It really wasn’t even a decision, really. It was more of a collective, family lightbulb moment.

Take Cathryn back to Annapolis Christian Academy.

Not “send” her back.

Not “let her go” back.

Take her back.

Through all of this mess with the church… the pain Ken and I have felt, the struggle to wrap our brains around the loss… she’s felt it too. It was a death to her, too. She lost a friend in Tricia, too. She saw someone she trusted do the wrong thing, and then ignore her. Her pastor, no less. It was a rough lesson to learn at a young age. Lesser kids might have abandoned their walk with God. She didn’t.

But slowly she became less and less herself. Less and less “Cat” – the sparkly, bubbly, energy-drink of a girl that everyone loves.  First it was grades. Then she broke up with her boyfriend for no good reason. She decided not to go to prom. She came home for lunch alone every single day. She was home every night, then every weekend. She cried for no reason. She argued about anything and everything. She dropped out of debate. She ditched tennis. She skipped basketball games. All of these one-by-one things were pieces of her that kept falling away like single leaves from a tree. Until she was just a little twig standing there in front of us.

We hoped that the group that came to our house on Wednesdays would give her purpose until things got better. She sang and worshipped as if her life depended on it sometimes. But she is the only girl, and these are kids still figuring out their faith. It wasn’t an anchor. But it was the best we could offer.

And then she got the note that she had been removed from the Presbyterian Mo Ranch Planning Team which was the last steady constant in her faith. Her last connection to who she was and what she was as a Presbyterian. Being an MPT was her last great joy – these kids were friends of faith that she played with, talked to, connected with – from all over the state. Now, this was gone, too.

CPC Port Aransas has “reported her” inactive in her Youth Group, and so she was ineligible. Without a word to us, a phone call or even an email.

I can honestly say, I’ve never – never – been angrier. In my whole life.

It’s one thing to strip us down as adults. It’s one thing to send a letter of rejection to an adult disguised as a termination of employment. You can “bless our hearts” and tell us you hope we’re well and go back to your little country club you call a church and forget all about those “sad little events.”

It’s quite another to ACTIVELY take down a child. What youth group is she “inactive” in? She’s not been INVITED to any events for the “new” program – and the “previous” program, and it’s youth director – WHOM SHE LIVES WITH – would check the box that she is quite ACTIVE as a Presbyterian. She leads kids each week in a study. She prays with them. She counsels them. She sings with them and eats with them and fellowships with them.

And yet someone – one guess who – has the audacity – the huevos, if you will – to check a box that blows up my kid’s world again.

I’m finding it harder and harder to turn the other cheek. And harder and harder to keep the secrets I know. Secrets that would demand a change in the pulpit, in fact.

But grace demands that I land on and stand on my knees. The mercy that has been shown me must be extended to those that don’t deserve it. Much as I don’t deserve it, in fact. It’s humbling, but true. I am a sinner, saved by grace. I sure do want to give Karma a list of people she’s missed sometimes. And some help. I pray instead.

And so.

She asks in a whisper to go back to Annapolis with tears streaming down her face. It is a hard thing to ask because I never wanted her to leave in the first place, and she is worried I will gloat, do the happy dance and tell her “I told you so!”

I do, a little.

But really, it is all I can do to keep from tucking her into a reed basket as if she were the tiny, football-sized-burrito-swaddled baby she once was and lay her on the doorstep of the school like an abandoned orphan with a note pinned to her saying, “please, help her” – knowing that the teachers there that have loved her, prayed for her, cried for her and fought for her will do just that.

Her headmaster was misty-eyed when we re-enrolled her. He said it was an answer to prayer. Her teachers rejoiced, and hugged her like a prodigal. Parents “liked” my Facebook status announcing our return.

ACA wasn’t perfect, it never will be perfect.

But real families never are.

And yet, life has gone on. Spectacularly, in fact. Don’t get me wrong – we grieve. We grieve the loss the safety net of a church family and spiritual home. We grieve the fact that the church isn’t required to pay unemployment and he was fired months short of his pension being vested, which means he was left with nothing. No money. No official goodbye. No thank you. No lunch to bless him for his exemplary service. Was this truly a “budget issue” as has been shouted from the bell tower? One has to wonder – it sure seems personal, and it sure feels like a professional hit.

We grieve. There are days that Ken doesn’t get out of his Guinness Pajama Bottoms, and days that I want to punch babies I’m so mad at the injustice of how it was handled. Not the loss of the job. Not the budget cut – those are practical realities that could and should have been dealt with. I’m mad at the complete lack of decency and humanity – let alone christian compassion.  I’m mad at the ridiculous excuses and the secrets and lies. I’m mad at the lack of responsibility and accountability. I’m furious at the lies from the pulpit and that the liar is allowed to stand in front of a congregation and speak God’s word.

It goes beyond mad – it’s holy anger and righteous indignation.

But even that is passing. The unfairness and betrayal hasn’t dimmed, especially when my thoughts start to get away from me – but the fact is, I think about it less and less. I try and refuse to give it real estate in my head and I do have to evict those thoughts quickly when they surface or I end up in a very bloody mental battle in which I go all Sons of Anarchy on their asses.

But again, that happens less and less, especially as I see my husband walk with grace and generosity of spirit. I see him smile more, especially on Wednesdays as we have 28-30 people come to our house for our home group study. The Anchor was dropped, so to speak and we were all refugees that have banded together in the wake of  Hurricane Interim. We eat and laugh and sing and pray together and study God’s Plan B for all our lives. Ken and I are re-learning to trust what a church family feels like, and so far, it feels like home again.

Truth be told, I am grateful. I am happy, and I am blessed. That church wasn’t EVER our provision. God always has been. Our income hasn’t suffered – in fact, it’s flourished. Ken’s business is growing by leaps and bounds. Our wedding business is sold out for 2012. My other clients are happy. My staff is rocking 2012 like never before. Ken and I  have more time together. Friends have lavished us with grace and love. The youth are coming on Wednesdays – and coming back – and coming back. We’re coming up for air and seeing that things are better than ever. Sundays are relaxed and brunch is not only possible – it’s fun. Bonfires on the beach with friends is a great way to end a weekend and start a week. I can’t ever see myself shackled to a Sunday service ever again.

And there’s a pretty amazing thing starting to take shape… an online Presbyterian Church led in part by my favorite blogger and former Moderator of the PC(USA) Bruce Reyes-Chow. Which means that we can remain decidedly Presbyterian, despite the local shunning. God is good. All the Time. All the Time… God. Is. Good.

Fully understanding my mother-in-law’s sadness and pain. Seeing what she endured in a dishonorable husband.

I grieve.

I can’t form sentences. Big words escape me.

News comes last night: Ken’s job is likely being eliminated by the church tonight. Our youth program gone.

God sends songs.

To all who are looking down
Holding on to hearts still wounding
For those who’ve yet to find it
The place is near where love is moving
Cast off the robes you’re wearing
Set aside the names that you’ve been given
May this place of rest in the fold of your journey
Bind you to hope
You will never walk alone

In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (Never walk alone)
In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (Your arms are all around us)

If our hearts are turned to stone
There is hope we know the rocks will cry out
And the tears aren’t ours alone
Let them fall into the hands that hold us
Come away from where you’re hiding
Set aside the lies that you’ve been living
May this place of rest in the fold of your journey
Bind you to hope
We will never walk alone

In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (In the shelter)
In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (You will never walk alone)

In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (In Your arms are all around us)
In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (In Your arms are all around us)

If there is any peace
If there is any war
We must all believe
Our lives are not our own
We all belong

God has given us each other
And we will never walk alone

In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (We will never walk alone)
In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (In the shelter)

In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (Your arms are all around us)
In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (In Your arms are all around us)

In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (In Your arms are all around us)
In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live (In Your arms are all around us)

In the shelter of each other
We will live
We will live
(In the shelter of each other we will never walk alone – never walk alone)

I am deeply saddened.

I wasn’t blessed with a sister. I had two brothers come along 9 and 12 years after I was born, and some of the mysteries of siblings somewhat escape me. I love my brothers, don’t get me wrong, but we don’t talk very often and when we do it’s about pretty simple stuff. I got married when they were still in elementary school and moved to Texas, so it’s just different, I suppose, from some families.

Like the one you see above. On the left is my friend Tanya. She’s also my daughter Cathryn’s “real” mom of sorts. They are hilariously similar in ways large and small.  They laugh, they bring joy to everyone they meet and they’re the center of many people’s attention for their infinite goodness, love and strength. They sparkle. Cathryn dated Tanya’s son for a while, but even if she hadn’t they would still be close. When something happens in Cat’s world, she wants a hug from me, and then a hug and an hour to talk to Tanya. I don’t mind – love multiplies with both of them. They’re glittering soul-mates.

In the middle is Phyllis, her Mom. We call her Honey, which is what her grandsons Chase and Maxx called her when they were little and that just kinda stuck. Honey pretty much describes her, too. Without being cliche’, she’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met. She “adopted” my husband Ken a while back since they were both in the theater and had a million funny things to talk about. My husband would walk through fire for her. He adores her. When I met her she quickly became one of the women I most admired and loved, too – and I don’t like a lot of women, to be honest. She’s smart, always sees the good in people, shares her love and faith freely, and takes care of more people in large and small ways than most churches. She’s my hero.

On the right is Tiffany.

Truth be told, I haven’t spent a lot of time with Tiffany, but I know and love her as much as her Mom and Sister. This week Tiffany lost her hard fought battle with cancer. And for 487 days from the diagnosis until she passed, this was a journey that was gracefully shared with the world. There was a cord of three that showed the entire world what it meant to love someone through a crisis.

From the outside looking in, it was astonishing. And they had no idea how astonishing it was.

When Tiffany was first diagnosed, she came down to her mom’s house and we all sat on the deck overlooking the harbor and enjoyed the sunset. It was when things were still uncertain in terms of a treatment plan, and Tiff was in quite a bit of discomfort. That was the first time I saw them in action and it was completely foreign to me to see such love poured out on one another. Tiffany would shiver a tiny bit, and Tanya would move her blanket around her more tightly while in mid-sentence about something else completely. No words were exchanged about wanting the blanket moved or being cold. Tiffany would glance to her right for her glass, and Honey would be holding it ready to hand to her. They instinctively knew.

Tiffany became the center of their universe and they were orbiting her. 

This seems simple. Most people wouldn’t notice these things. But it was indicative of  what was to come. Tiffany was surrounded for the next 18 months with that same light, love and care. She was never alone. She never had to worry about anything except fighting hard.

That night, after watching a true family, I told Tiffany that I was jealous of having a sister. They never took it for granted that they were best friends, and never, ever missed an opportunity to say, “I love you” or smile.

She said that night that I could be her Sissy, too. She understood that love was meant to be shared and she shared it with everyone. She knew that she was loved without end, by her family, her friends and her savior. She understood that love was multiplied and never divided when shared with another.

I was not the only one that saw the miracle of her journey. When we had a candlelight service as she was sent home to hospice, nearly one hundred people came and prayed for Tiffany – who didn’t even live in Port Aransas. Most of us watched her journey on Facebook and cried as she lost her hair and cheered as she watched her beloved son graduate from high school. Every milestone was celebrated.

And prayed over. And praised.

Lesser families, and lesser women would have lost faith. Tiffany never did. She never lost faith that she would be healed – even if that wasn’t an earthly healing. She never questioned her God’s plan for her. Her mom and sister praised God for His grace and mercy. They prayed for the wisdom of the doctors and thanked God for the gift of time.

It was astonishing. It remains astonishing.

There is a deep sadness for me at her passing, that isn’t “quite” made better by knowing that she’s in a very real afterlife with a very real Jesus. I know she’s out of pain, and for that I’m grateful. Selfishly, I wanted her cancer-free and sitting on the deck at her mom’s house. I cannot pretend to understand why that wasn’t the plan.

But I will take the lessons that Tiffany’s life taught me, and watch the women that loved her best, and do what they do. Love, laugh, celebrate, praise and pray. Despite the sadness of losing Tiffany, they continue to praise their God. Their love carried them through and one can only hope to be loved like that in their lifetime.

Tiffany Beth, you were an extraordinary woman, from a family of extraordinary women. I was honored to know and love you. I will do my best to take care of your mom and sissy as they miss you for all time, but forgive me for not doing it as well as you – no one could.

Oh. My. Stars.

Seemingly overnight, I became THAT Mom. The working mom. The mom that’s got a meeting and has to miss Monday Morning Moms in Touch, and the one that sent a text to her assistant last night at 10pm to please bake a cake for her kid to pick up at 7:15am. Horrifying, right? It took me 18 years, but I’m driving an SUV. I’m talking on my Bluetooth headset in the carpool lane. I have a standing order at Starbucks and they know me by name. I’m booking flights and keeping a bag packed for business trips. I ordered a new Oakley Messenger Bag and didn’t balk at the $120 price tag. I live and breathe by my Google Calendar and Blackberry. I say things like, “Let’s Huddle Up Next Week” – which is the new millenium version of “Let’s Do Lunch.” – Even I make myself throw up a little.

I’m THAT Mom. I buy my way out of volunteering. I beg for rides for my kid. I haven’t made a real dinner in at least six months and that’s counting Thanksgiving, which I had catered this year for the first time in 20 years of marriage. I send my Husband Facebook Events for our weekend plans and I make my kids Tungle Me if they need some one-on-one time.

Our favorite restaurant Kody’s in on my Blackberry SpeedDial as letter “F” for FOOD. Quickbooks yelled at me for spending more there than my car payment last month.

I’ve had my own business for more than 10 years – so why the uber-insantity now? For starters, business is better than ever. I’m finally doing what I love to do full time. I get paid to speak and tell people what to do as a Social Media and Internet Business Consultant and I co-own a wedding planning business for brides coming to the little island paradise I call home. And I suppose it’s because I’m seeing the writing on the wall. In just a little more than 24 months, my baby will graduate and begin her college career and next stage of life. My eldest is already in college and like all almost-empty-nesters, I started to think about what I wanted to be when I grew up about a year ago.

I’m not done being a mom, mind you. I still #MomStalk my kids on Facebook, Twitter, Foursquare and via GPS loaded on their phones. I stalk them lovingly in ways they don’t even know about. (BTW- If you need some tips, hit me up. I’m like the Kaiser Soze (NSFW) of MomStalkers) It just seems like someone hollered “Game On” – and now it’s on. Wanna huddle up next week with some Facetime and Skype about it?

The year began with finishing all the paperwork needed to send Kelsea to the college of her choice (and dreams) Trinity University. She applied to one school. One. No backups. This left me gripping the rails, so to speak, as I considered her perfect Reading and Writing SAT scores, and her less than stellar Math score. I think my comment was, “You could have gotten the same score just by showing up with a pencil, Kels.”

Not my finest Mommy Moment.

But she got in, and it was all great. Her financial aid package came through and she ended up with just about a full ride. $42,342 per year. Worth every penny. The next few months were a blur – graduation, formal dances, and the long (long) drawn out goodbyes to the other Seniors – many of whom we’ve claimed as family. It was emotionally grueling, but I savored every experience. Life is short and moves fast. Cliche’ but true.

Smack in the middle of this I made a left-turn in my career, partnering in the venture I’ve mentioned before. With the benefit of hindsight, I feel that it was a great learning experience and validated what I suspected, but wasn’t 100% sure of.

• I like myself, and have a network of true friendships.
• I feel confident in my work.
• My faith is strong, and I enjoy my relationship with God.
• I don’t like office politics – no matter how “unconventional” you might package the office.
• I value my family and they come first.
• Despite my lack of formal degree, I have business acumen and 10 years of successful entrepreneurship under my belt.

My Home Office

The takeaway: I clearly know what I don’t want to be when I grow up, and discovered where my boundaries lie. I worked hard, I sacrificed, but when presented the choice to be a martyr or a scapegoat, I chose scapegoat. I was going to be blamed no matter how it all turned out, so why subject myself to it? Somewhere in the middle of it all I became a pacifist, doing work I knew wasn’t going to matter to the project’s objective. I traded my experience and intuition for someone else’s. I started to second guess all that had gotten me through ten years of owning my own business and I began to censor my thoughts and ideas to the point of extinction. I believed that nothing I did was ever going to be enough – and rather than keep spinning on the carousel trying for the brass ring, instead, I threw up, made the ride stop and got off.

Really. The toughest decision I’ve ever made. But the healthiest, best one for me – and one I couldn’t have made 3 years ago. I would have just kept beating my head trying to please someone wired to never accept what I had to offer.

At the end of the partnership, like any marriage, I grieved. I’ve never been divorced before, so it was a pretty new set of feelings. Loss, sadness and quite a bit of anger, too. I really wanted to go back and get some closure, and make my former partner admit that I worked really hard to make it work, and maybe even salvage what I really loved about the friendship, but I’m learning to live with the term “irreconcilable differences” and to be honest, it sucks. Business is good – great, even, but I’m frustrated that I feel I can’t share that with her, or on my social networks without sounding like I’m either gloating or being a pollyanna. I still feel like I have to second guess my comments, and my interactions with mutual friends. It’s pretty clear who she got custody of, and who I got custody of, and it’s just uncomfortable to hear that she thinks so little of me from the grapevine.

Despite that, I’m excited about 2011. Next week I’m having a surgery to remove some really rude tumors that have taken up residence in my uterus (man, I DO share a lot, don’t I?) but I’m told by every single woman that’s had a hysterectomy that it’s the greatest thing since Wonder Bread. I do run in a much older circle of women friends, so I feel pretty good about the decision. I’m just a little bummed about the timing. It’s the busiest January on record in 10 years of business.

Personally, I’m at the best place I’ve ever been. I still love and adore my husband of 20 years and my stomach still does a little flip when he walks into a room. I’m proud of my college girl – she made straight “A’s” her first semester at Trinity, even with a torn ACL and surgery. I’m equally proud of our Cathryn – juggling volleyball and singing wherever and whenever she can. I love my church, my friends and I have peace with my extended family. I live on a tropical island, near a sparkling beach. I’m in control of my income every month and some months I choose more time off and less money. I have everything I need, and most of the things I want. 2010 reinforced that contentment is my most important possession – and losing that would have been an insult to everything I learned in 2009.

Contrary to my instincts, my choice has been to “fake it ’til you make it,” smile sweetly, say, “I forgive you.” – and pretend to mean it.

Then I put the issues (and, mentally, the person) in a little box, wrapped the box in pretty tissue paper, put the box into a drawer in a dresser in a mental closet, shut the door and then wallpapered over the door in a lovely Rachel Ashwell Shabby Chic Rose Chintz. My brain closet is fabulous.

In the post-analysis, I’m pretty sure I thought I was forgiving, but as soon as I thought again about the issue the rage and hurt welled back up, which required a little wallpaper paste, maybe even a little spackle and some strong self-reminders that that closet was shut for a very good reason.

Honestly, this is a new way to deal with things for me. Growing up, I fought it out. I grew up yelling, arguing, persuading and pushing to be right – at just about any cost. That’s what I saw, so that’s what I did. Bolstered by my great love of debate, coupled with my Scottish and Cuban ancestry it was woe to any that went toe to toe, or tongue to tongue with me. I would just wear you down. And generally make you cry. And wonder why you were crying. It was productive, wasn’t it? You saw my point, right? Score one for Chelle.

My good friend Kim Dupree told me once about ten years ago, “There is death and life in the tongue” – and for whatever reason in that moment, it stuck with me, and something in me changed. I wanted to BE right with God and not just win, even if it meant admitting I was wrong and changing my mind. God had changed my heart from one of stone to one of flesh.

That’s not to say that I always defer to this heart of flesh. Sometimes my heart of stone reappears, and my tongue of fire takes over. It’s not pretty, and both my girls also have a predisposition to go for the jugular and rip like a Cullen when they feel backed into a corner or passionate about an issue. They’re learning to dial it back, but my younger daughter will make an excellent attorney, and that’s about all I can promise in terms of channeling it.

So, how did I come to the other extreme of complete and total disconnect with the trinity of people that crushed me? Prolonged shock, maybe. I’m no master of psychological issues. Maybe I was finally worn out, and couldn’t fight anymore. I do know that it takes energy to turn off a relationship, but far less than fighting for one in my world. It was easier to move, change my phone numbers and refuse all communication with #1, believe it or not.

Crushing hurts from #2 and #3 came this week, on the heels of a weekend away at Mo Ranch with my daughter’s private Christian school, surrounded by praying friends, hurting kids and a lot of opportunities to see God’s grace. I was there for the kids, but I spent 3 days really, really working out some big stuff and wresting with angels. God outran me. I came back ready to deal with pulling the wallpaper off the door so I could take a look at the mess I’d wrapped up and stuck in there, knowing that I wouldn’t be standing alone at the door. Before that could happen, though, the 2×4 came swinging on Sunday, followed by the Mack Truck on Monday.

I feel oddly peaceful, and a little in shock. I’m checking my extremities and I’m not bleeding… much. One of them I never saw coming, and one of them I did, so one felt like a hurricane I watched on radar headed my way, and one was an earthquake I just need to clean up after. I’m great in a crisis – it’s the long term that I have issues with and the main “angel wrestling” issue is:

NOW WHAT?

My realization this morning was I really don’t know how to forgive. I don’t. I know all the platitudes about unforgiveness being a poison you take hoping the other person will die. I know that it eats me up. I know. I know. I know. I want to take Oscar Wilde’s advice about really bugging your enemies by forgiving them. I do.

But that doesn’t mean I know how to do it. Especially in case #3 where there’s absolutely NO understanding of the hurt caused, that #2 is all about the “get over it” and #1 is just all settled and why stir it all up?

I would LOVE to get out a fresh roll of mental wallpaper, but I know that’s not what God wants for me. He handed me a sledgehammer this weekend and He expects me to use it on the closet. He wants me whole, restored and in a right relationship with him and my trinity. I want to model that for my girls, too. There is death and life in the tongue, but hope deferred makes the heart sick. Fight or flight?

I choose neither.

There has to be some balance in there somewhere, and so that is my prayer. That I can learn to forgive, choosing to forgive daily and walking out and working out my faith. He set me on this path this weekend, and apparently, He thinks I need a nudge to really drive the point home giving me THREE opportunities for learning.

Time for a little remodel, I suppose. Here we go.

Growing up, nothing much changed from year to year. The same kids came back, like a refugee summer camp. I had friends from the Palisades – the neighborhood where my GG had lived since the 1950′s, friends from Orange County whose parents owned major Jaguar and Cadillac car dealerships, friends that were kids of rock stars, movie stars and TV stars escaping the heat of Los Angeles. None of this was important to me. Summer was the great equalizer. Sure they were rich, but could they outrun Donny Loth? Sure their parents were important back in 90210, but could they beat my high score at Ms. Pacman?

I loved my childhood in Lake Arrowhead. I am particularly homesick this summer, for many reasons. Mostly, I miss my Grandma and she absolutely loved summer. We would walk the 3 blocks from her tiny cottage to the lake and camp out at Orchard Bay, eating peanut butter and honey sandwiches and drinking Shasta Grape soda until our tongues were purple. We were the first ones there, and the last to leave. Sometimes my cousin Jeremy would join us and those were the best days of all. She would let us wander into the orchard behind the beach and eat bitter crab apples and there was a secret swing to play on. I couldn’t go by myself, but if Jeremy went with me, we could go.

One time Jeremy and I were in the water and since GG was the best playmate ever and could do handstands in the water, we called her – over and over and over, “Grandma! Grandma! Grandma!” She was on the beach with her best friend Pauline Loth drinking Olympia Beer and just had her hair set to go to the Sportsman that night with her husband, my Fafa. Finally, she exploded in exasperation, “If you yell Grandma ONE MORE TIME… you’re gonna get it!” – which we knew meant a smack on the butt with a flip flop.

Daring the sting of the dreaded flip flip, but now also knowing she wouldn’t come in the water to get him, Jeremy replied, “What would you like us to call you? OLYMPIA BEER?” – and that was her name for the rest of the summer and for many others, too, shortened to just “Oly.”

Jeremy and I would be trotted around the mountains to her favorite places – the Yacht Club, Sportsman, Monte Corona and the Royal Oak were her top picks, but the Little Villager across the street from the Royal Oak in Blue Jay was mine. Owned by Betty Pekus, my Godmother, it was the place where I had my first and only “Boy Cheese Sandwich” – so named because Jeremy thought I was saying “Girl Cheese Sandwich” when ordering, and felt it was quite sexist. Only the Cedar Glen Malt Shoppe with it’s super-thick peanut butter shakes could woo me from the Little Villager, but long summers insured time for all of the best things to be crammed in, over and over again.

My GG was a little sassy, and I’m pretty sure it’s embedded in my girls. Every year she would “adopt-a-dock” – which I later learned was code for trespassing. Her rationale was that she lived there full time, owned lake rights and had lost her own dock in her divorce from my Fafa. So, she would stake out the lake, sometimes in Emerald Bay, sometimes Orchard Bay, and figure out who wasn’t using their dock that summer and move right in with her folding chairs and pink floating rafts. By the 4th of July she knew she was home free if no one showed up to claim it. If vacation renters came up for the weekend, she would play dumb, bluff if she needed to, and name drop if anyone questioned her. She always pulled it off and until I was about 16, I didn’t know any better. She always told me, “Oh, so-and-so asked me to keep an eye on it this summer for them.”

I miss my lake. I miss the later summers of the Blue Jay Jazz Festival, and the Rotary Wine Tastings. I miss our friends Bev and Jay and dinners at the Chef’s Inn with Randall. I miss being on my Fafa’s old wooden Chris Craft and eating corndogs with ketchup from the Dam Grill at the North Shore Marina. I miss Tavern Bay and the smell of pine trees, and the honeybees that invaded my the tree in GG’s front yard. I miss honeysuckle and the fireworks over the lake.I miss skiing with Shaneen on her boat, “Kenyaketchme.”  I miss my Grandma’s old friends from the Elk’s Lodge – Mickey Haskins, Betty Baumann and Betty Pekus, my Godmother, whom I called my Dodo. The “why” of that nickname has long since faded in shadow, and sadly, I have no one to ask. I miss Santa’s Village and swimming with my Daddy at Deep Creek.

I haven’t been back since my Grandma died. I’m not sure I can ever go back without having a nervous breakdown. It might just be best to let everything remain frozen in time in my mind rather than go back and see it all without her. Who knows? I used to love Summer with all my heart, and now I’m content to ignore it and work right through until Fall. In 11 days my girls are back to school – one to College and one a Sophomore in High School. Maybe next Summer we’ll all go back and make some new memories. Or maybe I’ll just see if I can find a time machine on Ebay and take them back with me to when it was my very own magical place.

Cancer Sucks.

It’s a battle-cry of the mighty group of committed volunteers I work with on the  Relay for Life committee but it was also for the better part of five years the thought that woke me in the morning, and knocked me out at night.

Statistically, it’s probable that you know someone with, or affected by cancer. There’s no Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon here – you probably have one degree at best. This disease is no respecter of race, age, maritial status or parentage. It kills mommies, babies and sweet old ladies that have never done anything to anyone.

My degree of separation is  one. I have never been diagnosed,  but I have lost more loved ones to this disease than anyone should have to bear. No daughter should have to know what a condom catheter is or why her Dad needs it and how to put it on because the nurse is busy. No granddaughter should have to clean feces off their granny’s hiney while they both wish they were anywhere but there, mortified at the circumstances.  I’m not whining about my plight, mind you, I’m saying that something needs to be done.

I believe that Relay for Life is a beacon of hope for those touched by this disease, whether they are fighting back, a survivor, a caregiver or simply a friend or loved one.

The first year that I attended Relay for Life in April 2007  I was a little numb – and I don’t remember much except my own tears and a lot of purple. My Daddy, Michael Honiker, died on June 9, 2006. His autopsy showed that he was cancer-free after a month of in-hospital chemo, but his heart was weakened and he suffered a massive heart attack the night before he was to be released to go home.

The same day my Daddy died, my Grandmother, Gloria Goss, was diagnosed with throat cancer. She smoked for 55 years and quit the day she learned she had Emphysema in 2001. She quite literally beat the odds at least five times – it was amazing. Her first diagnosis in 2001 with lung cancer came only by the grace of God. She went to the hospital for a cardiac stress test, was told she needed a triple bypass, left with stents because her emphysema wouldn’t allow anesthesia – and here’s the amazing part – her cardiologist caught the tiniest speck on her lung and sent her to an oncologist.  She had 2/3 of her left lung removed as an outpatient at a doctor’s office in Fullerton. He’s only one of 3 that can perform that surgery laproscopically.  She beat lung cancer – a near impossible feat – and learned to live with reduced lung function, which was hard since she lived at 5000 feet altitude in Lake Arrowhead. In 2003 when we moved back to Padre Island, she came with us and loved everything – but the humidity. When she was diagnosed with throat cancer, Ken and I became her primary caregivers – commuting back and forth to California, passing each other like ships in the night, seeing each other for only 6 days out of 7 months, taking turns handling her affairs and needs – and, most importantly, loving her through it all. She passed away at home October 17, 2007.

I relay for them. I relay to raise money for the American Cancer Society research so that the new treatments aren’t toxic enough to kill the patient along with the cancer. My Daddy won the cancer battle, but lost his fight for life. cancer (I will not capitalize the word) will not win the war if I can help it.

I relay for my  Grandmother, who had wonderful care at Loma Linda University Medical Center. They are on the cutting edge of proton radiation therapy and it gave her added years with us – it’s less invasive, more specific and carries less side effects.  We were blessed with the gift of time because of it. Time to go to the beach, have shrimp boils, enjoy sunsets and laugh. We laughed a lot. More funding would make that kind of therapy available to more people than just those close to MD Anderson, Loma Linda, John’s Hopkins and Stanford. We were blessed to be close to Loma Linda, but most are not.

For my Stepdad, Mark Connolly, who died of liver cancer at just 51 years old – his diagnosis came too late for any treatment and he suffered more than he needed to. For his mother, my grandma, Merle Connolly, who was a tireless devoted volunteer for the Oakland Children’s Hospital, and was one of the most wonderful selfless women I ever knew. She was the first of my many loved ones to go.

And I relay for those still fighting back: I relay for Ken’s aunt June, and his mother Pat – and their ongoing battle with breast cancer. For my friend Carrie’s son Troy. I relay for our friend Mike Jones, now a survivor.

I can’t save the ones that are gone. And so, mostly, I relay for my daughters. I relay because there is a history of this disease, in almost every part of the body, in our genetic makeup. I relay to raise money so they can benefit from research and treatments in the future and for education and awareness now. cancer is preventable in many cases with the right information and action.

This is too important to leave to someone else. I have to do my part. And so, I relay. I join with others with similar stories and struggles and together we offer each other comfort, encouragement, information – and  hope. Hope that one day this disease will be gone from the face of God’s planet and that the small part we played helped bring that about. I believe it’s possible.

Has cancer touched your life? Tell me your story in the comments and visit cancer.org for resources for patients, caregivers and survivors – the money we raise at Relay events make these services available – and they’re awesome – rides to appointments, resources for wigs, mammograms  – whatever the need it, chances are there’s a free resource. You can make a donation here if you want. If you would like to join in your local Relay for Life event (there are thousands nationwide), visit RelayforLife.org and search for the closest one to you. If you’re in Port Aransas, TX and want to hang out with the coolest committee that bleeds purple, visit relayporta.com and get signed up. Or email me!