365 days.

Dear mom,

Well, it’s been a year since you’ve been gone. I still remember everything about March 17, 2014 at 6:35 pm. I remember the smells, the emotions and the sound of the monitor not making a sound. I remember thinking “this is it…my life’s over”. I remember crying hysterically and realizing that you would never be able to do so many things again. I’d never hear “I love you”, you’d never see me graduate, you’d never meet my husband and you’d never meet your grandkids. It was somewhere along this list of ‘nevers’ that I realized you were finally at peace. Somewhere amidst my hysterical crying and ranting and yelling at hospital staff I realized that this was the best thing that could have happened to you at this point in the battle against cancer. I realized I had to grow up and be brave – not only for myself, but for my family and my friends. At 22 I didn’t really expect to lose the most influential person in my entire life, but that’s life and that’s just it…you can’t plan this kind of crap. I’m not sure why I expected you to be like Dumbledore and live forever…but I think when you’re growing up you just do. You expect them to be there every step of the way. You expect them to send you care packages and listen to all your self-absorbed problems. You expect them to give you words of wisdom when you don’t get an award or get dumped by a jerk. For me, most of those expectations went out the window on August 11, 2013 the day you started seizing uncontrollably. You were never quite the same after that episode of seizures. You needed to learn to communicate, walk and use your hands again. I remember shortly after you arrived home (for the first time since August 9) in October we let you peel the shrimp. 45 minutes later we were able to cook the shrimp and finish the meal. It was that day I officially learned about patience. Looking back I can remember always wanting to be with you and helping you with everything – especially in the kitchen. What would have taken you 10 or 15 minutes to whip up took an additional 20 or 30 because I was “helping”. That quote about life not being a destination and it being about the journey really hit me hard. Watching you peel those shrimp with such little coordination and such strong determination I was suddenly so thankful for all those times you gave me a chance and watched me behave the same way.

I remember spending my 22 birthday with you at Lake Taylor Rehab center last year. I walked into an empty hospital room – you were nowhere to be found. As my heart was racing a million miles a minute every bad thing that could have possibly happened was going through my head. A nurse saw me beginning to panic and brought me down to the physical therapy room. I watched through the big glass windows as you practiced walking around the room with your old lady walker and little assistance. I could have watched you for hours. I was so proud of that woman that once watched me walk across a room. As soon as you saw me though the PT for the day was done because you were more focused on telling the therapists how much you loved me and how proud of me you were. I remember wheeling you back to your room and spending the day talking about all the things you’d been able to re-learn. Your words weren’t all back yet so I had to guess which ones you were trying to say. Sometimes it was frustrating because you couldn’t articulate what you felt or meant, but other times it was hysterical trying to understand what you were asking or saying. I never thought it’d be my last birthday with you, but I’m so thankful I was able to spend that time with you and learn about humility and love. Even while you were fighting this stupid disease with everything you had – you’d talk about us, tell the nurses how important or special we all were and make sure we were okay. Whenever you would lean back to take a nap the last thing you’d say was “where’s Michael”. You knew there was nothing you could do, but you were constantly thinking about what others could do for him. You are the reason I believe in selfless love.  

This year has really been focused on finding things to live for and exhibiting inner strength at all times. When you were sick there was a sense of adrenaline inside of me that kept me going and doing a million things at one time because I knew it had to be done. Now that you’re gone it’s sometimes harder for me to preform these selfless acts of love because it’s seemingly unappreciated or unwanted. Nevertheless, when push comes to shove I’ve managed to get everything I could have ever wanted accomplished. In August, I unexpectedly met the man of my dreams. He’s everything you would have wanted for me. He’s charming and kind. Smart and stable. And more importantly he’s fun and makes me better. You never officially met him and never will, but I have to believe you’ve known him all along. Every time my heart was broken by some jerk you would tell me that I just haven’t found the one. You knew I’d find someone wonderful and that he was actually out there no matter how many times I lost hope. Every description you’d ever given me about Mr. Right was foreshadowing to when I met Matt. Dad, Michael and I went to see the Neptune Festival fireworks this year at the Oceanfront. I brought Matt along because by October he was already a part of the family. We were sitting on the beach when all of a sudden the first firework lit up the sky. I turned to Matt smiling like a kid in a candy store and he said “do you hear that”? I turned to the boardwalk and heard an all too familiar sound, “Good Riddance” by Green Day. Matt recognized the song immediately from stories I’d told about you and that song being your ringtone. At that moment I knew that you were at peace and approved of Matt. I don’t remember hearing any other songs play after that – I just remember the boom and bang of the fireworks across the ocean. Moments like these aren’t coincidental. I think they represent the promise you made to always be here and to always be an active part of our lives. As painful as it will be one day to walk down an aisle, say I do and start a family – I know you’ll be there…just not in the way I had always dreamed.

When I think back to making your list of “nevers”, I think about my own list. If you had never passed away, I wouldn’t have had to grow up so quickly. While I could totally deal with that – it’s nice to be independent and do things for myself. I never would have had an internship at Apricot Lane last summer. Due to being completely absorbed with your illness school had taken the back burner and I was never able to apply for internships. The dean of my department at ODU sent me an email and said “this is your last chance, apply now”. It was at this internship that I met a girl who would give me a tip about Dollar Tree’s CORE Merchandising program. I never would be working for Dollar Tree Corporate in July, if it weren’t for this internship and your diagnosis. It’s amazing how things come full cycle. I still remember the day before you seized, telling me on the dock at Smith Mountain Lake that everything happens for a reason. Things work out in the end if you allow them to. I maintain that positive things do come from tragedies…you just have to change your focus and choose to dwell in positivity instead of negativity and despair. I never would have had my charity fashion show that was amazingly success for the American Cancer Society and my sanity, if it weren’t for you. It was a brilliant coping mechanism that brought so many unrelated people to Hampton Roads to celebrate your life and change the face of Cancer from something unknown to the reality that Cancer affects us all. Through this show I developed a #Cancerstrong mentality and awareness. Honestly, I think that’s the best thing I’ve done with my life and I’m so proud to have done it in your honor.

I graduate in May and will start working my first big girl job in July. I’m really not sure how I’ve managed to be successful in my academics and jobs through all the heart ache and tragedy we’ve endured this year. I don’t know what will become of me – I don’t know if I’ll stay with Dollar Tree for 30 years - I don’t know if I’ll get married or have 3 kids and live in Virginia Beach. But if there’s anything being #Cancerstrong has taught me, it’s being thankful for the unknown and embracing every day like it’s your last. You were so many wonderful things to so many different people but all of those things worked to change and enhance their lives in positive ways. You never took a day for granted and embraced everyone and everything with open arms. Every day I learn more about the amazing legacy you left behind for me to follow and I learn more about the legacy I’m establishing for myself. I don’t know who exactly this blog has reached or what my social media has done to their minds or hearts, but I know it’s had over 15,000 views. Cancer and death isn’t something to be silent about. It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel alone. But it’s even better to talk about it and fight the fight boldly in front of the community. It’s my mission to share the good that you started and I won’t stop until it’s my turn to go.

I love you big,

Katie