Friday, February 18, 2011


Things are getting more normal around here by the day. I've started working some at my mom's flower shop (Valentine's Day=no longer a holiday for me!), we've had a few playdates, the boys and I have made a few grocery store runs (getting used to the daily dose of germs again) and Jack will start a gymnastics class soon. We are planning to return to church this weekend too--I'm so excited, but a little nervous for the boys. It will be the first time in a LONG time for them to be around more than one other child.

It's wonderful to be normal again.

To be busy again.

To be able to just run into the store with the boys again.'s still scary.

And uncomfortable at times.

I find myself getting anxious in certain situations.

And I have to push myself sometimes. To squash the little voice in my head that says "wouldn't it be nice to stay in this little hole you were forced into?"

At first the isolation was hard. REALLY hard. But then we got used to it, and it became comfortable. The germs were outside and we were inside. Easy.

We were conditioned to be cautious of everything, everyone, every situation.

So. It's scary to get back out there.

I have a word for this year.


This year, I want to just LIVE.

I want to take my boys to the park. I want to go on girl trips. I want to go to spin class and Zumba. I want to go on dates with my husband. I want to appreciate every minute, every day, every week. I want to speak, act, love and live with purpose.

I don't want to be scared.

All along, people would comment on "how well I was handling it all".

Well. I wasn't.

I am a mother. I am a planner. A do-er. A note taker. A question asker. So I put on all of those hats and just handled the task at hand. Chemo-check. Surgery-check. Chemo again-check. Radiation-check.

I became very good at avoiding any and all emotion. Crying meant accepting. Realizing. Connecting what was going on with what I knew our life to be.

So I just didn't cry. Maybe 5 times since he was diagnosed have I cried.

Now, here in the present, with one set of clean scans underneath Jack's belt....I am accepting. And realizing what has happened and what that means for the future. And connecting our "old" life with our "new" life.

Sometimes I look at his still bald head and I'm momentarily shocked. This is Jackson? My Jackson? What happened to the chubby, curly headed two and a half year old that I had? It's almost as if now that my brain carried me through all of the stuff that I needed to be able to focus on and pay attention it's saying ACCEPT. REALIZE. CONNECT.


It's saying LIVE.

{A constant reminder.}



  1. I imagine that God allowed you to make decisions and focus on what you could do to help Jackson and let you get to the other side until the emotions set in. He cares for us so well, doesn't He? I would have fallen apart. I did just that many times when my daughter was facing a medical issue. I had to learn to be productive instead of sinking into a mess anytime the fear would creep in! Still rejoicing with you! And LIVING too :)

  2. I love this post! I can only imagine how hard it would be to be told going out in public could be bad and suddenly its ok. I think you "live" idea sounds great!

  3. Another inspiring post.
    After a tough day, your words made me realise how easy we have it.
    And I LOVE that necklace.
    Thank you for continually reminding me how much I need to cherish what we have right now.

  4. You know, Lindsay, I don't know you personally. But from what I can tell from your writings on this blog, you are an incredible mom and an incredible lady. I admire your perseverance and your strength. I pray that this year is wonderful for you and your family.

  5. Beautiful post my friend. Everything is different. Not better. Not worse. Just different. Learning to live again is a process. HUGS!

  6. Hi Lyndsay, not sure how i haven't found you before. My son andrew has a similar story. We are in a similar place having had one clean scan. We found his mass mid april. I relate to everyth ing you wrote above. It is hard to just live. I have an exact matching necklace which says "hope." It is hard for me to read other peoples cancer stories, do you find the same? It is almost an additional overload of emotion. I'm going to follow. Take care. In many ways i know where you have been andwhat you have come thru. Hugs to you.

  7. Hey there... just started following you from my pixie dreams. I love meeting other moms who "understand". In November 2009 our son Braxton was diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. He is doing well now, still undergoing treatment (655 days left of chemo). Just wanted you to know I admire you and I will add your son to our "hero" list and be sure to pray for him daily.
    Visit us at




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