing some tragic accident, breast cancer will, in fact, kill me...BUT that day is not today.

Four and half years ago, I was told that I have a 20% chance of living 5 years.  I'm 6 months short of becoming a statistic and anyone who knows me personally knows that I've always said I am a winner and I will beat the odds.  And look at me now...I certainly am.

But regardless of how it appears on Facebook or how I appear to you on the streets, at a party, in church or just out and about, having Stage 4 Breast Cancer isn't easy.  It's hard on the body, it's hard on the mind and it's hard on the emotions.

Since being diagnosed with Stage 4 BC, I've been on Abraxane and Gemzar, then Arimidex, then back on Abraxane and Gemzar, then Navelbine.  Those are chemos I can't use in the future--and there's only so much available in the arsenal.  Despite my glorious NED (No Evidence of Disease) status, I must stay on my current chemo, Xeloda, indefinitely to keep the cancer at bay. The cancer is still there, it's just either dormant or hiding where the scans can't see it.  Once the cancer gets on the move again, the Xeloda will have failed and I'll be switched to another chemo.  And while I've had chemo breaks in the past, I will get no more.  It's not an option.  (Though I am trying to convince my oncologist to let me take a teeny-tiny break if I can stay NED for 6 months straight so I can have 'the girls' re-done.) Oh, and then there was the radiation to my left hip 11 months ago.

In the past the chemos have caused me to go into depression, to become clinically anorexic (remember when I got down to 116 pounds and it took me 4 hours to eat a Whopper?), and, among other things, to have heartburn, vision issues, deplete the hemoglobin in my RBCs (blood transfusions fix that), as well as cause my WBC to drop so low that, for over a year,  I had to had shots for 4 days after each chemo.  

Today, I  have serious neuropathy in my hands and feet.  That's why I drop things so much (and have gone through 4 iPhones in the past year).  My feet tingle when I walk and it takes a few extra seconds to get out of bed because they hurt.  My joints hurt as well.  So does my lower back.  And the pain left by the radiation in my left hip makes it impossible to sleep on my left side.

Personally, I know of three other women who have stage 4 breast cancer.  I also 'know' many more via a message board specifically for us Meta-sisters.  Three of those 'meta-sisters' died this past week.  A while back, I had to take a break from that group because it was just too sad and depressing.  Too many deaths, too many stories about lack of a good support system and help, too many stories about financial problems associated with little income and the expense of going to the doctor/hospital so much...the list is endless.  I'm still reluctant to visit the site, but I do because sometimes I can help a newly diagnosed woman or man.

A few years ago, back when I still couldn't bring my grown up self to give myself the Neupogen shots 4 times/week,  I read a book titled, "A Measure of Heaven".  It changed my life.  I've always been a believer in God and I'd almost always been certain I was going to heaven despite my sins. (Thanks to my church I am 100% positive that I will go to Heaven despite my shortcomings.) The problem was, I wasn't sure what that meant or how it worked.  I wasn't sure just how real Heaven was. But this book, based on interviews and studies of people who'd had near-death experiences, explained some of that (for me at least).  No one in the book had the exact same experience and some experiences were pleasant and some were scary. The book discusses things like 'the tunnel', the light, communicating telepathically, cessation of pain, being able to look down at yourself and view what was happening, being greeted and choosing or being told to go back, unbelievable and never before seen (or imagined) colors and most important, an overwhelming and all-encompassing love...

Yes, through science and faith, I'm convinced there is a Heaven.  It is real. I don't want to ever have to leave my children, my best friend and sister, my brother, and my family and friends, but I will someday.  And while I fear for them and what will happen after I'm gone, I have absolutely no fear for myself.  I know Heaven is real.  I know I'm going.  I'm going to see my mamaw and papaw; Zachary's father; all of my dogs and cats; and my good friend, Renee, who died much too young. And it's gonna be awesome!!! 

This disease, though considered 'chronic', will in all probability kill me in the end.  But that day is not today. 

Today, I will gaze at the completion of upgrading my kitchen appliances.  Today, I will contribute food to my church's Backpack Ministry.  Today, I will take note that my lot in life could be so much worse.  I'm aware that there are many, many others who are so much worse off than me whether it's physically, financially, or spiritually.  I have an awesome family, great friends, a fantastic church, a career that allows me to work on my own schedule, a roof over my head, and food in my pantry.  My life is good; compared to others, it's actually pretty damn great.

Besides, I have stuff to do! Next weekend, I will go to Tampa for a mini "sistercation."  Then, it's off to Branson for another long weekend and in November it's off to Seattle for Thanksgiving.  I will not be still;  I will not be satisfied; and I will not be beaten.  Yes, yes, it may kill me in the end.  But that, my dear readers, will be my ultimate victory over this nasty disease.  

But not today, not today.