I don’t know if I can do it.  I mean, how can we be barreling down on the one-year anniversary of losing Colin, of him dying. 

I can’t believe it was one year today we were getting on an airplane and jetting off to the Super Bowl.  It was in January last year that Colin started turning, his path wasn’t forward anymore.  In fact, it was taking a wild detour and it was heading down an awful, scary, bad, painful path.  Then this bright moment happened and off we went.  We just stopped and went. One night in the hotel in Minneapolis, Colin lost it.  He was exhausted, he was pulling on reserves he didn’t know he even had for years and I was truly beginning to see, to understand he didn’t have it in him anymore. He was upset and admitting how exhausted he was, how tired and didn’t want to be like this anymore.  He couldn’t keep doing it. He was done with it all.

That trip was the last time we had as a regular family.  And by regular, I mean, for 4 hours at the Super Bowl, we left cancer behind.  And I am so incredibly blessed that Colin got to have that experience.  Not the one of being at the Super Bowl.  That was great, I won’t deny it. What I mean is, the experience where he was a regular guy, in a mob of people, anonymous to the fact that he was incredibly sick.  He had so much joy, so much happiness that night. For me, it was a gift to see him be just himself, not a sick and dying Colin.  The Eagles winning was just the cherry on top. We went to that Super Bowl knowing and fully accepting that we were risking his life in doing so.  And it was worth every single second to give him that moment in time.

I was driving home today and kept looking up at the sun, knowing it was behind the clouds.  And I realized that the sun was shining regardless of what was gong on down here, the snow and the cold and the yucky gray.  I couldn’t see the piercing blue sky, the sun…. All the beauty that we see more clearly on a blue skied day. Just because I could not see it today, didn’t mean it wasn’t there. It is. Which seems kind of obvious. Every day that sun is bright and shining even if we can’t see it that way. Just like in the picture I took.

It occurred to me life is the same.  I am living in a very gray, very dark cold world right now.  But that doesn’t mean that sun isn’t there shining, I just can’t see it right now.  Moving forward in faith that the better days are still there, somewhere.  And I will see those kinds of days again even if I can’t see them now.   That beauty I am not seeing so clearly right now, it is still there!

I am in a fog a lot lately.  My mind is just spinning and spinning. February 1, 2014 was the beginning of the end for us. Feb 8th it will be 5 years that Colin went snowboarding a regular kid…. February 10th he first seemed to not feel well…. February 17th we went to see a nurse, February 20th he demanded a CT scan, February 21st he tried to do go to school but was sent home sick and we went back to the doctor... February 22nd, we left for Chop and the people we were on February 21st ceased to exist.  Will mentioned yesterday, “mom it will be here soon.”  I knew exactly what he meant; the 5-year anniversary of Colin being diagnosed with cancer.

I am just going to try and do the best I can these next few months and quell the panic that is in me just about constantly.  Forgive me, forgive anyone that you know that is dealing with this, with something, anything like this.  If they forget something, or don’t do something they mean to. Or temporarily get lost. Forget to email or text back. Be gentle, be kind, be compassionate.  This “it”, it means facing everything again and it is searing. February last year, he was admitted, and we started to meet with doctors and learn his lungs were starting to fail. And he was being told he needed to start doing the things he wanted to without worry for his health.  In other words, get it in now while you can.  I remember him laying on the hospital bed crying, that he just wanted to go on a family cruise one more time before he died.  My God, but I regret not booking that vacation for him the next day and just dropping everything and going. Just because some one tells you your child may die, you don’t believe it.  Why would you?  We always, each and every single one of us, will always think we have more time to do the things we want.  It is common curse and we all have it.

I moved over to writing on a blog space because writing for me is a selfish act, it exorcises thoughts out of my head for a bit.  And I was getting upset by everyone saying they pray for us.  Don’t pray for me, instead be kind to others.  Praying seems like the easy way out. There is no work in that. And what this is like, what this feels like, well it feels unfair to take the easy way out. I am not saying praying isn’t a good thing or helpful. Or you shouldn’t do it. Nor am I discounting the power of prayer, because I do believe in it.

But for a person… any person that experiences a severe loss, I can almost guarantee you that your praying isn’t making this more manageable.  Please don’t confuse me for being insensitive.  But think on it, would you feel better if your child died and someone said, I pray for you?  

If it was only that easy. Instead, tell me about how you paid it forward in kindness for another, in honor of Colin.  Or that you slowed down and spent time together.  Or that you did something for yourself that you have been putting off.  Yes, praying just seems like the easy way out. Think, how do you want to act on your prayers?  Pray, it is a verb after all.