tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48081154796517512822024-03-13T11:46:50.554-04:00Jillian's Journey with Melanoma- A Mother's StorySusan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-1960015289873385852019-10-07T17:10:00.000-04:002019-10-07T17:10:24.586-04:00Mama Bear's Spot, Billboards and So Many Things, Oh, My! <br />
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I’ve got the fire back in my belly, and it’s burning. </div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I've felt as if I’ve been living under the weight
of a heavy fog for about ten years. Jillian has been gone almost 7. She was
first diagnosed with Melanoma in 2009. I’m not saying there haven’t been
spectacular days when the fog had lifted, because there have been many. But I <i>can</i> tell you that I’ve been stalked by
that Fog’s wispy tendrils for a very long time. I could feel it. I could sense
them swirling around my legs, just waiting to grab me and pull me under. It has
been an everyday battle to outrun those far-reaching tendrils. And it’s a
frightening thing. Grief is messy. Sticky. Foggy.</div>
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Two years ago, my life took a different turn. I made a
choice, followed a new path, and started on a journey to wellness and healing. That
choice has allowed me find my way through the Fog. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am starting a new blog and website called, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://mamabearsspot.com/">Mama Bears Spot</a></i>. I will be sharing the
continuation of my journey from that space if you’d like to follow me, and I certainly
hope you do. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jillian’s Journey with
Melanoma, A Mother’s Story”,</i> just didn’t feel like the place to do that. I
will continue to link the two, but I need to keep Jillian’s space a separate place.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not near
finished creating the new site, but I am going to begin blogging there. It will
also be a place holder for some of the things I will be participating in coming
up. A place for inspiration, health, fitness.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Since </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://mamabearsspot.com/">Mama Bear’s Spot</a></i> is in its beginning stages, it will continue to evolve. Just like me. Just like you, if you are on a similar journey through
the Fog. Either way, I’d like to travel this road together. I believe we can
learn together, share together. Inspire one another. Laugh and cry together. A safe Spot for any, and
all things.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>I just signed up for the<a href="https://runsignup.com/Race/MI/GrandRapids/AmwayRiverBankRun?remMeAttempt="> Amway Riverbank Run</a> (25K) and have
set up a team within the website. It’s called <b>“Team Jillian Hayes Foundation,
Melanoma Awareness”</b>. You can join any race; it is not limited to the 25K. I’ll
figure out all the logistics later and decide if I’ll do fundraising, but for
now it’s something I’m planning to do in memory of Jillian and in honor of all
those currently battling the Cancer that knows no boundaries. I’d love it if
you would join me.</div>
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The Riverbank Run is in May, which happens to be Melanoma
Awareness Month. Registration is now open for the May 9, 2020 race. I’ve taken
the below description right from their website. It’s a pretty big deal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Amway River Bank Run
presented by Fifth Third Bank with Spectrum Health, the Official Health Partner
on Saturday, May 9, 2020 in downtown Grand Rapids, Michigan, there is something
for everyone! Plus, the pre-race Sports & Fitness Expo, Friday,
May 8, 2020 - showcasing health and wellness vendors, product sampling, beer
garden and the last chance register for the race at DeVos Place.
After the race on Saturday (or beginning at 7:30am), meet up with fans,
friends and family to kick back at the Finish Fest on Calder Plaza with the
food, beverages, music, live race broadcast and watch 25Ker's finish on the big
screen. <br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Featuring the
largest 25K road race in the country, the event is also the site of the USA 25
km Open Championships. More than 15,000 people are expected to participate on
event day including a 5K Run, 10K Run, 25K Handcycle race, 25K Wheelchair race,
25K race and a 5K Community Walk.</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p><b> DON'T GO YET!</b></o:p></i></div>
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If you’ve read this far I’d like to tell you about the next
Billboard I'm planning. I have already secured the dates, May 4, 2020 through May 31, 2020
at two locations. Jillian’s friend Greg has agreed to do the creative again.
This billboard will get a lot of visibility due to the race and I am so
excited.</div>
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If you are currently battling melanoma, or if you have a loved one that is no longer with us, I would love to have have you included on this latest billboard. </div>
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<b><i>THIS IS FOR YOU</i></b></div>
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What I need from you
is specific. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->An email sent to <a href="mailto:jemsforjilly@gmail.com">jemsforjilly@gmail.com</a> which will
include: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->A high-resolution photo with the person’s name.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span><!--[endif]-->If you want to be included on the Mama Bear’s Spot
webpage, I plan to add a space for photos which should include the person’s name,
stage, and a brief description of their story. If that person is no longer
here, include their birth date, their parting date, as well as a brief
description if you wish to share. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->I won’t be able to accept anything unless it
comes through email, so please don’t sent me private messages. If you can donate towards the <span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">billboards, I would be most grateful. All donations go directly to paying for the billboard. There is a </span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">"Donate"</b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> button at the top of the blog. Thank you!</span></div>
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I am so thankful to feel the fire and the desire to tackle this project once again, grateful for the desire to try something new, and <b>truly</b> blessed to have your support.</div>
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I’m looking forward to sharing the next chapter with you!</div>
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Oh. And Melanoma? Mama
Bear has a long memory. <o:p></o:p></div>
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~Peace<o:p></o:p></div>
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Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-47851084559670003732019-09-03T17:30:00.002-04:002019-09-03T17:30:35.216-04:00"Growing Old Ain't for Sissies".....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKmNRldOFITCmayuYKiPWjWwPFSudzMIAMRE8y5X1WWTXi9N4KsGFm4Lktnaz5Yf3G1-qKUUOk6t8ZFTml2r_4v4xnaKiMi7VAfpYWlgtJnz4zbX8-LiJktGPetIs8NAYbdlErJt-qA42c/s1600/20190822_074243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="1156" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKmNRldOFITCmayuYKiPWjWwPFSudzMIAMRE8y5X1WWTXi9N4KsGFm4Lktnaz5Yf3G1-qKUUOk6t8ZFTml2r_4v4xnaKiMi7VAfpYWlgtJnz4zbX8-LiJktGPetIs8NAYbdlErJt-qA42c/s200/20190822_074243.jpg" width="200" /></a>It's been quite awhile since I've been blogging. I plan to begin again, so hang on Lucy.<br />
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I will be 60 in November, and I have absolutely no idea how that happened. I don't feel 60. I don't act 60. My mom is 60! ( +26).<br />
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I look back over those years as if they are chapters in a book. The last chapter was rough. I lost my dad, and three months later, Jillian at 23. And then the divorce and a new home, not by choice. And grief. So much grieving filled that chapter.<br />
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This chapter is filled with hope and joy. I ran my first half and my first full marathon this year with my son, Josh. At 59. I over-trained. And paid for it. My dad used to say, "Growing old ain't for sissies". Maybe that's true, given the aches and pains running has blessed me with. Because it IS a blessing. I am able to run. I am able to walk. I find joy in my children and their mates. My precious grandchildren. My pups. Either way, I'll fight growing old every step, every stride of the way, and I'll embrace what this world has to show me. Because I choose to. And I'll try not to be a sissy about it.<br />
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Yesterday was the first real run since my 25K in May. I train by myself, but never alone. Jillian is with me on every run.<br />
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Our story isn't finished. Running has saved my life and has prepared me for this next chapter.<br />
We are badass, wrinklies! The best chapters are yet to come.<br />
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~ Peace and Love...<br />
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Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-51542571694184812432017-12-29T07:51:00.001-05:002017-12-29T15:34:29.580-05:00On This Day.....<div class="MsoNormal">
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I woke up at 4:30 that morning. It didn’t seem strange to be
up that early, I hadn’t been sleeping soundly for weeks. I headed for the
dining room to check on Jillian and Steve. Her bed had been moved
downstairs, making getting around more manageable with Jillian’s wheelchair.<br />
<br />Oh…..Steve and I made quite the team! We had a routine that worked very well
for us. I would stand behind the wheelchair to hold it steady, Steve would wrap
his arms around Jillian’s chest, lift her up, while I’d quickly pull the
wheelchair out of the way. He would then pivot her to the couch, or where ever
we needed to go., and as Steve gently lowered her down, I would lift her
legs and get her into a comfortable position. Whew! We made it. And this went
on throughout the day.<br />
<br />At night we used a monitor so I could hear Steve if he
needed help during the night. Looking back, I really am amazed at how well we
worked together. Jillian made it easy. She never complained. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Jillian’s breathing had changed the past couple of days.
Slower, less breaths in between. It was frightening in a way. Unsettling. Maybe
because I was hoping for that miracle. But any change meant change. <o:p></o:p></div>
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the stairs of the back deck. It had snowed the night before. I sat down on the
step, not feeling the cold through my pants. It was so quiet. Just
sitting. Listening. Praying.<br />
<br />
I heard the owl that morning, I knew there was
some meaning behind the haunting call it made, but I didn’t know what it meant.
But I do know there was some significance in hearing the owl during the weeks
prior to that early December morning. When the owl was silent, I went back
inside.<br />
<br />
As if in slow motion, with no real thought, I drew a bath for myself. I
wasn’t cold. I’m not sure why I felt the need to take a bath so early that
morning.<br />
<br />
After I was finished getting dressed and ready for the day, I headed
back to the dining room and sat with Jillian. I listened to her breathing. It
was different. I knew this morning was different.<br />
<br />
I kissed her chubby cheek. I
caressed her face. I ran my fingers through her hair. I held her hand and
memorized every single detail. She had beautiful hands, long strong fingers. Beautiful,
memorable hands. I couldn’t stop touching her. I wanted to fuse my life into
hers. My precious daughter- I would gladly have given my own life for
hers. But it didn’t work out that way. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Jillian’s last breaths are forever branded into my soul. I hear
them when I lay my head down at night. Five years later, I hear her last
breaths. She has fused her life into mine. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, as I look back and remember that last morning, Jillian’s
last day on earth, I contemplate what I’ve learned since that day:<o:p></o:p></div>
<ul>
<li>Grief has no rules, no boundary’s, and will last a lifetime.</li>
<li>You are not alone. But in the end, you do grieve alone. You
do it your own way. And that’s perfect for you.</li>
<li>Do the work. If you have a Jillian day, embrace it.</li>
<li>Never listen to what others try and tell you when it comes
to how you should be feeling, when you should be feeling or what you should be
doing. It’s not about them. It’s about you.</li>
</ul>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTB3UmT0kcqAC4WHqyzOtsf6oOj0Bwndt_wj5iuo1cfdaOfHQlvh1v4YkxaWnALEJB5LM-DltbEWR9HMPWmdmW0bqcRfy0Ha7f1XA25wpFP3R0pj261q6RXNV5oznb8EVVyqzlf7z5lGB-/s1600/20596955_10210011529465182_3450970219372841465_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTB3UmT0kcqAC4WHqyzOtsf6oOj0Bwndt_wj5iuo1cfdaOfHQlvh1v4YkxaWnALEJB5LM-DltbEWR9HMPWmdmW0bqcRfy0Ha7f1XA25wpFP3R0pj261q6RXNV5oznb8EVVyqzlf7z5lGB-/s200/20596955_10210011529465182_3450970219372841465_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO00VYDxafAJNPraA10pT0KbHcBCeq3S4DDcAVRkSRNjWC8Hi5nt8EBAK12yZd7NY7ji7z6ZoqJ1DpMOjuP0y4yQqRuJD18iGu-lW858LXD6uWKsle7MlK2upsADdO5u1t32gZ7g4ouElt/s1600/420063_10150715862861019_120630230_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO00VYDxafAJNPraA10pT0KbHcBCeq3S4DDcAVRkSRNjWC8Hi5nt8EBAK12yZd7NY7ji7z6ZoqJ1DpMOjuP0y4yQqRuJD18iGu-lW858LXD6uWKsle7MlK2upsADdO5u1t32gZ7g4ouElt/s200/420063_10150715862861019_120630230_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<ul>
<li>You are not the same person. That’s okay. You will learn to
accept this new person and love her/him. And so will everyone else. Be true to
your new self.</li>
<li>Love on your loved ones.</li>
<li>Grab your puppies.</li>
<li>Get a chicken.</li>
<li>Run.</li>
<li>Love wins. It forever wins.</li>
<li>And always remember… Psalms 46-10 “Be Still and Know that I
am God”.</li>
</ul>
<o:p> </o:p>In loving memory of our beloved
Jillian Marie Hayes Wagner-09/24/1989-12/29/2012<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1YBc8GrPcZI7hm4sgaMUrbfhrnxVXOr3jCgbVtUHUQ76MLfu_KZaBxCJKInXL29c6ASCQ55S22vDeSjXZWg2qZ8CpE6AhWSem9MLojHAVbAsbtyvExWTpHruYcbYP7_miFrqJ-LzXf2un/s1600/857793_4388972046425_564850523_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1YBc8GrPcZI7hm4sgaMUrbfhrnxVXOr3jCgbVtUHUQ76MLfu_KZaBxCJKInXL29c6ASCQ55S22vDeSjXZWg2qZ8CpE6AhWSem9MLojHAVbAsbtyvExWTpHruYcbYP7_miFrqJ-LzXf2un/s320/857793_4388972046425_564850523_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUGSXMY2jFI8oCunePiOtZjtoGHw-AJGBld2nfFpyQmrd-voEdkOyZ3qPwrVxeHjEK_4-9JwyfqSFfN8PkPBjF68zXSxJ4BzKhAJZppkkdQI69rV_t4OzbnG3HNUjH_FCiXVZKuVKv5vP7/s1600/1002981_10201573634045513_979232132_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="960" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUGSXMY2jFI8oCunePiOtZjtoGHw-AJGBld2nfFpyQmrd-voEdkOyZ3qPwrVxeHjEK_4-9JwyfqSFfN8PkPBjF68zXSxJ4BzKhAJZppkkdQI69rV_t4OzbnG3HNUjH_FCiXVZKuVKv5vP7/s320/1002981_10201573634045513_979232132_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7XR6LBDk1BCYbeIPpo6I_b-gLyVmm9CF3rwNhQb346ZnwJXItwAS32zaXq679hHA8cGFm3E5DwUxm9oZixGGWZxFugGVjfBK9wxD0vQFcVdjzqYqEYfJxAHM9wp7joZEQvQ7OGVtdgIt/s1600/15780982_10210512963353871_8834848133920796767_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="624" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7XR6LBDk1BCYbeIPpo6I_b-gLyVmm9CF3rwNhQb346ZnwJXItwAS32zaXq679hHA8cGFm3E5DwUxm9oZixGGWZxFugGVjfBK9wxD0vQFcVdjzqYqEYfJxAHM9wp7joZEQvQ7OGVtdgIt/s320/15780982_10210512963353871_8834848133920796767_n.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p>Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-87718842337230848652017-07-26T16:17:00.001-04:002017-07-27T09:48:04.466-04:00Smell the Stupid Roses.....<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSD4H-x_V57PG8mz0XnMhNMK7fP-GSY9d773wN6hvTmGLjBGtPsnFTQ5ydtzleSA2C3pFl7sPzJERelJ6Y5Pc5hj2xRj4O5tBMLqk_tFQO4uosRdy1Hrw0xDpzuDTAm0fQElNfb8ZgBi2M/s1600/Jillian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="960" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSD4H-x_V57PG8mz0XnMhNMK7fP-GSY9d773wN6hvTmGLjBGtPsnFTQ5ydtzleSA2C3pFl7sPzJERelJ6Y5Pc5hj2xRj4O5tBMLqk_tFQO4uosRdy1Hrw0xDpzuDTAm0fQElNfb8ZgBi2M/s320/Jillian.jpg" width="320" /></a>I’ve heard it said many times over the years, “Cancer
changes you”. I’ve always believed that statement to be true, but what I didn’t
realize was that the changes aren’t always so wonderful.</div>
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I’ve often heard people say, “Cancer doesn’t define me”. I
wonder, what does that mean? In one fell swoop, hearing the Dr. tell Jillian, “
You have melanoma”, has defined my whole world! It sure has defined me. Nothing
is the same. Nothing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I think about Jillian throughout the day, every single day.
I cry sitting at my desk at work some days when a random memory skitters across
my heart. Not a sob, just tears running down my face with a lump in my throat.
I can usually take the memory, give it a kiss, and safely tuck it away for when
I can really examine it. And then I go about my day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But that underlying sadness is always there. Yes, I have
memories. Many, many, wonderful memories. But somehow, it doesn’t feel finished.<br />
The memories are not enough and I want more. There goes that lump again. Damn.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have very little tolerance for people with their
judgement's and grudges these days. That is one of the not so great changes
cancer has left in its wake. I just have no patience for that nonsense.
Figure out your stuff and fix it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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If you could take yourself to the ocean, or in my case,
Lake Michigan, and just be still. Sit on the beach (with sunscreen of course),
and let the sounds and smells seep into your being, lulling you into a sense of
peace. Go to the place of wonder where the vastness of our beautiful world
reminds you that we are so insignificant and small in comparison. Nature has
always done that for me. It brings me to God. In the end, that is the only
thing that really works for me. “Be still and know that I Am God”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I look at my life, the plans I had, and I can hardly believe
this is where I am today. It’s almost like I’m reading someone’s story other
than my own. This stuff just doesn’t happen, or if it does, most certainly not
to me. So surreal. But I am making my own story too, in a sense. It’s not all
out of my control. I can control how I live through it, how I react to it. How
I grow through it. And I’m okay with all that. I really am okay.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOz78w_7bbmc6Inupz1b7pscC7nhPOOV5mv55g3WB7b0SBXCasULxjNH0GFi1oBw30DjT4N2Z8teFCiYOmaDbDf8O4vR3xIOXRuX69HpUaOKJ1NkBdUIcUqEUXWDuQ6bmYSYaV9WJnqOK/s1600/Roses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOz78w_7bbmc6Inupz1b7pscC7nhPOOV5mv55g3WB7b0SBXCasULxjNH0GFi1oBw30DjT4N2Z8teFCiYOmaDbDf8O4vR3xIOXRuX69HpUaOKJ1NkBdUIcUqEUXWDuQ6bmYSYaV9WJnqOK/s320/Roses.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Although cancer has made some negative changes in me, it has
given me a new set of eyes that come with a deeper understanding than I’ve ever
had before. A deeper appreciation for my children, and their mates. For my
grandchildren. For all of my family, and Steve’s family. For my friends. I
appreciate all of you, and how you’ve stood by me and loved me when I’m not so
loveable. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRmzvyClnnRVds08f1XW4tsUdJBF-I5YUHXzb_wlKej0AuOpbIwhM1buK0lws60zixjoJ9kt7at0TPECnruWKrZNEo-5i-u1-YjPbXctN26AuW_NNz_33R8xQ-FL9jFTLlyS01HjrDDFj/s1600/Grieving+Jillian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRmzvyClnnRVds08f1XW4tsUdJBF-I5YUHXzb_wlKej0AuOpbIwhM1buK0lws60zixjoJ9kt7at0TPECnruWKrZNEo-5i-u1-YjPbXctN26AuW_NNz_33R8xQ-FL9jFTLlyS01HjrDDFj/s320/Grieving+Jillian.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I love you. Thank you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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~Peace<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-53127116051756543602017-05-03T10:41:00.000-04:002017-05-03T15:53:54.008-04:00May-Melanoma Awareness Month 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZAfgbAi0-mPhxzk-uJOASfjmxDaUCmqBLQWx8Q6HDZNcPqru_Vmxz-9soF8icchv5kOEc0-bFyHiQvDS3hrN13Qr7-9-IpmSLMopt6RcUrvlcAr1Vlauls5-6xYQm53OrbMNBwlmburXD/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZAfgbAi0-mPhxzk-uJOASfjmxDaUCmqBLQWx8Q6HDZNcPqru_Vmxz-9soF8icchv5kOEc0-bFyHiQvDS3hrN13Qr7-9-IpmSLMopt6RcUrvlcAr1Vlauls5-6xYQm53OrbMNBwlmburXD/s400/unnamed.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I’m a blogger. So I guess I’ll blog.</div>
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May is Melanoma Awareness Month. We are on Day 3. For quite
some time, I’ve been trying to limit my activity on social media. When Jillian
first died, I was a mad woman trying to promote awareness to this horrific
disease. Billboards everywhere, TV interviews, calls and emails with people
touched in some way by melanoma….I couldn’t stop. I had to share what I knew, I
had to keep Jillian’s name alive. I was horrified by the thought that she would
be forgotten. I did not want another family to experience the searing grief
that we do. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I began to realize that all of this activity was hurting me.
I would scroll through Facebook and read the stories. Stories of young children
fighting for their lives. KIDS! Stories about young wives and husbands trying
to pick up the pieces of their lives after their spouse has died. How do they
deal with the aftermath? How can they possibly explain this to their young
children? “Daddy is in Heaven, sweetheart”. “Mommy loved you so much, she’ll be
watching over you and will always be with you”. (I want them here with
me!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpCLZMXB88aS8IpK-8DXqRA1_7jFU_VlNPmET65m7X92iOxrKyGvts2qrhwHefj90Dnr4svbvWDIqAlnOlxmxpPQSc_N8RFQHMbnPn830abLjLEb9EKJNpK-QEMhOljhyMvTadA2S1r8lz/s1600/People+who+use+tanning+beds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpCLZMXB88aS8IpK-8DXqRA1_7jFU_VlNPmET65m7X92iOxrKyGvts2qrhwHefj90Dnr4svbvWDIqAlnOlxmxpPQSc_N8RFQHMbnPn830abLjLEb9EKJNpK-QEMhOljhyMvTadA2S1r8lz/s200/People+who+use+tanning+beds.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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And then there are the young girls loving their tanning
beds, showing off their Golden Glow. Getting their “base” tan. Soon after, having to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usA70a5opug">hold their best friends hand as she explains she now has Melanoma Cancer. </a><o:p></o:p><br />
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And the photos of the scars. Some of them would <i>literally
</i>turn my stomach and make me sick. So much mutilation. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEMpiCHCk6WVjeoHYhm3HtR4kuUBNNTjgpVIVSAQrmITiJy1keg5L9aXMdX9CaC0NoBTNWI1IYBv2cU0iQAOo5kxQNi9YimoSLkxAfJF4dNA-v78UoFqwrSoh1P1p3ko7kNKfaAheZ7mch/s1600/10409522_10202882690124534_6609492783703424700_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEMpiCHCk6WVjeoHYhm3HtR4kuUBNNTjgpVIVSAQrmITiJy1keg5L9aXMdX9CaC0NoBTNWI1IYBv2cU0iQAOo5kxQNi9YimoSLkxAfJF4dNA-v78UoFqwrSoh1P1p3ko7kNKfaAheZ7mch/s200/10409522_10202882690124534_6609492783703424700_n.jpg" width="146" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8tpYeUmW0eM2sfcyC3HWvuolL63uGPw-HNrthkBqorNqnZEWI5GukZbE62kc6KTKauv_TRUBWokVaBIkKVjk3msXNHPFBw_zZ7DU_Ze3pnsuvVwMu698vIW0zHTV6Ob1QlyGyrpEELPtm/s1600/2013-11-15_20-32-17_56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8tpYeUmW0eM2sfcyC3HWvuolL63uGPw-HNrthkBqorNqnZEWI5GukZbE62kc6KTKauv_TRUBWokVaBIkKVjk3msXNHPFBw_zZ7DU_Ze3pnsuvVwMu698vIW0zHTV6Ob1QlyGyrpEELPtm/s200/2013-11-15_20-32-17_56.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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But let’s not forget the people I have known and loved that have
died from this disease. The Melanoma community is a tight knit group of
individuals. We support each other, we share, we cry and we love. And when one
of them dies, we all grieve. It brings back every single moment I experienced
with Jillian. AND IT HURTS!!! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mothers and Fathers who have lost their children to
melanoma, swimming in grief. How does that work? I can safely say, not very well.<br />
Parent's aren't supposed to bury their children.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QwRa7lf9Oe4qXDJkgx_TBuuchc081jbgha2HOinSS-VHkWQOTGiy2vGiSr7LYx3fiYj8j8iMbwEaOgnwa07ndkGAM7g6VXQYkDal3ow-GSbn50R0GqRIQtmijSd3H6NyueXYUTWoz_B8/s1600/582004_10200871375047034_497184547_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QwRa7lf9Oe4qXDJkgx_TBuuchc081jbgha2HOinSS-VHkWQOTGiy2vGiSr7LYx3fiYj8j8iMbwEaOgnwa07ndkGAM7g6VXQYkDal3ow-GSbn50R0GqRIQtmijSd3H6NyueXYUTWoz_B8/s200/582004_10200871375047034_497184547_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>And then, we have the dear friends that we have grown to
know and love. Some we have even met in person. The ones whose melanoma has progressed.
We stand by helplessly. We pray for them. I hate it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It makes me angry when people know the dangers of
the sun and tanning beds but they choose to go ahead and risk their lives in
spite of the warnings. Even the people who knew Jillian personally. I wonder if
they truly understand that they are not only hurting themselves, but they are
hurting the ones that love them. The ones that depend on them. Good grief.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRTDYAF1g-2KUlemmUWZl6-khqFq1dUfxogtt_dUnfrD-CWyhgG89HeqXpuqgsC6faFuooLwiMDESp3HfgkRi0oBeMW1nQBEaZfJdyEjhA1z89w0Az8hMFKdnap78izq9IuOQZRUXLzBx/s1600/Common+form+for+teens+and+young+adults.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRTDYAF1g-2KUlemmUWZl6-khqFq1dUfxogtt_dUnfrD-CWyhgG89HeqXpuqgsC6faFuooLwiMDESp3HfgkRi0oBeMW1nQBEaZfJdyEjhA1z89w0Az8hMFKdnap78izq9IuOQZRUXLzBx/s200/Common+form+for+teens+and+young+adults.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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I cannot change the world. I can only change me and do what
is right for me on this day. This moment. And it is always changing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For this Melanoma Month of May, 2017, I will pull up my big
girl pants and fight for you. I will continue to post information in the hopes
that you listen. I will do this in spite of the pain it causes me. We all do in
our grassroots community. I’m not alone in this, not by a long shot. We do this
for YOU. And for those that love you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, when you roll your eyes and move past these incessant
melanoma awareness posts in your news feed this month, think about the
intentions behind them. Perhaps we might just save a life. Maybe it’ll be
yours.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Maybe mine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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~ Peace<o:p></o:p></div>
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Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-4736514146968584452016-12-01T09:19:00.002-05:002016-12-01T09:19:42.723-05:00Life Is Good.....<div class="MsoNormal">
How many times do we think, “Where does the time go? My
kids are growing up so fast"? And then we have grand kids….<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKb75mLIGZasrjW9E_vKhigBtoo53Vcb3ZtDvQCIOlAlq6YQMSsU4Gy0p0upfosp80JpAy3Fw7ZGfO8cpbNm2tmP5JGfxNHGKXb-rm7mIQUY934sK1HJ15xs08_hHfQzYMaewK8dQsQTbp/s1600/Sue+as+a+kid+at+Christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKb75mLIGZasrjW9E_vKhigBtoo53Vcb3ZtDvQCIOlAlq6YQMSsU4Gy0p0upfosp80JpAy3Fw7ZGfO8cpbNm2tmP5JGfxNHGKXb-rm7mIQUY934sK1HJ15xs08_hHfQzYMaewK8dQsQTbp/s320/Sue+as+a+kid+at+Christmas.jpg" width="180" /></a><o:p> </o:p>Throughout our lives we think we have all the time in the
world. “When I get to be 80”, seems like a lifetime away. And before you know
it our kids have grown up and left the house. They begin to have children of their own, and our parents are aging. And so are we! But it will be a another lifetime before we
get to be that age, too. Won’t it?</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do you ever stop to think that this is how our parents and
grandparents might be feeling right now? That they are nearing the end of what is their <b>life</b>.
Of who they are, and what they know. That they realize they don’t have much time left
and that isn’t really likely they will live another 10 years? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Many cling to their faith, and that is a wonderful,
beautiful, essential thing. But they are human. They have fears too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFrQV04rlYgZ0mEFAbe5okPUzHsC46iZ-sdhVt3opXNSAEnb0VJ8HYDJXVMoDQf4zJATZmXzNjlSo2r7v99xitSX7KpChmDERCoDAaYSGWOetqR3CSYLcjTEPK9nsqHfqW8L4SJjekQL8/s1600/Life+is+good+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFrQV04rlYgZ0mEFAbe5okPUzHsC46iZ-sdhVt3opXNSAEnb0VJ8HYDJXVMoDQf4zJATZmXzNjlSo2r7v99xitSX7KpChmDERCoDAaYSGWOetqR3CSYLcjTEPK9nsqHfqW8L4SJjekQL8/s400/Life+is+good+mom.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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My prayer today is that I be mindful of the elderly people in my
life. That I tell them often just how much I love them and how they continue to
make an impact in my life. I want them to know how much they still contribute to my life and the lives of my family. That they are cherished this Christmas season. And
every season.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LI-HwMd342AQKxC2HijOBTUCILS1gfHQFPJ1VAkcg5IJc1r9-kRkU0iuTK3TkjyVfM0alLtpyzktbULvgEBhg48HKYdZ_NdrbQEYXid6vJ9fKRko8ahfaeINIbze9fEe60ITLkkkET7z/s1600/Josh+and+Grandpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline !important; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LI-HwMd342AQKxC2HijOBTUCILS1gfHQFPJ1VAkcg5IJc1r9-kRkU0iuTK3TkjyVfM0alLtpyzktbULvgEBhg48HKYdZ_NdrbQEYXid6vJ9fKRko8ahfaeINIbze9fEe60ITLkkkET7z/s320/Josh+and+Grandpa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lShf6QhwI77aj8HvSrxR0OdvE2WmxazeZc7odYwTJY9SHc6EfHdCY7v7-mHWFAkHypLO-9zVu8bckp07u27Km6Nm5MHOX4WJqGhDf0BxqDxivZbnYM-1l5AM09_HVs7v7hCEiQv9GHIY/s1600/We+are+all+just++walking+each+other+home...jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lShf6QhwI77aj8HvSrxR0OdvE2WmxazeZc7odYwTJY9SHc6EfHdCY7v7-mHWFAkHypLO-9zVu8bckp07u27Km6Nm5MHOX4WJqGhDf0BxqDxivZbnYM-1l5AM09_HVs7v7hCEiQv9GHIY/s400/We+are+all+just++walking+each+other+home...jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<o:p>Peace~</o:p></div>
Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-17311149392744717182016-11-30T12:11:00.000-05:002016-11-30T12:11:46.685-05:00Through the Eyes of a Child.....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfyp4VjJbaLeJ7F_dufO9IHNEfQXA7sigrPXWXooYD7FqbldKbZPS1DnZjcBEhWkKtwpKEws1-IvhsWNdvGmVsmz5d1XpHuHJfbWdRbD5-6A5-zGDAipNJpTdDCjZ2l_3FT1vpNmjfpG0E/s1600/Charlotte+Wonder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfyp4VjJbaLeJ7F_dufO9IHNEfQXA7sigrPXWXooYD7FqbldKbZPS1DnZjcBEhWkKtwpKEws1-IvhsWNdvGmVsmz5d1XpHuHJfbWdRbD5-6A5-zGDAipNJpTdDCjZ2l_3FT1vpNmjfpG0E/s320/Charlotte+Wonder.jpg" width="320" /></a>There is nothing like viewing the wonder of Christmas
through a child’s eyes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was thinking about this last night as I’m snuggling with
the pups, my Christmas tree being the only light in the room. It’s still dark,
but the small white lights sparkle with a warm glow. I feel safe, warm and
content. My thoughts begins to drift…. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I know how commercialized Christmas has become. Christmas
decorations have been on display in stores since October. Black Friday deals,
Cyber Monday….buy, buy, buy. And then, buy some more! <o:p></o:p></div>
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I become annoyed with it all. I don’t want to step foot in a
mall. The traffic and parking is horrendous. There are too many people
everywhere, and most of them are moving too fast. I don’t want to put up the
decorations this year. It’s too much work. It takes too long. Most of the kids
will be elsewhere this year….why bother. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And then….. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I had a little helper this year. My sidekick, and precious
granddaughter, Charlotte. One by one I haul out the Christmas boxes from the
attic. I used to count the trips up and down those stairs (maybe one of the
reasons I balked at the idea). But this year it wasn’t so bad. I had help with
the boxes (Kaytie), and my walking/running with a wiggly puppy has made me
stronger. Thank you, Oakley! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Charlotte and I worked on those decorations all day. She had
free reign on where to put the Christmas Village and the Christmas Carolers
(what are Carolers, Mimi?)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-NESwidoF1c8Ac5jcb8aQzYvetx8_jYNf368GA7THS8hleeN-fevp6iZbPfzoUBmd1vAXp88rmtmY7cUp60T_N5CUnL3Qhe6BcywYKp37Xm2AxAaANrv5vTX-0aW2QspabemXRBdgtOp-/s1600/Carolers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-NESwidoF1c8Ac5jcb8aQzYvetx8_jYNf368GA7THS8hleeN-fevp6iZbPfzoUBmd1vAXp88rmtmY7cUp60T_N5CUnL3Qhe6BcywYKp37Xm2AxAaANrv5vTX-0aW2QspabemXRBdgtOp-/s320/Carolers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
She helped put together the “Merry Christmas”
blocks. She threw angel hair and snow where ever there was an open spot.
Including the floor. We listened to “Holiday Station on Pandora- Christmas”.
And one point we switched to Kid Bop and did the <a href="http://ellentube.com/videos/1-kqecup4e/">Whip and Nae Nae. </a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4h2hyphenhyphennGLwC6k_au0KMMP1xR2awwOthw4hB2qTBh6_ILO4JMw8mAZgGq3-Ae1yPd51eu6T_MRU3LqpdQFVYwCK1Aoi3fYXSoKvCRrIKidPvSzpILp86uLUI0huqbmn8K_mOavuILtDIVYD/s1600/Silver+Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4h2hyphenhyphennGLwC6k_au0KMMP1xR2awwOthw4hB2qTBh6_ILO4JMw8mAZgGq3-Ae1yPd51eu6T_MRU3LqpdQFVYwCK1Aoi3fYXSoKvCRrIKidPvSzpILp86uLUI0huqbmn8K_mOavuILtDIVYD/s200/Silver+Tree.jpg" width="113" /></a>As I’m reflecting on the wonderful time we had last weekend and the memories
that were made, I can’t help but be reminded of the JOY in Christmas. Even
through all the commercial bull crap, it still gives us pause.<br /><br />We don’t need to
buy into all the hype and material things. But what I believe is important, is
that we take the time to slow down. To be mindful of the blessings in our
lives. To take a deep breath and remember that we are all here, and it is our
job to connect with one another and to love.<br />
<br />
And most of all, to give Praise to our Creator, who makes all things possible.
It is my prayer that you are all able to see the Wonder and Magic of Christmas
through the eyes of an innocent Child. And rejoice in it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Peace~<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6p9M8opoKquElWMgK2gdxFkihfhEBOcljZZpU9rbeM7n9gIWG-BEzFVA7UVv8NMUd1X3xrLj_QUPU8v7Dh4gjQmCshwNuW8IHRST13R-LsWMAXfvpOTSuGdsRWV0wW0NJt7mKiMxrsGEu/s1600/Blocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6p9M8opoKquElWMgK2gdxFkihfhEBOcljZZpU9rbeM7n9gIWG-BEzFVA7UVv8NMUd1X3xrLj_QUPU8v7Dh4gjQmCshwNuW8IHRST13R-LsWMAXfvpOTSuGdsRWV0wW0NJt7mKiMxrsGEu/s200/Blocks.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-22835171251516031292016-11-29T16:01:00.000-05:002016-11-29T16:08:22.692-05:00The Wonder of it All....<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 4.5pt; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmmaKbi-4FqcIz-IlAw_SoBLeKP1dhvJMay3hXRNtPml8GVI9bgQVpU2WtKXDORBPp5xY1bkYagnB6lWQhdKfY-bUTs0vbaDyICwHQwkXOd74IJAl8EGZrfU3LMaRZfuOropjhrP0ePBc/s1600/stockings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmmaKbi-4FqcIz-IlAw_SoBLeKP1dhvJMay3hXRNtPml8GVI9bgQVpU2WtKXDORBPp5xY1bkYagnB6lWQhdKfY-bUTs0vbaDyICwHQwkXOd74IJAl8EGZrfU3LMaRZfuOropjhrP0ePBc/s320/stockings.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><i><span style="color: #76a5af;">The Holidays are such a special time filled with family, love,
laughter. But for so many, this time of year brings sadness, fear, dread,
anxiety.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><i><span style="color: #76a5af;">I know for me, no matter how busy and hectic I try to keep
myself, I can't hide from what I'm running from. She always finds me.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><i><span style="color: #76a5af;">Be kind. Be loving. Be tolerant. Be an inspiration. Be a helper.
Be nice. You may never know how your compassionate acts helped someone through
a rough day.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: #76a5af;"><i>It doesn't need to be more complicated than that.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;"> I wrote that post right before Thanksgiving. The evening of
my Monday Meltdown Day. Before my Testy Tuesday. Because this time of year
evokes so many emotions. By Wednesday I was grateful and joyous, because family
was with me. But I’m still on a roller coaster. Thing is, I’ve learned to
embrace the ride, and I don't make excuses for it. There are days when it takes everything
in me to show up at that empty table. And then there are the days when I am
bursting with thankfulness and awe. And joy. I would not miss a second of it.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBga7JPCK6VltTER1WwYDfAbqL2uNeCPBrN5mZxinZoNj_IlhaK42KNesS5iC5m4ARMUvhffFRjv0ga8V5U6OUCd6SIb8Qc5qJFsyvil_fFucPJ2hiKyY0UuAlY2fqZNNl-Y6NXWgn8HeF/s1600/3357_79291639231_24608_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBga7JPCK6VltTER1WwYDfAbqL2uNeCPBrN5mZxinZoNj_IlhaK42KNesS5iC5m4ARMUvhffFRjv0ga8V5U6OUCd6SIb8Qc5qJFsyvil_fFucPJ2hiKyY0UuAlY2fqZNNl-Y6NXWgn8HeF/s200/3357_79291639231_24608_n.jpg" width="200" /></span></a><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;"><o:p> </o:p>Today I saw Jillian. I saw her spirit in a vibrant man who
is currently fighting melanoma with everything he has. His determination
reminds me of Jillian’s motto, Fall Seven Times, Stand up Eight. What an
inspiration and an example of the will to live.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;">The melanoma community is going through a rough spell right
now as their melamates are dealing with some staggering blows. But the <i>wonder</i>
is in realizing how someone’s journey, someone’s struggle, someone’s pain can
somehow bring light for those immersed in darkness. We all need purpose. And we
all need help at one time or another. Be that light. Be that beacon through the
storm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJAPqkmDsBN76oGLEBab3H-IN4dcgjkb-CfqrtJWJ6FPoazRyHzM3uk6NUibRbSAmXRdOkc-3HlaNwdshA1KKHJunkJoqhqP6vyswrwmUX4YgywbFSdAx5edgm0OVK_Mt0w_dZAxQT7h3/s1600/Christmas+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline !important; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJAPqkmDsBN76oGLEBab3H-IN4dcgjkb-CfqrtJWJ6FPoazRyHzM3uk6NUibRbSAmXRdOkc-3HlaNwdshA1KKHJunkJoqhqP6vyswrwmUX4YgywbFSdAx5edgm0OVK_Mt0w_dZAxQT7h3/s320/Christmas+tree.jpg" width="179" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;">“Tell me, what will you do with your one wild and precious
life”?</span></div>
<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;">-Mary Oliver<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmoWTUU3iAkDvlx7KjgLAkLroRAErComtdFp4wXgQN7SIsFb5PQx2kZ2_IO_OKIr4vjgSbxRqPJ3BCJ6u3b_L0ZhlVG5HNPsmMVubEobOxZlSUR7mPTtwq7J2iSfvQy7e3NhBXucxmXk91/s1600/One+wild+and++precious+life.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;"></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYDPlih2OB1xLD7H_NPbMLumT8703Asq4e1m_waQOJaWuLXUv7kBVQVi2lDv1M6BcSJD0o4BsRQvWXTUSaz7FEVy2ZIOvq21F3-QKkHYEDq_do8wp0ZIAoCseekhg3yjsYBZs2QIKFKTjK/s1600/Live+reviese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYDPlih2OB1xLD7H_NPbMLumT8703Asq4e1m_waQOJaWuLXUv7kBVQVi2lDv1M6BcSJD0o4BsRQvWXTUSaz7FEVy2ZIOvq21F3-QKkHYEDq_do8wp0ZIAoCseekhg3yjsYBZs2QIKFKTjK/s1600/Live+reviese.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;">Make it count. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #76a5af;">~Peace</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-88525664427682459872016-09-22T22:03:00.000-04:002016-09-22T22:17:40.523-04:00Girls On a Plane, and Bug....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKyby4-vkukeGdnKWF47EWDTyOf2-CLAfULM8GVTzG1Kkl-J9lMQ_IBouV3pMNFYUs0Z0Jt1XWeP2Km_r2KowAPTRSmmn3vp4-WajpDXfAC6HBOnyudqpmgsB6pFzODFrxkPuIKVYGkQO/s1600/14368849_10207409975267953_6180438878734022898_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKyby4-vkukeGdnKWF47EWDTyOf2-CLAfULM8GVTzG1Kkl-J9lMQ_IBouV3pMNFYUs0Z0Jt1XWeP2Km_r2KowAPTRSmmn3vp4-WajpDXfAC6HBOnyudqpmgsB6pFzODFrxkPuIKVYGkQO/s320/14368849_10207409975267953_6180438878734022898_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Saying goodbye sucks. As I’m walking into the airport, my
chest feels tight, the lump in my throat is making it hard for me to
swallow. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It pains me to see my
daughter, Jenni, cry. It torments me to see her hurting. We’ve been through a
lot together the last 5 years, and I hate seeing her so vulnerable, while she
tries to be so stinking brave.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I make a bee-line for
the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I’m hoping I can stop the tears
from leaking long enough to get through security. <o:p></o:p></div>
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After a long awaited trip to Florida to see Jenni and her
boyfriend, Cody, I’m on my way back home. I’ve enjoyed the time I was able to
spend with those two. I loved being able to share in their adventure, and I’m
so proud of their independence. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ3DZtZy8VrkSy43POVOY4DJxAKB8LdrcE1C5pVt5_2_3-5DjVtuqGMhVpMMqO43EDW9AoTSHx4eEhTPNAhQ5R6A58rk8_HwK3vcbQrSyMcMrXiLlg0HflDEeVxYPmuWT4QBU-BWp_o-VC/s1600/14355533_10207410690565835_1144053659336635988_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ3DZtZy8VrkSy43POVOY4DJxAKB8LdrcE1C5pVt5_2_3-5DjVtuqGMhVpMMqO43EDW9AoTSHx4eEhTPNAhQ5R6A58rk8_HwK3vcbQrSyMcMrXiLlg0HflDEeVxYPmuWT4QBU-BWp_o-VC/s320/14355533_10207410690565835_1144053659336635988_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Leaving family and friends and moving to
Florida for school hasn’t been easy for them, but they are making a life
together and preparing for their future. It hasn’t been easy for me either. <span style="font-family: "wingdings";">:) </span>Did I mention how
proud of them I am? <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I settle into my seat on the airplane, I look forward to
reading a little, with the possibility of closing my eyes for a few minutes.
The woman next to me asks if I have enough room, and begins to strike up a
conversation. Ugh. I don’t feel like talking, I’m missing my daughter and the
last thing I feel like doing is being pleasant to some stranger sitting next to
me on a plane. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I sigh and reconcile myself to small talk. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“How many children do you have?”, asks the woman on the
plane. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This question comes often, and each time before I answer, I
wonder what their response will be. </div>
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Sometimes the reaction is shock, with a
quick change of subject. Other times I’ll get some response with an, “at least
she is no longer in pain”. Uh huh. Thanks. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Even though I thought I’d stopped the tears earlier, they’re
back in full force. I hate that! <o:p></o:p></div>
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But here they are, (surprise!) tears rolling down my cheeks as I answer her
question. </div>
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“I have four children. Three here on Earth, and one in Heaven”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The woman on the plane looks at me, touches my shoulder and
responds, “I understand what you’re feeling. I’ve lost two children of my own”.
Huh? <o:p></o:p></div>
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And we talked. I could feel the kinship. One that you can
only feel with another mother who shares in the pain of losing a child. The
grief, the devastation, the helplessness and the anger.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I immediately asked her about the children she lost. One
child was a four year old little girl when she choked to death on a balloon. The
other child was another daughter who died at the age of 50 of a heart attack. We
talked about Jillian, but mostly we talked about her kids and her life. And it
was good.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Jillian’s birthday is Saturday. She would have been 27 years
old. I know I’ll never stop missing her or stop wishing that she were here with
her family, sharing in our everyday lives.
Celebrating birthdays, Holidays, new nieces, marriages, accomplishments,
new homes. Puppies. Stuff.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I also know that my life and those in it continue to be
blessing to me. I take time for my grief
and doubt that will ever change. I really
don’t want it to either. I can lean into that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But I rejoice in the life I have and the gifts in it. I
never want to take those gifts for granted.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Even the gift of connecting with a woman on a plane. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I left my daughter, Jenni, in Florida. But she’s here, and
we’ll get through this too. We're pretty awesome, like that. :)<o:p></o:p></div>
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In our one wild and beautiful life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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~ Peace<o:p></o:p></div>
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P.S- Cody- Give my girl some extra TLC, won’t ya? :)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-81081082402597818692016-04-06T15:50:00.001-04:002016-04-06T15:50:51.120-04:00I'll be back....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLCECfcHb-mdxogOyCz2b-1EKz5YmnImdaEw5_jF_2mvSMjpmCuKns2oCD-9GcT0HAiQFWwuPkTrnCZXplvTa8VAZ2CgZUlWnN3IK59KAjeYHVOfo7ceEu-iDCTokXDtgiyR-FrS-AzqY/s1600/tulips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLCECfcHb-mdxogOyCz2b-1EKz5YmnImdaEw5_jF_2mvSMjpmCuKns2oCD-9GcT0HAiQFWwuPkTrnCZXplvTa8VAZ2CgZUlWnN3IK59KAjeYHVOfo7ceEu-iDCTokXDtgiyR-FrS-AzqY/s1600/tulips.jpg" /></a>April showers bring May flowers. And with the promise of
spring flowers comes May Melanoma Awareness Month.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ever since Jillian was diagnosed with Melanoma in July of
2010, I’ve been an active participant within the melanoma community. This is
our chance to be heard. To blast the media with our stories, all in the hopes
that people will become educated and more aware of the dangers of tanning beds
and the sun.</div>
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We have made great strides in those few years. People are starting
to listen. The FDA is paying attention, and so are you. </div>
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But for me this May,
all the hoopla, postings, stories, photos, and media coverage will take their
toll. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m afraid. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Living with the death of my daughter has been extremely
difficult. There is no path, no map (in my case a GPS). It constantly shifts
and changes. Sometimes the road is bright and clear, other times it’s dark and
full of pot holes. Sometimes it’s underwater. There are times when the boogie
man is lurking under the bushes waiting for me. But I am learning to navigate,
and to swim through the storms. And I pray the boogie man away often. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCMzK-RaT956mpCLOaKdSpkUWR8Rn3hMtLTblzoudjdGxSWxbuxCnWKDaQjngKR2VLS3HwuRr71meQhDkoVFg5XrVnNGXbQNDpkAbNrX0gMTyLfvZGGY0nKrnnWdBQ4fZzeM__BIDrge7/s1600/06-07-08-339.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCMzK-RaT956mpCLOaKdSpkUWR8Rn3hMtLTblzoudjdGxSWxbuxCnWKDaQjngKR2VLS3HwuRr71meQhDkoVFg5XrVnNGXbQNDpkAbNrX0gMTyLfvZGGY0nKrnnWdBQ4fZzeM__BIDrge7/s320/06-07-08-339.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A couple of years ago, someone very close said to me, “You
have to figure out what helps, and what hurts”. That’s funny, because what may
have helped me before, can hurt me today. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The loss of some of my melanoma friends to this disease, and
the progression in others has tipped the scale for me. I have decided to skip
out for a while. Take a little break while I focus on my family. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My youngest and last child still living at home will be
getting ready to leave the den in May. I want her to have my full attention. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4K4YuX5xeqhecH6bHQCCJP1AYHprY6KD-6W7y4XNJWRXwKWOq-sXdcEw-rw4fk1o3n3gDvGARSwe1H3_kcNnO7oEn1wdbfK8aG7ph22nVgDaeB_IyKk5jZFEwqj0fYpWDHyyaDLot8j4w/s1600/jenni+and+copper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4K4YuX5xeqhecH6bHQCCJP1AYHprY6KD-6W7y4XNJWRXwKWOq-sXdcEw-rw4fk1o3n3gDvGARSwe1H3_kcNnO7oEn1wdbfK8aG7ph22nVgDaeB_IyKk5jZFEwqj0fYpWDHyyaDLot8j4w/s320/jenni+and+copper.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I hope you understand my need for escape. But then again, I
don’t really expect you to. I won’t be too far….I’ll just be under the front
porch waiting for the rain to lessen some. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I love you all, I truly do. <o:p></o:p></div>
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~Peace<o:p></o:p></div>
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Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-90465378179448089832016-03-11T13:05:00.003-05:002016-03-11T16:08:01.419-05:00Raining You..<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxACycsuNoQ">Raining You.</a></div>
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxACycsuNoQ"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHt4c0OlK4Yj7AyKLnN1eYWv7yyfdwxnGQI8VwR216xYOkp2NJlx6VkieN-4_8JEOnYb8YhhWgZewlrzPsEIUlToU9LZAWK_7c2y3q-zB-SL4JOrlnEtynpVSjLUrbhEM5dYAxid16xUAf/s320/Peep.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
Just when I think I’ve got it figured out, I realize I
don’t. Not one little bit. I <i>have </i>figured out that to move forward each
day and to feel productive, I need to build an invisible shield around my
Jillian thoughts.<br />
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Last week there was a fissure in the shield, though. A huge crack. Everywhere I
turned, there she was. It was almost as if she wanted to share in the
beginnings of spring with me. To let me know she’s right there with me. To walk
past that bird cage and hear her exclaim, “Mom, you’re going to fill that up
with a Robin this year”.<br />
<br />
The problem with those voices and the feelings of her
presence, is that I have to face head on, over and over again, that she really
isn't here. And the pain of how much I miss her. Her voice, her goofy smile,
her laughter and her energy. I miss it. And I’m still angry about it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There doesn’t need to be some upcoming event for me to feel
that punch. No birthday, no death date anniversary, nothing. It comes out of
nowhere.<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m learning to embrace those days when they come. To try not to analyze it, and certainly not to try to explain it. Just breathe with it, and
to be gentle with myself. It feels a bit like I’m honoring her, too. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I explained it to my mom like this. “Mom, I feel like a
wounded animal who has crawled under the front porch to lick it’s wounds. I
need to be alone, and to process this. You can't fix me ”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmKT0Dutt14NjNdCtiwxfEdeddtnly-NdIyhQ1RodbCHX98EJ46CkoRDvrHk2b1HBC1VmAM3207RFw1Q_l4fCJ8WWP6fG3yVchPPMUqzxlCYEcLNRknbd016AUrAJ1fDOMQJGsv7KEZ0NX/s1600/Jillians+shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmKT0Dutt14NjNdCtiwxfEdeddtnly-NdIyhQ1RodbCHX98EJ46CkoRDvrHk2b1HBC1VmAM3207RFw1Q_l4fCJ8WWP6fG3yVchPPMUqzxlCYEcLNRknbd016AUrAJ1fDOMQJGsv7KEZ0NX/s320/Jillians+shoes.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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I know I’ll have many days under the front porch, listening
to the Jillian rain. And I’ll be the thunder in reply, rumbling in grief. And
the lightening is the promise of the power that surrounds us all, reminding me
that I’m not in control, He is.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m okay with that. I’m way okay.<o:p></o:p></div>
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~Peace<o:p></o:p></div>
Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-71260598353849406532015-10-29T16:21:00.000-04:002015-10-30T16:38:27.623-04:00 Donna Moncivaiz- We Love You More!<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ctPvW8D1T2wvR5zHH8lR0iJYo8gsA7T7Niv8-k6veSGahGC5Hns7YM1EOCi7I8xJoZ_81jKSEP-M91r8JTcflI16P1W9hFZ73UgN0csbxalGrpdo61Hwy2CobKXavsIZCa_CTcjZbpfM/s1600/2013-11-15_20-32-17_56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ctPvW8D1T2wvR5zHH8lR0iJYo8gsA7T7Niv8-k6veSGahGC5Hns7YM1EOCi7I8xJoZ_81jKSEP-M91r8JTcflI16P1W9hFZ73UgN0csbxalGrpdo61Hwy2CobKXavsIZCa_CTcjZbpfM/s200/2013-11-15_20-32-17_56.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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I was in Tennessee when I heard that Donna had decided to go
on Hospice care. She told me melanoma had reared its ugly head once again, and
had spread. There were no more medical treatments available. </div>
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We talked about
her amazing family and how they were taking such good care of her and how much she loved them. We ended our
conversation with the promise that I would come to Chicago the following Friday and we'd enjoy pizza and beer together. I never made it. Donna made her way to
heaven that day, October 23, 2015, leaving behind her family, friends, and the
melanoma community to mourn her passing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg61QQGmJmq6Le-W2cmXc3ejRjsEQWs5tpiGCHxY-SRNNniCNvoSQvKspUZXoF4kEQS7qRn7BX5HWFWLK7IE3UKQWyq80UowXGrQz89KA3kZdTeQPwQSduJDB-n0h0GE3ZwoB1X_tFZroG/s1600/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg61QQGmJmq6Le-W2cmXc3ejRjsEQWs5tpiGCHxY-SRNNniCNvoSQvKspUZXoF4kEQS7qRn7BX5HWFWLK7IE3UKQWyq80UowXGrQz89KA3kZdTeQPwQSduJDB-n0h0GE3ZwoB1X_tFZroG/s320/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It has taken me this long to blog about my friend, and my words are inadequate
in describing what her life meant to those who loved her. Instead, I am going
to share some stories that were written in her honor. Please feel free to
message me if you would like me to include yours. . <o:p></o:p></div>
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Today Donna is being laid to rest. Her family plans to have a celebration tonight as it is also Donna’s birthday. So for those unable to attend Donna's Celebration of Life, please join together at 10:00 PM ET and raise your glass in her honor. Cheers to the Winner!<br />
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~Peace Donna. We love you more</div>
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<a href="http://show-vid.com/view/ak9bd2x4/?watch-ak9bd2x4">Donna's Slideshow</a></div>
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<br />
<a href="http://www.chicagonow.com/hippy-shakes/2015/10/missing-the-friend-i-never-met/">Missing The Friend I Never Met</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://hotelmelanoma.blogspot.com/2015/10/for-donna.html">The Hotel Melanoma: Donna</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://blog.uvskinz.com/2015/10/28/donna-moncivaiz-time-is-precious/#sthash.gkPwSWm9.dpbs">Time Is Precious</a></div>
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<br />Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-55771883897047836652015-10-06T12:42:00.001-04:002015-10-06T12:49:48.023-04:00Keeping Melanoma In The Spotlight....October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I see pink where ever I go. You see pink, you think breast cancer. I know several people who have been touched by breast cancer. My sister was involved with a program where a patient recovering from a mastectomy could join other women dealing with similar issues. There was a retreat where these women learned to fly fish. What a neat idea. This helped strengthen the muscles and also helped cancer patients to know they are not alone.<br />
<br />
I believe that what ever cancer someone is dealing with, the emotions they face are the same. I do wish that melanoma cancer and other cancers got the same recognition as breast cancer does.<br />
<br />
I was researching that topic last night trying to get some answers. One of the reason's is marketing. So....What can I do to market my mission? Billboards. I think it is important to keep melanoma on the radar visually. I get email and messages from all over the country from people who have seen the billboards.<br />
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I had the below creative done awhile ago, but did not have funds to get this up and running. This is of actual loved ones who have been stolen by melanoma.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5WelLH83UYh_5qABsEr6OsC0JceY86GoNQNfRZr8P9KxQG3t_PpQp4ZZVgcuKMqhbdXHeYp82FjAQvFVJK-56AMmP4GYBA9b6hQrJfT3d00awmcu-TOJKTO6MN7hZ6GY_edunqp1dSlvG/s1600/Final+Wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5WelLH83UYh_5qABsEr6OsC0JceY86GoNQNfRZr8P9KxQG3t_PpQp4ZZVgcuKMqhbdXHeYp82FjAQvFVJK-56AMmP4GYBA9b6hQrJfT3d00awmcu-TOJKTO6MN7hZ6GY_edunqp1dSlvG/s400/Final+Wall.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Would you be able to help by donating? The cost of one billboard is $1650. I've already spoken to the person I work with and he thought that although you would not be able to see the names clearly on the billboard as you pass by, the message, much like a wall, would be powerful.<br />
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If you can donate- we can help to make melanoma cancer a household world. We are in this together. Fighting.<br />
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What do you think?<br />
<br />
~<br />
Love and Peace....Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-41764834000973631272015-09-25T11:21:00.000-04:002015-09-25T23:28:47.448-04:00I Was Here....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYIHtmCSU4Vp4vpbIgw4ZGZLNbYwcN_85TsRh3yBArwhS9XhPiy68-Ki9jX7eW5I4plaBTTTy9yD8GF5YCVnKLjUSoNmxuAEMAcvP1_VhmoUA5ckxKGw55BBCYp79Ikhz-n3ZTyYjLDcgV/s1600/19149_272230136018_501971018_4390683_6736293_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYIHtmCSU4Vp4vpbIgw4ZGZLNbYwcN_85TsRh3yBArwhS9XhPiy68-Ki9jX7eW5I4plaBTTTy9yD8GF5YCVnKLjUSoNmxuAEMAcvP1_VhmoUA5ckxKGw55BBCYp79Ikhz-n3ZTyYjLDcgV/s320/19149_272230136018_501971018_4390683_6736293_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
While I was pregnant with
Jillian, I didn’t want to know if I was carrying a boy or a girl. I wanted
to be surprised. Already having two boys that filled my world with
busyness, noise and joy, I said that it didn’t matter. But if I <i>did</i> have a
girl, I wanted to dress her in pink dresses with pink bows. I wanted to have
that strong mother/daughter connection that I had with my own mother. I wanted
a girl.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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On September 24, 1989, I gave birth to that little bundle of
pink. Jillian. My precious little girl. It didn’t take long for me to realize
that the pink bows and dresses were to be soon replaced with her brother’s high-top
sneakers, no shirt, and a ball of some sort. A young force of energy that knew
no boundaries surrounding her abilities. A confident, loving, funny, caring human being.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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When Jillian died that cold December morning, the bright light that was her essence went with her. The
light was extinguished not only in my heart, but in the world around us. She mattered.
She was here. She interacted with others. She loved and she played. She had a
sister and brothers, a husband. Grandparents, in- laws, nieces and nephews,
aunts and uncles that she loved and cared about. Friends.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>She mattered. And she was here. </b><br />
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Each day can be a struggle for those who have lost a loved one, but there are
two days a year that are especially difficult. The birthday of the one missing,
and their death anniversary. Two days where we fall apart and really drink in
our grief. We NEED to do this. We need to taste each drop of pain, sorrow and
loss. It is our way of honoring our loved one. And we do not need to sugar coat
it or pretend it’s okay. Because it’s not. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, I’m not saying that yesterday, Jillian's 26th birthday, was all black and gloom and doom. It wasn't. This is where God comes in. I was given little “God Gifts” all day long
yesterday. </div>
<ul><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6J59WUMRdwWW9Tz1k8J_Zqd5cWV_yMSMNr9Ufn72Dv9C-v1EijkvhMsW-pK4vHlLpKCIY7kTBl8Rm9wuvDdsqVTVHsgHxBfqqmAgNReKCh7kivRwgPYl_r6VgNoN0CtIceV9SuytH4aBp/s1600/September.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6J59WUMRdwWW9Tz1k8J_Zqd5cWV_yMSMNr9Ufn72Dv9C-v1EijkvhMsW-pK4vHlLpKCIY7kTBl8Rm9wuvDdsqVTVHsgHxBfqqmAgNReKCh7kivRwgPYl_r6VgNoN0CtIceV9SuytH4aBp/s320/September.jpg" width="240" /></a>
<li>My kids and only grand kids moved to Tennessee recently. The twin girls are
just eight weeks old. Right when the tears began to flow in the morning, I
receive a picture of those babies, reminding me that this is life. There is joy.
And even though I am not there to watch them grow up, I’m blessed with a son
and daughter in law that make it a point to include me. </li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>At work I’m blessed with a boss and co-workers that truly care and recognize
that this is a rough day for me. </li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>At my favorite greenhouse , I was able to talk with the owner and cry on her
shoulder and talk about God’s grace. I left with several things to plant, and a
gift just for Jillian from her. </li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>Dinner was Hungry Howie’s and beer, in Jillian’s honor. All the kids except the
southern ones were there, along with friends, and Jillian’s Steve. It is a gift in
itself that we have stayed close, even though life moves forward. I’m blessed
to stay in touch with Steve’s mom and dad, and their family. I love them all
dearly.</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<ul>
<li>Josh and Kaytie celebrated in Tennessee by singing Happy
Birthday with cupcakes, Charlotte blowing out the candle. </li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>I completed Jillian's celebration by texting with Joshua from 2am until 3am, expressing the anger at our loss, but knowing it’s okay to feel that way. And
to feel the support and connection, the love between our family. Oh my
God. If that isn’t a gift, I don’t know what is. </li>
</ul>
<br />
So, things are hard, and that’s okay. We will get through this in our own way. But please be patient with us. And for goodness sakes, please don't offer your opinion on how or what we should feel. That will only shut us down.<br />
<br />
For
those that are going through the sharp knife of grief, I pray for you. I pray
that for one minute you will be able to see that silver sliver of hope, the
sparkle of joy, and to know that your loved one mattered. That they still
matter. And so do you. And that it’s all okay.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikLejRqRO4vU-qjer74eq_ohj6mzsuXsBXpR4Tp7pSXpj7xWRe4iklzJ2dBXsJ7co87oaWSeXX8kfvVw3m01itP4j1X0QeNhQhji5o59syM1Elzl37pV7eNbMwnpX7bnL8NOqIS3s1w9pj/s1600/Never+get+over+you+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikLejRqRO4vU-qjer74eq_ohj6mzsuXsBXpR4Tp7pSXpj7xWRe4iklzJ2dBXsJ7co87oaWSeXX8kfvVw3m01itP4j1X0QeNhQhji5o59syM1Elzl37pV7eNbMwnpX7bnL8NOqIS3s1w9pj/s320/Never+get+over+you+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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~Peace<br />
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Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-89047193568037489092015-09-11T23:02:00.000-04:002015-09-13T22:14:48.808-04:00The Ball and Chain....Let Me Share Yours....<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpKCFFcYzbGu8LLIgH8AKS5ZRm6SOOq1bC0uUWv9WbzdzltLbhUCjnZDOW5YOvX3O2zTD_MbL7vLQgD7-_VsoBWM5JTLvYROIyom7XAYVzRcC9C3iUeSRT87uoM9zzt1eP1YHe-cTExDUO/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpKCFFcYzbGu8LLIgH8AKS5ZRm6SOOq1bC0uUWv9WbzdzltLbhUCjnZDOW5YOvX3O2zTD_MbL7vLQgD7-_VsoBWM5JTLvYROIyom7XAYVzRcC9C3iUeSRT87uoM9zzt1eP1YHe-cTExDUO/s320/unnamed.jpg" width="179" /></a>Shame. Regret. Understanding. Confusion. Joy. Sorrow.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yesterday was the day from hell. And although I’m on the
other side of the darkness of the day, I’m left with yet another lesson while
my inadequacy is exposed layer, by layer, by bloody layer. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
As I sit here waiting for the words to come, to express what
I need to share with you, I actually chuckle at the irony that I’m private and
don’t like feeling exposed. That I hide from my feelings. I’ve been accused of
that. Well, the first part is true. I really don’t like being exposed. But my
quest to continue to share Jillian’s story, my story and my family’s story is
stronger than my embarrassment. I go through this battle inside each time I get
ready to post a new entry. What a joke. A promise is a promise, suck it up
Buttercup. So here goes….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jillian’s birthday is coming up. The anniversary of my Dads
death is just a few days away. It’s a month filled with memories, reminders of
two very special people who are playing pranks on one another in Heaven.<br />
<br />
I can
honestly say that I have no regrets looking back on that difficult time. Except
one. I really, <i>really</i> wished that I could have gotten inside of
Jillian’s head. I mean deep inside so I could feel and share her deepest
concerns, her worries, her fear. I knew all about <i>my</i> fear, but I needed
to get to the place where I could feel what she was feeling. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since July I’ve been dealing with some health issues. I’ve
had a couple of kidney stones, one is still hanging out, not quite ready to
make an appearance. It feels like I’m living with a ticking time bomb, never
knowing when I’ll get that first twinge that something isn’t quite right. And
not to minimize the pain of labor, especially since I’ve had four children of my
own, but damn it hurts. I may even go so far as to say that it is a little
worse than childbirth. Or I may not. It just might depend on who I’m talking
to. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I was in the ER in Tennessee, the CT scan picked up a
spot on my liver. What the heck. I’m here for kidney stones. I don’t have time
for this. I have grand babies I need to love on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I arrived home and several doctor appointments later, I
had an MRI with contrast scheduled to help diagnose the spot on my liver. I’d
never had an MRI before, while Jillian had too many to count. Most of my friends in the melanoma community have had MRI's. How hard can it be?<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So this past Tuesday, I got to meet Mr. MRI up close and
personal. He is loud, and obnoxious. Any thought of sleeping through the
procedure was blown with the first siren screeching, banging, clanging noise
piercing my skull. Take a breath in. Breathe out. Take a breath in…hold
it…seventeen seconds….breathe. One hour later, I left with an awful taste in my
mouth, a splitting headache, and an upset stomach. That is when the first
trickle of fear started to snake its way into my thoughts.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is NORMAL for a person fighting melanoma. Normal
protocol. What a fool I am taking for granted what someone with cancer has to
deal with on a regular basis. And that is just one thing. Only one thing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now I get to wait for the results. I’ve heard that story many times. The fear and anxiety that overshadows the day while waiting for results. I’ve lived it with Jillian, but now I get to
experience it for myself,with my own body.<br />
<br />
Today, living in a technical world, we are able
to see our results online. Sometimes even before our doctor does. Wednesday
night I received an email telling me that I have new results on my health
portal. Of course I’m going to look. I’ve looked at all the other test and lab
results and I’ve been pretty good and deciphering the medical jargon.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a term on the radiology report that I didn’t
understand, so I checked with my friend, Dr. Google. Google scared the crap out of
me. Google kept me up most of the night researching. <br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>……..“due to imaging features often raises a concern of a
malignant process rather than a benign one</i>”. Crap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent the day yesterday in fear, waiting for my doctor to
call me. I was finally able to go over the report with him late afternoon, and
I raised my concern. He reassured me that he had talked to two radiologists,
and agreed that everything looked okay. Due to our family history with melanoma
and just to be on the safe side, he ordered more blood work to see if anything
was “cooking”. The results from my blood work came back fine today. I have the
option to have another MRI in six months to make sure nothing has grown or
changed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What’s changed is me. I wanted to know what Jillian was
feeling. I wanted to get into her head. Well I did. For one night, one
afternoon, and it wasn’t pretty. I am ashamed at how I’ve taken my own health
for granted. I’m appalled at my lack of understanding when I hear about a
friend who has discovered another tumor. Another scan scheduled. I had one day.
Just one day trying to figure out how to live with a possible cancer diagnosis.
The fear I felt at leaving my children, at not seeing my grand kids grow up. The
joy I felt for a minute thinking that I’d get to see Jillian and my dad. That
really did make me smile. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsUzQj_4ZQMadmfzURJYsZYMk2iEAMy_RUN8MuP8FYk6YUVLeVX3kHQ9WJdu9iTSfCyJ2h7rDBomdAaNcSLsaKsH9IWtAVQyW5QiYwdANXXr44HsCa52qfYv8XK8DVWC1VuGZCm41H2WTO/s1600/ball-and-chain-1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsUzQj_4ZQMadmfzURJYsZYMk2iEAMy_RUN8MuP8FYk6YUVLeVX3kHQ9WJdu9iTSfCyJ2h7rDBomdAaNcSLsaKsH9IWtAVQyW5QiYwdANXXr44HsCa52qfYv8XK8DVWC1VuGZCm41H2WTO/s320/ball-and-chain-1a.jpg" width="320" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But what I’m struggling with today is the knowledge that the
friends I’ve grown to love so deeply have to live with this fear every single
day. They go about their business between scans and treatment,trying to live
each day the best way they can. They go to work. They take care of their
families. They take vacations. But there is always this <i>thing.</i> The ball and chain they lug with them at every turn, while the darkness threatens to swallow them up, trying<br />
to pull them down into the abyss. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYnBizBHbt2K8vIm9jdasr5XzZO-4HBdGDX0sAYTWuXV6Q5hUQqH1cmTOSW1rz0-vM4s2snzq12Gcq-lBgBjuKcC7YI0XHwThkCgGUXpKHGiwRongiDCD-ya-DaoWvXeoyZEl0XMtOXTv/s1600/10444331_10204739745946977_6897541865451860232_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYnBizBHbt2K8vIm9jdasr5XzZO-4HBdGDX0sAYTWuXV6Q5hUQqH1cmTOSW1rz0-vM4s2snzq12Gcq-lBgBjuKcC7YI0XHwThkCgGUXpKHGiwRongiDCD-ya-DaoWvXeoyZEl0XMtOXTv/s1600/10444331_10204739745946977_6897541865451860232_n.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And how they fight against it, and
try to find a balance of acceptance. How they fight for you and for me, just to
stay alive.<br />
<br />
You are true, brave warriors fighting a war. A physical war, and a mental war. Each day.<br />
<br />
That is just so humbling to me. I am ashamed that I didn’t feel it
completely before. I sure hope you can forgive me. I am really, truly sorry. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jillian- With what I’ve learned yesterday and today, just
when I thought I couldn’t be any prouder of you, I am. You’ve been busy
teaching your mother about life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-30227604369113199592015-09-03T16:56:00.000-04:002015-09-04T07:25:01.715-04:00The Choice....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmOEyWmL-jFhpW-kkXWpOugq27KaWgTb9BY4RTJc26xiGJUtqdvDc59EgPRhj9OmdMV1wZWnz6YJszSxYYPQZEvLONE8zmsVUpoWDBFZbnFz5vV9wcBpbyf-V7jP4OsMjHCslkoBjELYj/s1600/270729_10150282528206019_1486165_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmOEyWmL-jFhpW-kkXWpOugq27KaWgTb9BY4RTJc26xiGJUtqdvDc59EgPRhj9OmdMV1wZWnz6YJszSxYYPQZEvLONE8zmsVUpoWDBFZbnFz5vV9wcBpbyf-V7jP4OsMjHCslkoBjELYj/s200/270729_10150282528206019_1486165_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
I love the fall season. I love when the nights become longer and the days drift in to a lazy coolness. I love fallen leaves, especially now since I’m not spending all of my Saturday's removing them. I love the fall colors. And I love Halloween.<br />
<br />
But with fall comes a heavy sadness. I become teary easily. I have less patience with myself and others. It takes me a few days to realize that I’m moving into the season when Jillian started to go downhill. And once she started, the ball gained speed with its momentum. Once that avalanche shifted, there was no stopping it.<br />
<br />
Until it stopped all together. On December 29, 2012.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyYz3LNFT48mGZ-6b0JYV5pJzhL0IqBDaYkWfIK1fHTbwcOvsoXL6DzEzklmEwbXJreL3dJVDAOquda7Qruv7TDy1UR_iC8UgASlBOwoc2a7M7G-TqhmOy4284i_7EDNRnmLCSEVEOavy/s1600/537054_4388972046425_564850523_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyYz3LNFT48mGZ-6b0JYV5pJzhL0IqBDaYkWfIK1fHTbwcOvsoXL6DzEzklmEwbXJreL3dJVDAOquda7Qruv7TDy1UR_iC8UgASlBOwoc2a7M7G-TqhmOy4284i_7EDNRnmLCSEVEOavy/s320/537054_4388972046425_564850523_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
I’ve written several times about grief and some of my <a href="http://jilliansjourneywithmelanoma.blogspot.com/2013/07/pet-peeves.html"><i><b>Pet Peeves</b></i></a>. But this particular post is directed toward those that have no filter. The ones that have no field of reference. No vision of what it means to lose a child to melanoma, a mother’s most precious gift.<br />
<br />
They haven’t seen their sister waste away from brain tumors until they could no longer feed themselves. They haven’t been to the place where their once fiercely independent child can no longer get out of the bathtub without help.
They haven’t had to sit and listen to the wracking sobs coming from a sibling, when their own heart has been shattered into a thousand pieces.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlN7Ytsyufzo2vccfdBtGfvNhUVxaZekBNoLWlz5WKigdTg-pcglK0ahhtWA1n_iCpvxOCoF1UFN5R24rffuaB3o_avOtce7eI8eZXL4v73YHdnZtlRTEtcsbG5TwfGNkM9Six_BDXBab/s1600/The+broken+chain+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlN7Ytsyufzo2vccfdBtGfvNhUVxaZekBNoLWlz5WKigdTg-pcglK0ahhtWA1n_iCpvxOCoF1UFN5R24rffuaB3o_avOtce7eI8eZXL4v73YHdnZtlRTEtcsbG5TwfGNkM9Six_BDXBab/s320/The+broken+chain+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This post is for the persons that sit safely behind their judgments.<br />
Because just when I’ve thought I have heard it all, I hear that Jillian had a choice.That most of you with melanoma had choices.<br />
<br />
That these beloved people, our family, my daughter, my melanoma family, have chosen to spend their time primping and preening. They’ve chosen to get that beautiful tan by entering into a tanning bed. Or by laying in the sun. And because of that choice, they get what they deserve. They get melanoma. DUH!! Now I feel better. Now I know!! Thank you for your insight!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIp7d9AZmTt7_q0nvwL6m6IuZryO0S4C5ErWnx_TpgkYeohJ-Q-7TXdKTA1KF3TRJUZRPNA42AANugQY9PIn6HhqvWrGBCiA9N0d2Ei-wzXuNz9q9xXjQmpxf9wdOlU7ZnU2JfpZnLvh7/s1600/dalai_lama.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIp7d9AZmTt7_q0nvwL6m6IuZryO0S4C5ErWnx_TpgkYeohJ-Q-7TXdKTA1KF3TRJUZRPNA42AANugQY9PIn6HhqvWrGBCiA9N0d2Ei-wzXuNz9q9xXjQmpxf9wdOlU7ZnU2JfpZnLvh7/s320/dalai_lama.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Shame on you.</div>
<br />
<br />
I am hoping that you never, ever, in a million years have to experience the loss and the pain of losing a loved one to this vicious disease because of a choice they've made or otherwise.<br />
<br />
But if you do. I’ll be here to support you, and to love you. This is my choice.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhor__fgjbf4vsj5T9R7OzmeAgWuVR_h5TVWiSvolUlNAG7KEZSp_C7XVneFK8p30NXWdbFAxndZtmIpFToPUeangFZ6K3PYwXtlR8z6Hue12XxUDIV2LQCYPsZKXZOnnvdz8YoezqRDV37/s1600/Mama+Bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhor__fgjbf4vsj5T9R7OzmeAgWuVR_h5TVWiSvolUlNAG7KEZSp_C7XVneFK8p30NXWdbFAxndZtmIpFToPUeangFZ6K3PYwXtlR8z6Hue12XxUDIV2LQCYPsZKXZOnnvdz8YoezqRDV37/s320/Mama+Bear.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
PS. Do Not Mess With Mama Bear.<br />
<br />Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-23117624945544499302015-08-24T16:47:00.000-04:002015-08-25T19:09:06.832-04:00My Hope....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxUIlBulRBaasx_V0Oo6eVrFYwAPn3Kg_gZbqDWd64uuDOGsm_iQrdgnzOmsQyoikWJnq_g_AwfhMQtlpKaUxp7VbEsdl3yfnBHqjqwY3k2JMMfaCvE9AGKtxow3-EkF-eD60x6bPfXmn/s1600/150823121658-carter-sunday-school-exlarge-169.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxUIlBulRBaasx_V0Oo6eVrFYwAPn3Kg_gZbqDWd64uuDOGsm_iQrdgnzOmsQyoikWJnq_g_AwfhMQtlpKaUxp7VbEsdl3yfnBHqjqwY3k2JMMfaCvE9AGKtxow3-EkF-eD60x6bPfXmn/s320/150823121658-carter-sunday-school-exlarge-169.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The internet has been buzzing, my email has been flooded
with articles, news stations across the nation are all talking about former
President Jimmy Carter and his cancer diagnosis. Melanoma. Jimmy Carter has
metastatic melanoma. I was saddened, along with many people, to learn that his
cancer has spread to his liver and his brain. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mr. Carter plans on receiving a relatively newly approved
drug, Keytruda, as well undergoing targeted brain radiation. He is 90
years old. There are far more options available in treating melanoma than there
were when Jillian was diagnosed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am selfishly hopeful that the knowledge and awareness
generated with President Carters melanoma diagnosis will open many doors. I
would love for melanoma to become a household word so that parents and our
children are educated about the disease and how to prevent it. That tanning beds
will be a thing of the past. That our young people realize that melanoma in not
just an old person’s disease, and that it can happen to anyone, at any time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So beautiful friend of Jillian’s who is laying on the beach
right now? Family members who love that tanning bed? Listen and hopefully
you’ll learn. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because no matter what a person’s age, melanoma really
doesn’t care. It is a heinous disease, and it shatters lives where ever it
takes residence. I’ll be picking up pieces for the remainder of my days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I really don’t want that to happen to you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My thoughts and prayers go out to President Carter, his
caregivers, family and friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace~<o:p></o:p></div>
Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-63399318332622555462015-07-27T20:38:00.000-04:002015-07-27T20:40:57.006-04:00The Gifts of Life. Welcome, Precious Children, Welcome....<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivpf17P5xRtAD01SOWZAiUWaIwT1XX2x-AOR680fLWAEzTS2VIq0ZuZBCV0YjIyoiRIpUFyvYEd5I_uBQGjwOqR2wS3wkjfqmaC9SguNJjxbxlYxoR99mCIKo_R4XjYqH0r2RMcBWZRzG/s1600/unnamed+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivpf17P5xRtAD01SOWZAiUWaIwT1XX2x-AOR680fLWAEzTS2VIq0ZuZBCV0YjIyoiRIpUFyvYEd5I_uBQGjwOqR2wS3wkjfqmaC9SguNJjxbxlYxoR99mCIKo_R4XjYqH0r2RMcBWZRzG/s320/unnamed+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a>My heart is full tonight. I’ve been trying to process and
sort out the last couple of weeks with little success. Until today.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been struggling through my grief since Jillian died. One day at a time, one tear at a time. I hear her voice, “Fall seven times, Stand up eight”. I know, honey. I hear you. I do try. Am I trying hard enough? I think I am. But I miss you. I’m angry. And there are days that I just really don’t care. I love my children. I love my family and my friends. And yet…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The summer is screaming by me, with no signs of slowing
down. <i>I’m</i> not slowing down. I was hoping that our long awaited vacation
would help with some of that. Would force me to slow down and just be.
And it did.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just before we left for a week at the cottage I’ve rented
the last few years, I was admitted to the hospital with a kidney stone. I’m
rarely sick, and having to come to terms with the fact that I’m not immune to
illness rattled me. But what really opened my eyes is the health I’d been
taking for granted. I’d been running, chasing, hiding and not appreciative of
the blessing I live with every single day. My health. I’m ashamed. This is not
the first time God wacked me over the head to get my attention. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On a starlit evening, while fishing with my family, I look
up to our vast universe, shining and blinking in all its majesty. I’m brought
down to the level where I need to be. Grateful. Grateful for my family.
Grateful for our Universe, and grateful for the gift of life. </div>
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"I am here tonight. I am alive. I'm with my family, and I'm making memories. It's a pretty big deal". </div>
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Today. Today my world has been blessed with two beautiful new souls. My twin
granddaughters. I’m overwhelmed with the beauty of it all. The miracle of
birth. The love, the strength and the unbreakable bond of family. <br />
<br />
Thank you
Lord, for Your everlasting gift of life and for all of your continuous blessings. Thank you for Joshua and Kaytie. Please continue to watch over them in the weeks and months ahead as they care for their children. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Welcome, precious girls. Your Mimi loves you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sydney Jillian Hayes 6lbs, 2oz<br />
Cheyenne Julia Hayes 5lbs 2oz<o:p></o:p></div>
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~Peace and LoveSusan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-65160852189674804402015-07-01T13:16:00.000-04:002015-07-01T13:27:18.381-04:00I AM....<div style="border-bottom: solid #C6C6C6 1.0pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 2.0pt 0in;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2teiCkXB3I7u6cWrQlzEkC6OEsng829A8Em_xGDRbAg0soezUvWOqVnxBZpc1Ic16WFClGc3Q8cTCNeoL3RrKgiiTAAQkt-OyKQGhHiIIsjwtmFZOK-YNwSOeI-9VimQ1wdX6T0JqE_7y/s1600/july2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2teiCkXB3I7u6cWrQlzEkC6OEsng829A8Em_xGDRbAg0soezUvWOqVnxBZpc1Ic16WFClGc3Q8cTCNeoL3RrKgiiTAAQkt-OyKQGhHiIIsjwtmFZOK-YNwSOeI-9VimQ1wdX6T0JqE_7y/s320/july2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;">As we begin to prepare for the upcoming Fourth of July
holiday weekend, like so many holidays where the original meaning gets lost, I
am grateful. I am grateful to be an American.</span></span></div>
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I’m not sure where this reflective person comes from sometimes. Perhaps it’s
because I’ve become more aware of the world around me. Maybe it’s all part of
living and growing older. Maybe it’s menopause. But most likely it’s because I’ve
learned how fleeting and precious life is, and how easily it can slip through
our fingers without fully appreciating its textured value. Much like the warm
sands of Lake Michigan, when summer turns in to fall. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;">It can be a challenge to be grateful for this great country
when it seems that all we see is what we hear. The tickers flying across our
screens displaying news headlines that may lead us to wondering, “What is
happening in our world”? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;"> </span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8i6m62BawhGnNwpsxfKJQRpCepKUMcAuD6h9igEhrWDyjxi6ELwGE43jK9MyNSqwUi19g1jcOQjWLA1ERYUbmCg8A12d4rEtuuPFIlApzIqzJ-WyTaphvN89pmEshecQI9166q5YaMyG0/s1600/nobody_represents_the_american_people-460x307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8i6m62BawhGnNwpsxfKJQRpCepKUMcAuD6h9igEhrWDyjxi6ELwGE43jK9MyNSqwUi19g1jcOQjWLA1ERYUbmCg8A12d4rEtuuPFIlApzIqzJ-WyTaphvN89pmEshecQI9166q5YaMyG0/s320/nobody_represents_the_american_people-460x307.jpg" width="320" /></span></span></a><b style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;"> I am free…</span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;">
Our country is incredibly diverse. We come from all over the world, and with
that we bring along different cultures, different religions, and we enjoy the
freedom to celebrate them. I am allowed to practice my religion and attend the
church of my choosing. I can marry who ever I want. I can choose to divorce, or
I can choose to be single. <br />
<br /><br /><br /><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I have the privilege to work…</b><br />
I have the opportunity to work where ever I want to. I have the freedom to
support myself and to pass down that strong work ethic to my children. I have
the freedom to pursue a higher education, to become a veterinarian, an owner of
a restaurant, or a master gardener. We are the land of opportunity, and it is my
firm belief that if we want it badly enough, we can succeed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;">We're encouraged to express our opinions and to be our own individual…<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;">We have the freedom of speech. We can express ourselves freely without
censorship or persecution. I have my own blog, and I can write in the knowledge
that I have that right. We each have our own religious opinions and political
preferences. We have that right. <br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">We are entrepreneurs…</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;">We have the ability to be innovative and to exercise creative thinking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">We support one another….</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;">I am proud of the way our country shows their support after devastating tragedy.
This was evident with the terrorist attacks on 9/11. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; text-align: start;"><span style="color: blue;">The Boston Marathon where two bombs exploded near the marathon's finish line.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSxQQtKi7DBQrarz8aw6CiN8SGzR0oOncUlNgPtY4M_UPjKg3f19qoFEwjGVNsQUvO5gu8q31Bq2BZYpdPJMyIYe381Yl1lJGYeaaqrUsGcbKnOOpXOROPnlGx3Nctj55hpiJqOJ0vJpgE/s1600/Sports-Illustrated-Boston-Strong-2014-spread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #d0e0e3; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSxQQtKi7DBQrarz8aw6CiN8SGzR0oOncUlNgPtY4M_UPjKg3f19qoFEwjGVNsQUvO5gu8q31Bq2BZYpdPJMyIYe381Yl1lJGYeaaqrUsGcbKnOOpXOROPnlGx3Nctj55hpiJqOJ0vJpgE/s320/Sports-Illustrated-Boston-Strong-2014-spread.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; text-align: start;"><span style="color: blue;">And most recently, the tragic shooting at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeB6lD8LLbRMhpzkHuFX0FJu6vp346fqa4w5QvmCh0K1XvLQOP9vIBs63wsEH3nCQK2C4KHmPtyEENIfpn9l6CdYvRgRmoVuXI-d8hmjGqmQRpGP8v3TkqLi7v5K_pulrE3KzneyVL2Xj/s1600/img-Upstate-vigils-for-Charleston-church-shooting+June+20-victims.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeB6lD8LLbRMhpzkHuFX0FJu6vp346fqa4w5QvmCh0K1XvLQOP9vIBs63wsEH3nCQK2C4KHmPtyEENIfpn9l6CdYvRgRmoVuXI-d8hmjGqmQRpGP8v3TkqLi7v5K_pulrE3KzneyVL2Xj/s320/img-Upstate-vigils-for-Charleston-church-shooting+June+20-victims.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;">In spite of the controversy and tragedy that we have been historically
involved in this past year, I am choosing to remember what my Independence
means and why I am grateful. To have the privilege to be an American. And to be
proud. Because, I am.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">"</span>My God! How little do my
countrymen know what precious blessings they are in possession of, and which no
other people on earth enjoy! " ~Thomas Jefferson<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;">~ Peace and love<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: blue;"><w:sdt contentlocked="t" id="89512093" sdtgroup="t"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 1.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><w:sdtpr></w:sdtpr><w:sdt docpart="9AF69AF22B8C44B48F15E4B73CA41104" id="89512082" storeitemid="X_5F329CAD-B019-4FA6-9FEF-74898909AD20" text="t" title="Post Title" xpath="/ns0:BlogPostInfo/ns0:PostTitle"></w:sdt></span>
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Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-29402110524182256402015-04-28T06:44:00.000-04:002015-04-28T06:44:33.016-04:00May 2015, Melanoma Awareness Month: Because of You....<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LqAt-hULv8u1GQdrI4QslC4PanwhQrltPUs27J60WqOrB0u7llBLSAKYeZltg9col5NOyGu-JEojGjpG3OPEx54Cc6l3eQ_LWsW2jmHk_MHOinKJysJesGWJ4UqXhw2OK45WwnL1BphI/s1600/unnamed+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LqAt-hULv8u1GQdrI4QslC4PanwhQrltPUs27J60WqOrB0u7llBLSAKYeZltg9col5NOyGu-JEojGjpG3OPEx54Cc6l3eQ_LWsW2jmHk_MHOinKJysJesGWJ4UqXhw2OK45WwnL1BphI/s200/unnamed+(2).jpg" /></a>The billboards in Grand Rapids, Michigan went up today. The
beautiful people on the billboards this time are those who have melanoma or
have died from melanoma due to tanning bed use. One person in the US dies from
melanoma each hour. Each hour! The pain and destruction this disease causes
long after that person is no longer here is almost impossible to fathom. So
many grieving families shattered by a disease that may have been prevented by
staying away from a stupid tanning bed. I would give anything if I had known. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But I didn’t know, so now all that’s left is to try and
share my experience with others, by tapping into that deep well of emotion,
digging deeper and deeper, hoping that somehow I can explain this place I’m at.
Exposing the things I try and shove down. To help someone who is really
struggling with their situation. Whatever that may be. To know you aren’t alone
in this.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There are things that may be helpful to keep in mind when
someone you know has lost a child. Below is just a glimpse into the window of a
grieving heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When you ask me how I’m doing, and I reply that I’m fine.
I’m not. I lie to you. I’m not sure you can handle the real me. The real “me”
died with a melanoma cancer diagnosis. I’m grieving the loss of innocence for
the life I had planned. (I’m a planner so this is especially difficult). So I
protect you, and I protect me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before Jillian died, I blogged about <a href="http://jilliansjourneywithmelanoma.blogspot.com/2012/05/face-of-stage-iv-melanoma-cancer-beast.html">The Face of Melanoma,</a>
and how a person with Stage IV melanoma can look as if they are healthy. It is
much the same with a person in mourning. They wake up, they go to work,
participate in life. You probably wouldn’t know that they are bleeding inside.
You can’t see it, unless we feel safe enough to tell you about it. But even
then, we are very cautious with whom we share our “pearls”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rkUtN-8GX4RkyqOgK4acd_-0EDDk6SFcPUTex0hIfO8Imto4hm_bpbT5H9z7aNgTsWfQzypiWU19PcgiKa_ym1CpqKFUslPg3y5kY5djxtYsZjvDHe5WBDh8jIc5mubN3C0DdlF0ayAF/s1600/white_elephant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rkUtN-8GX4RkyqOgK4acd_-0EDDk6SFcPUTex0hIfO8Imto4hm_bpbT5H9z7aNgTsWfQzypiWU19PcgiKa_ym1CpqKFUslPg3y5kY5djxtYsZjvDHe5WBDh8jIc5mubN3C0DdlF0ayAF/s200/white_elephant.jpg" /></a>When we celebrate a holiday or a special event, there is always
that empty spot at the table. Mother’s Day is coming up. A toughie, and the
white elephant is lurking about. We will always grieve that empty spot, and
wonder what this occasion be like if you were with us. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJV7OSiCArWfflEOuIrbtbrWWWjP6E9x66Hev9p02dAObKD4n6Y3oJKexi5BPC1HUcowga1HKRYb5A7nMNjEv-xDGHc-g6nHxiyN3E03lt60J9u1qK-2mv-bH8bllZesht507uxZ7AffTl/s1600/Be+kind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJV7OSiCArWfflEOuIrbtbrWWWjP6E9x66Hev9p02dAObKD4n6Y3oJKexi5BPC1HUcowga1HKRYb5A7nMNjEv-xDGHc-g6nHxiyN3E03lt60J9u1qK-2mv-bH8bllZesht507uxZ7AffTl/s200/Be+kind.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>I think we need to slow down. Slow down and feel. Appreciate
the ones that enter into our lives and get to know that person. They may be
hurting in some way we can’t even imagine. Our life is a story. Who’s going to
tell our stories once we are gone? How will the world know we were even here? Each
of us has gifts that have been given to us. I believe we can all use those
unique gifts to make a difference in this world. How can we help to make this
one wild and beautiful life a better place? Only you know what that is for you.
Oh, God. We have to make this count. Because we only get one chance at it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjen5Bf_TLEysl7_b80wLqDX3hEzG5_32DZ8MmEEWlpiDXULDyDhFq0qoJ8r_cXIJimPuWaCCRWof9DB_ISDvQkPTUVBh45WtsI-d7q4y3VeLhCbzhyphenhyphenrLc-O7gHie8lzcIflLJyZ_TVaMLB/s1600/wild-and-precious-life-mary-oliver.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjen5Bf_TLEysl7_b80wLqDX3hEzG5_32DZ8MmEEWlpiDXULDyDhFq0qoJ8r_cXIJimPuWaCCRWof9DB_ISDvQkPTUVBh45WtsI-d7q4y3VeLhCbzhyphenhyphenrLc-O7gHie8lzcIflLJyZ_TVaMLB/s200/wild-and-precious-life-mary-oliver.gif" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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As May, Melanoma Month approaches, many of my melanoma
friends will be involved in projects sharing melanoma awareness. I’m excited to
see what they have planned this year. We CAN make a difference. And because of
you, and all of your generous donations toward the billboard, we are doing just
that.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf5_oHO4CHifodA0T__vZsWg5kBScipEMCStx4MccnMR47brSknso2dLK9mIBmchb_aB-lBlfvxzrBuOW3GrQH-2dQPCaGgRArSGIpFWxfNvyr3FJ_MiDJkzViiZhqEq8EnBm_KKmw9wFs/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf5_oHO4CHifodA0T__vZsWg5kBScipEMCStx4MccnMR47brSknso2dLK9mIBmchb_aB-lBlfvxzrBuOW3GrQH-2dQPCaGgRArSGIpFWxfNvyr3FJ_MiDJkzViiZhqEq8EnBm_KKmw9wFs/s200/unnamed.jpg" height="233" width="320" /></a><o:p> </o:p>It is my hope that this billboard catches a young person’s
eye and gives them pause for thought.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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In 2015, it is estimated that there will
be 73,870 new cases of melanoma in the United States
and 9,940 deaths from the disease.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
Could this really happen to me? Yes. It most certainly can.<o:p></o:p></div>
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~Peace and love<o:p></o:p></div>
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Billboards will be displayed in Grand Rapids, Michigan:<o:p></o:p></div>
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April 27-May 31, 2015</div>
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I-196 .3 mi E/O Chicago Drive SS Facing East</div>
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US-131 .5 mi S/O West River Drive WS Facing North</div>
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Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-13223582901692053882015-03-17T23:44:00.000-04:002015-03-19T23:05:38.035-04:00It's Not About Me...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisYLnaRz3gg30_se-usx8GFqhCskcGHIfqxGRc3NbLWN1M0RRUCg5-PtmGrUEPPgwKmfTQjTon7yygiJgPteR_oRhAJx5N6QmagTevgE1JNGiYgp5gRb7e8jOpVn8UEx8T3xPtG6jNI-29/s1600/Jillian's%2BBillboard0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisYLnaRz3gg30_se-usx8GFqhCskcGHIfqxGRc3NbLWN1M0RRUCg5-PtmGrUEPPgwKmfTQjTon7yygiJgPteR_oRhAJx5N6QmagTevgE1JNGiYgp5gRb7e8jOpVn8UEx8T3xPtG6jNI-29/s320/Jillian's%2BBillboard0001.jpg" /></a></div>
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The Big Guy on my shoulder is talking to me again. I’ve been
hiding. I’ve been running. He always finds me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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An old story I read as a teenager comes to mind. As a child,
I always had my nose in a book. Still do, actually. I don’t remember the name
of this particular book, but it involved an injured dog. The main
characters of the story were fearful that their pet ran away from home, since
they hadn’t seen their faithful friend for several days. I remember feeling a
profound sense of loss as I was reading the story. I could relate, as I had
experienced such sadness when my Bumpy run away from home. This story ended
better than mine, however. The family finally found their beloved pet hiding
under their front porch. The dog had been severely injured and was isolating
himself as he healed. <br />
<br />
I compare my partial withdraw from most things related to Melanoma to that long
ago story. I’m healing, I’m processing. But you can’t run forever, Forrest. You
can’t hide forever either. Life has a way of forcing itself on you, whether
you’re ready for it or not. Some days I feel like I can tackle the world and
dive in. Other days, I can only get my big toe wet.<br />
<br />
With the month of May fast
approaching, Melanoma Awareness Month, I feel like I’m being pushed closer and
closer towards the water, and off my solitary island. I’m afraid. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I see the stories of young children as they are battling
this heinous disease. I feel the mothers pain as they try to be optimistic for
their child and to be an anchor the rest of their family. Even when she feels
like she can’t go on anymore, she does. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I see the pain of a brother or a sister as they try to pick
up the pieces of their shattered lives after they bury their sibling. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I read about a mother and a father as they try to find some
sort of joy left in their world after they lost their child. How do they go on?
I don’t know. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I read about a mom that shares her daughters last day on
earth with her own birthday. That one rocked me to the core.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The stories are endless. I shy away from them, the photos,
the fear, the pain. I’m afraid if I get too involved, I’ll sink. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But then last Sunday, in church, I’m singing an old familiar
hymn . I know this song and I sing it without reading the words. Instantly, I’m
ten years old sitting between my parents on Easter Sunday. I’m proudly wearing
my new dress, my shiny patent leather shoes, my hat with the pink ribbon. And
my white gloves. I have the corsage on my left wrist that my Grandma gives us
every year. I remember the excitement as I open the refrigerator that morning
and I see the white box containing my lily. I can hear the paper crinkle as mom
carefully takes out the flower and allows me to hold it. I’m a princess and God
loves me. I knew it then, and I know it now. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I never in a million years would have imagined then, that
I’d be clinging to that foundation of my youth today.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In that moment, while I’m reflecting on the Easters of my
childhood, I am reminded once again of God’s promise. He isn’t going anywhere.
He promised to be with me no matter what, and He keeps His promises over and
over again. He won’t let me drown if I get more than my toe wet. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So though blind faith, I’m giving it a greater effort. I’ll
wade a little deeper and trust that although I have no idea what I’m doing, He
does. Deep breath. I’m planning to do another billboard for May. I know this
will generate exposure to melanoma, and that is what I want. But I’m still
afraid. I’m afraid of what may happen to the progress I’ve made so far. But it
isn’t about me, is it? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I don’t do this for me, I’m doing it for you.</div>
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I do it for those that have never had the hair stand
straight up on the back of their necks when they find out from their doctor
that their precious, vibrant child has melanoma. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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I do it for the parents who realize that if they had only
known about the dangers of tanning beds and laying out in the sun, they
wouldn’t be taking trips to see their oncologist every three weeks. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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I do it so a young person can finish college, start their career,
get married and have a family.</div>
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I do it so a parent doesn’t have to bury their kid.</div>
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I’d like to have this billboard honor those that have
melanoma or have died from melanoma as a result from tanning beds. I’ll need
help through donations to get this up and running before May. If you are so
inclined, please click the donate button on the blog. No amount is too small.
We’ve done it before, we can do it again. I believe that. The cost of the
billboard last year was 1600.00. Let’s do this. Together. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Thank you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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~Peace and so much love<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPnRTiyrUNZgsiEJ_8lC83WHg-5pudVvtrXoXLTo56wmpANSjjLAkSi8X1IsMA49fgBQckv4R4oSOBWSFpA95QQrzkZVrxAz85muPvZWM5DeD0ifEduhkP-O3Y0BHW-gG7vDOXPJ1cFXk/s1600/Bay+City+Billboard.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPnRTiyrUNZgsiEJ_8lC83WHg-5pudVvtrXoXLTo56wmpANSjjLAkSi8X1IsMA49fgBQckv4R4oSOBWSFpA95QQrzkZVrxAz85muPvZWM5DeD0ifEduhkP-O3Y0BHW-gG7vDOXPJ1cFXk/s320/Bay+City+Billboard.jpg" height="206" width="400" /></a>Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-65415459981366703212015-02-01T16:19:00.000-05:002015-02-01T20:32:43.939-05:0083 or 23, It sucks....<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLtQdRtrONcNlYEXOe6fYtxZxiS5rUVGE6awkpcQLNBCsyt_bGGHv6TiJhu4MVXxczLrntV_X726_V28oG4L8fP6GEHOpoaWEpxrJEZro2oNynjYZmW1isRZRtOpyxxb8gB9s2pLRAHOo/s1600/260125_10150282530091019_1932552_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLtQdRtrONcNlYEXOe6fYtxZxiS5rUVGE6awkpcQLNBCsyt_bGGHv6TiJhu4MVXxczLrntV_X726_V28oG4L8fP6GEHOpoaWEpxrJEZro2oNynjYZmW1isRZRtOpyxxb8gB9s2pLRAHOo/s1600/260125_10150282530091019_1932552_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Cancer changes you. It not only changes you physically, it changes you emotionally. You don't take things for granted as you once did. You develop a sense of self, and of things so much larger than we can begin to comprehend. Some days we get glimpses into God's window. I love those days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-size: 13.3333330154419px;">But death changes you even more. Jillian's death was the single most devastating event in my life. It knocked me out of the game, wounded and bloody. I'm still wobbly, but slowly I'm finding my legs again. Please don't have expectations of me. I never imagined that I'd have to fight for my grief. But I do, and I will. I have to say, I've found this road more complicated and full of potholes than the road I once traveled.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Through the changes wrought through Melanoma, I'm a completely different person. The melanoma community I'm involved with is embedded deep within my heart. I'm not sure I've ever been around a group of people who embrace a person as fully and as fiercely as these people do. Through Jillian's journey I have been blessed to have met several of these people in person. I praise God for these beautiful, spectacular warriors. These are the people who know and understand. The people I trust with my heart.</span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">By writing this blog, I hope that I can be the voice for some wounded soul traveling the same rugged terrain, and navigating over some of the same obstacles. And this brings me to my story.</span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Because of melanoma and Jillian's journey, I was reunited with an old friend. Tammy and I worked in the same restaurant many years ago. My first job at 16. When I made 1.67 an hour and was happy since it provided gas money. Where I wore a cowboy hat, Culottes, and life was mine. Tammy and I lost touch as we both grew up. She moved away, got married and had a family. Somehow she heard about Jillian's story and contacted me. Her father in law, Don Bidwell, was living with melanoma too.</span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Don was stolen from his family on January 9, 2015 at 9:43 a.m. He was 83 years old. One person in the US dies from Melanoma Cancer ever hour. That was Don's hour. And that hour begins one family's journey through loss, grief, laughter, tears and every other emotion you can experience attached to the Black roller coaster from hell.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAJufeOPUZWz1DH3zmhqcxEhtsppLR7xBvqA9ExtjeiyBudlsjkhYvrplNJohZZ1kHrEW0I2DcCSltQ7bsMpiXHwhxYD9tXVYT2CSqjWtZtyNibarRAn8gwqGJU5tSYTR5MgNkD_nM30a/s320/img049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAJufeOPUZWz1DH3zmhqcxEhtsppLR7xBvqA9ExtjeiyBudlsjkhYvrplNJohZZ1kHrEW0I2DcCSltQ7bsMpiXHwhxYD9tXVYT2CSqjWtZtyNibarRAn8gwqGJU5tSYTR5MgNkD_nM30a/s320/img049.jpg" height="400" width="317" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">Who was Don? Who was this man who lived his life on Earth among us? Every single soul has a story to tell. The unique story of their big, beautiful life and how that story keeps going on and on, connecting, moving, surging, as sure as the tide. That Force. That Being. That Soul, to be simply "Gone" is incomprehensible.</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p>Don</o:p></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">Don was born in Brooklyn and was raised in the hardscrabble streets. His father died when he was in his teens, leaving him to care for his mother. A Brooklyn boy knowing what it means to step up and take responsibility.<br /><i>Don was a son.</i></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">After Don graduated from high school, he enlisted in the Naval Reserve and enrolled in City College in NYC where he earned his Associates degree in Engineering. He then went on to active duty in the Navy, where he served his country for two years in the Korean War.<br /><i>Don was a scholar and a soldier.</i> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">After Don left the Navy, he moved to Ohio and enrolled in OH University. While at his first dance, he saw a very tall, very beautiful dark haired girl. He didn't care if she was taller than he was. He had RED hair, which always got attention from the girls. When he saw her walking across the dance floor, he grabbed her hand and said, "We should dance if we are going to get married".</o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><br /></o:p></span>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">The life Don and his bride Cherry shared, produced a son, Mark. I've asked Mark and Tammy, Marks wife, their children Aubrey and Beatrice, to write something about this incredible man. Below are their words:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.3333330154419px;"><i style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">Of course summarizing my father would be difficult. He was a very complex person. He was brilliant, highly emotional, and vulnerable with an incredible sense of humor. There was literally no subject he couldn't talk on. Politics, History, Religion, Finance- it was incredible. He was definitely a product of his times and hadn't adopted well as the world progressed. He was passionate about the progress of social justice. He devoted himself to reading daily, on every subject. He read several newspapers a day. He was passionate about sports, especially football and baseball. He wore his emotions very close to the surface and thought nothing of bursting into tears when his passions stirred within him, which was often. He had many human frailties, common to passionate people. Don was a genius. I know, a lot of people say that, but he truly was. He was a Vice President at a very young age(USS Lead). But most of all, he was devoted to me and my mother. - Mark</i></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSU-sxDTNAJrWxBnaeJOw83ffQrn-McWgMr4mMZ5T5aip9STDSqNjWts-32JYdKmMOaq0Wb6SmBikJRAFIJkWXh_ituQOWYZ64PrP9GomhQkmj14JVGKWiVecIWZ2hbYH4MJiGAwzYb-xL/s1600/img018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSU-sxDTNAJrWxBnaeJOw83ffQrn-McWgMr4mMZ5T5aip9STDSqNjWts-32JYdKmMOaq0Wb6SmBikJRAFIJkWXh_ituQOWYZ64PrP9GomhQkmj14JVGKWiVecIWZ2hbYH4MJiGAwzYb-xL/s320/img018.jpg" /></span></a><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><i style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">Don was arrogant and confident and also willing to laugh at himself. He took me to the Olympics when they were held in Utah and was determined to teach me to ski. After all, he taught Mark to ski, and Mark had raced all through high school and college. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.3333330154419px;"><i style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">He could talk to anyone about anything, and the same week he taught me to ski we got put on the gondola with the band members Puddle of Mud. Did he care? Nope. He spoke with them about skiing, politics and whether or not they were investing their money right and treating their women with respect. They were smitten. He could charm anyone and was a shameless flirt.</i></span></span><br />
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<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">My Father in law and I fought like cats and dogs the whole 23 years I knew him. We may be the same person. Stubborn, loud, fragile. We fought and loved and fought and loved. When I married Mark, Don wanted to put me in his clan and become my leader. I was (am) bossy. He called me and wrote to me nearly every day. He bought me ridiculously expensive presents. I think he liked the challenge. We argued about politics and once when he told the girls they would make good secretaries one day I thought I would kill him. He taught me about life. I taught him about people. We turned out to be a perfect match.</o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><br /></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">I was the first person that he told when he was diagnosed. Late in 2006 he thoughy he had bad allergies or a sinus infection. Really, he had a melanoma tumor that filled all available space in his sinuses. Doctors told him that he had three months to live. His was reply, "says who? " </o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.3333330154419px;"><i style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">After chemo, surgery, radiation and then a clinical trial chemo(evastin), suddenly Don was NED. For 6 years. When we found out about Jillian and began to read Susan's blog he cried his eyes out. He could not believe the cruelness of life that would take what he considered to be a baby.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;">When the cancer came back last April, I think we all knew...he and I spent the last 7 months together planning for the end of his life. Surgery...again 3 months. He told me he had very few regrets and the one he did have he could remember. He wanted me to know that people were more important than anything. He kept telling me to love. He was true to himself right up until he died. Trying to make the girls smile. To make a funny. About a week before he died, (he was in a hospice facility), as soon as we arrived he asked Audrey to go ask for his pain med. Audrey returned with a vial and gave it to him. He declared that it was empty and that he received not a drop of medicine. In comes the nurse. He tells her I absolutely need another vial. I did not get any medicine. The nurse mumbled something about calling the doctor to which Don replied, bring me the vial. Again the nurse was mumbling about too much medica</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">tion, about</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> calling the doctor first and overdosing. I could see the girls squirming. THEN I saw the glint in his eye and he says, so what will happen? Do you think it might KILL me? He got the medicine. ~ </span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Tammy</span></o:p></span></div>
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<i><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cfe2f3; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandpa taught us to do the "Lindy" and "Jitterbug". He taught us all the show tunes and showed us all of the musicals. We knew all the words to the score of Westside Story before we could understand the story. </span></span></i></i></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When Audrey fell in love with Bulls Eye from Toy Story, grandpa built her an exact replica! Next, when Audrey expressed an interest in sailing ( Don was an avid sailor) he built her a boat. While g pa was going through experimental chemo and our Dad was in Afghanistan gpa went on every field trip. He taught us to drink coffee( behind our moms back- we were 3&4) He taught us to ski when we were 2&3. He taught us to chop fire wood, build a fire and to drive a lawn tractor. We moved around a lot because of our dad being in the army but no matter where we lived he came to see us. He wrote us long letters and made up funny stories. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He would come and visit and spoil us rotten..taking all of us and whatever friends my parents had out for dinner. He always made us laugh. He love us and he loved people. We remember the time g pa wanted to soften his ski wax so he put it in the microwave :)</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We miss g pa more than we can express and we are sick of people saying "well , he was 83". "It was his time. " He was a person and his death has left a hole that will never fill and 83 or 23 it sucks. ~ Audrey & Beatrice (devoted grand daughters)</span></i></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">How do you begin to scratch the surface when trying to describe a lifetime of love and memories? How do you explain how you feel when that person you love like crazy is gone? You can't. What we can do is to love hard today. To take each day and embrace it, what ever it may bring. And to understand that it doesn't matter if the one you've lost was 83 or 23. Those silly platitudes do more harm than good. What does help is a hug and a listening ear. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BwyWmqV_RJc">Don left a legacy of laughter and love- We can too.</a><br /><br />~Peace</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">Don Bidwell</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">August 8, 1931-January 9, 2015</span></div>
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<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-j7PNTX_tVto%2FVM5_OWksVwI%2FAAAAAAAABpc%2Fv-MdzqgVyUo%2Fs320%2Fimg049.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAJufeOPUZWz1DH3zmhqcxEhtsppLR7xBvqA9ExtjeiyBudlsjkhYvrplNJohZZ1kHrEW0I2DcCSltQ7bsMpiXHwhxYD9tXVYT2CSqjWtZtyNibarRAn8gwqGJU5tSYTR5MgNkD_nM30a/s320/img049.jpg" -->Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-54014123107371730592014-12-19T11:39:00.000-05:002014-12-19T12:46:37.722-05:00Run, Forrest, Run!<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_B3-2aadF8Pq2v3FImuFm2lYXUi_FBvx3vfAXxdpTNAPE2VytscpLCz6ekckRMYjWiEkdKnPx157txoknauUMh4rCx-tchyJB4GLVX1nezGzAGaPu3xYOIZ5rSwpGHn1JON1Rr3RRxZpH/s1600/the-long-and-winding-road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_B3-2aadF8Pq2v3FImuFm2lYXUi_FBvx3vfAXxdpTNAPE2VytscpLCz6ekckRMYjWiEkdKnPx157txoknauUMh4rCx-tchyJB4GLVX1nezGzAGaPu3xYOIZ5rSwpGHn1JON1Rr3RRxZpH/s1600/the-long-and-winding-road.jpg" height="164" width="200" /></a><span style="color: #1f497d;">I’ve started several blog posts
over the last couple of months. I save them, but I never complete writing them.
Why. Oh, I realize I’ve been busy since I’ve moved into my new house.
Landscaping, painting…so many projects that have occupied my time as I’m trying
to make this house a home for Jenni and I. But those are choices. Truth is,
I’ve been running. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">I had a conversation with my
wise friend a couple of weeks ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">Me: I've been running, Stac.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">Stac: Do you need me to help you stop?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">Me:..................</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">Stac: Maybe it's all a part of your journey?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">Me: Yep. I think it is.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;"> </span><span style="color: #1f497d;">While I run during the day, at
night I’ve been dreaming about Jillian. Not like the dream over a year
ago where she came to me. In that dream, she had something to tell me. I KNEW
it was her. No words were spoken, but she looked into my eyes with such love
and intensity. Her purpose with that visit was to let me know she was okay.
Roll your eyes if you want to. I was allowed a glimpse into God’s window. I saw
her, felt her, “spoke” to her.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hpW61mJc5xzfWkYB2K-VkGChM71uZaBFiu-StxHYqIpSVfye0FLwNTHYEIdmnYZ-BynxhRi5H-33OZoJ4R7QR37NWa37E-4obDSYpwu4KCLSCfnLVNx1kLju_L58ZfKkniQ1bSXlxrUG/s1600/3357_79291639231_24608_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hpW61mJc5xzfWkYB2K-VkGChM71uZaBFiu-StxHYqIpSVfye0FLwNTHYEIdmnYZ-BynxhRi5H-33OZoJ4R7QR37NWa37E-4obDSYpwu4KCLSCfnLVNx1kLju_L58ZfKkniQ1bSXlxrUG/s320/3357_79291639231_24608_n.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a><span style="color: #1f497d;">My latest dreams have been
different, just normal (whatever normal is) dreams where she is a part of them. My most recent dream was at her high school.. She called me to pick her up with the
excuse that she wasn’t feeling well. We were both standing by the counter in
the office while I got ready to sign her out. Her cheeks were flushed, but not
with fever or illness. I could tell. She just wanted to be home. In my heart
I’m conflicted. This kid isn’t sick, she just wants to come home. I struggled
with making her remain at school. But then the realization struck me that
Jillian was going to die on December 29, and “so what “if she stays home?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZBWgg9a8bI4wRl7Mk2TByRegPSeYwBVtRIWY0_MdViuh85Wq9Xx0N31iV57TtgQAVgLE5EEUCWEjn87UOG33y0m7SM3CLlJGr8nUO8LCLG5G-E5YQ0AdACvX6NWDen7HyrrIXEydYVoV/s1600/260125_10150282530091019_1932552_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZBWgg9a8bI4wRl7Mk2TByRegPSeYwBVtRIWY0_MdViuh85Wq9Xx0N31iV57TtgQAVgLE5EEUCWEjn87UOG33y0m7SM3CLlJGr8nUO8LCLG5G-E5YQ0AdACvX6NWDen7HyrrIXEydYVoV/s320/260125_10150282530091019_1932552_n.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">I was able to pick my battles in
that moment. What if we all knew when our death date was? Would we treat each
other differently? Would we mend those relationships, take that trip, make that
call and spend time with someone ? I would like to think we would. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">So whatever your fear is,
whatever is stopping you from making a difference, whatever is making you
run……my prayer for each of you is that you find Peace as you continue your
journey, that you find your way back on an even path, and that we learn to do
it right. We are all connected in some way, to everyone and everything. We only
get one shot at this. Just one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">Even after I've fallen, even though I've been running, </span><span style="color: #1f497d;">I want to enter His kingdom one
day greeted by the words, "You’ve done good". <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d;">Peace~</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqS_ew8rmI4DJjfsuCXWRx7cu8hE0cKl9Yt6A_mrNUujFntVyuOjQPRP4U7XJ1ddVQVDQE1Tyd19LqGkrSmfzb9p5Tf4isGO4yv644BpsoYq5M2DmWeSQTtMbtTqHhvmq06zQcLgqBztMP/s1600/954748_10151431708492455_1549348866_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqS_ew8rmI4DJjfsuCXWRx7cu8hE0cKl9Yt6A_mrNUujFntVyuOjQPRP4U7XJ1ddVQVDQE1Tyd19LqGkrSmfzb9p5Tf4isGO4yv644BpsoYq5M2DmWeSQTtMbtTqHhvmq06zQcLgqBztMP/s320/954748_10151431708492455_1549348866_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-31126729461876103192014-09-16T15:46:00.000-04:002014-09-16T17:54:49.786-04:00Enter at Your Own Risk....<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbpy1KSUTTKnjmJoptu-C23wVSP7luZqTxwftsT02GDttnseVsier6P4XcXMnSkJqaZ7vkS5OUC3j_8w6Z74Z8WfJHb02BnbI83wz4U6jYuB9d3g-Z-4QomBPnBivrhn__fnQjXgNSYXuO/s1600/383875_2125027605637_191021221_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbpy1KSUTTKnjmJoptu-C23wVSP7luZqTxwftsT02GDttnseVsier6P4XcXMnSkJqaZ7vkS5OUC3j_8w6Z74Z8WfJHb02BnbI83wz4U6jYuB9d3g-Z-4QomBPnBivrhn__fnQjXgNSYXuO/s320/383875_2125027605637_191021221_n.jpg" /></a>Fall has always been my favorite time of year. I love the
cooler weather, the crisp air. I love to see the clouds heavy and low in the
sky. I love the feel of the balmy breeze as it carries the scent of burning
leaves. And I love Halloween. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But with Fall comes memories of the past few years. My dad
died two years ago. Jillian’s birthday is coming up. Memories of seizures and
sirens. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I had dinner with my mom last night. We were talking about
grief, and how grieving is different for each person. We touched on how people,
even family members, deal with someone who has suffered the loss of a loved
one. “They don’t know what to say”. Or, “They don’t want to make you cry”. Or
maybe, “They don’t want to say the wrong thing, so they say nothing”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t know. I don’t get it. I don’t understand how the
topic of death is so difficult. It’s a part of living, and we will all
experience it. All of us are going to die someday. It’s the one certain thing
in living. So, why aren’t we living our lives reaching out and caring for those
that experience death and grief when it does strike? Why aren’t we learning
more about the grieving process? Why do we put so many expectations on those
who are actively grieving to move on, get over it, to act in a certain way. I
think it’s cruel, selfish, and it makes me angry. And if it makes me angry, how
many other people are struggling? It takes a village, right? <o:p></o:p></div>
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There are many groups out there to support those who have
lost a loved one. I think there should be more support groups dedicated to help people understand the grieving process. A group focused on helping the supporter of the griever as they navigate through the wild storms of grief. The sea of emotions, and the
uncertainty of “what next”. Friends and Family. Classes mandatory in high
school. Family living, family dying. This topic isn’t going away. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And then…just like that, my thoughts head in another
direction. I picture myself on a hard, cold examination table covered in white
paper. I hear the doctor’s footsteps stop before my door. I hear the rustle of the clipboard
as the doctor removes it from the wall, flipping pages as he reads over the findings. He walks in
and sits down on the chair beside me. With a grave expression, he looks into my
eyes. “I’m sorry, Susan. The diagnosis is conclusive. You have Grief”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You have Cancer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You have Grief.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNT_NP1uZJAfMcRapFVfV1LJncoF4ramWQK9vG-pXm-H7NXzZzSYOSzOO_W9u0YFiHHlgGHDEeyhdPSrqw_XkrwmMy1j1s4RRn_NSnfJiH5g1Mp6o5a9ILMP7o4_K9N2KpghsinvXmpetm/s1600/1467316_534397796655441_1642759922_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNT_NP1uZJAfMcRapFVfV1LJncoF4ramWQK9vG-pXm-H7NXzZzSYOSzOO_W9u0YFiHHlgGHDEeyhdPSrqw_XkrwmMy1j1s4RRn_NSnfJiH5g1Mp6o5a9ILMP7o4_K9N2KpghsinvXmpetm/s320/1467316_534397796655441_1642759922_n.jpg" /></a>OH! I have Grief! That explains it. The mumble, jumble,
messed up tangle of emotions. The lack of focus and forgetfulness. The
laughter, the tears. And that stupid, silly mask sitting on my bedside table
waiting to be strapped on as I begin another day. So, it’s okay that Grief is
all encompassing in its intensity. That it has several unusual symptoms, and
there is no cure. Now I know what I’m dealing with.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It has a name.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s real. It isn’t this elusive “thing” or emotion. It has
real physical symptoms, and it effects the entire person. For a loooooooong
time. To say I’m not disappointed in the lack of knowledge or awareness
surrounding this subject would be a lie. I’m strong, yes. But I still hurt. And
if by my peeling this grief thing off one bloody layer at a time, exposing it
for what it is in the hopes that it touches someone along the way, well, good.
I’ll get back to stomping on melanoma soon enough. Right now, I’ve got my own
work to do. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUlHBKPDDK0HzRtyF5Sg-VBeuBMN32_gipMNd4gn8JpoKUW9orW_LSp4A9SCuTvpJkkS8X9xjLy1Sn2T5XZjrk3-R0YR4q3U4grXcUh_V3VIMLOpyAWkawKhl0c5q5brNXM6QiDT6FTZd6/s1600/BLACK+Rose.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUlHBKPDDK0HzRtyF5Sg-VBeuBMN32_gipMNd4gn8JpoKUW9orW_LSp4A9SCuTvpJkkS8X9xjLy1Sn2T5XZjrk3-R0YR4q3U4grXcUh_V3VIMLOpyAWkawKhl0c5q5brNXM6QiDT6FTZd6/s320/BLACK+Rose.gif" height="175" width="200" /></a>If Grief had a ribbon, it would be the color of the rainbow,
signifying HOPE. Hope as we move from mourning to Joy. <br />
<br />
Because even in grief there is hope. We are Grief Warriors. Bad Ass Grief
Warriors. <o:p></o:p></div>
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~embracing crabby<o:p></o:p></div>
Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808115479651751282.post-37506437032118975032014-07-28T19:51:00.000-04:002014-07-28T19:51:18.575-04:00And the Journey Continues.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcfgh2enfyL_NIMKg2TqF0pvEeYjWb3rlofrmGwyZ3fD2h0NlJq2RhTQ7MW36BkZaOEFnYxMVcE3F0s6ZdDMZ-dh3HP8iwARIJYF-sC_H6HNpAGg7od-jOK6Gh4vHZ7ADm_V_Lj0y60GM/s1600/wild-and-precious-life-mary-oliver.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcfgh2enfyL_NIMKg2TqF0pvEeYjWb3rlofrmGwyZ3fD2h0NlJq2RhTQ7MW36BkZaOEFnYxMVcE3F0s6ZdDMZ-dh3HP8iwARIJYF-sC_H6HNpAGg7od-jOK6Gh4vHZ7ADm_V_Lj0y60GM/s320/wild-and-precious-life-mary-oliver.gif" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Two weeks ago our pastor talked about the quote from Mary Oliver- “Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
He mentioned it again yesterday. Thanks a lot. I can’t get that quote out of my mind. It keeps whispering to me, poking me, prodding me.<br />
<br />
Well, I can say one thing I’ve learned with certainty. There are no plans. Goals, perhaps. The grieving mind is a slippery thing these days. I’m trying to figure that out too.<br />
<br />
I was at an outdoor concert a couple of weeks ago, listening to blues music. The park was filled with people, young and old. As I sat watching the crowd, I see these individuals and realize they all have their “stuff”. Each one of them are living a life that extends to friends and family members. Well beyond what I can see. They too, could be grieving. Or sick. Maybe they just lost their job, or their home. Maybe their child is serving overseas. Maybe they are working through a divorce. Something. Anything.<br />
<br />
I smile as I watch a young mother chasing her toddler as he runs back and forth across the grass. She patiently picks him up, plunks him down, and goes through the same exercise again and again. Exhausting for her, I’m sure. A young boy, full of energy. He reminds me of my own son, always in motion. What will he become?<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkueX89D4B6oAG_5YMcjGi4VxQfx5VzhxOXai3hgKAWDe2Mh_OsIeGqGqJva64q2UdyTvv8fXmsu2LnREds9lOYYJKAoy4ir_UComZ5EhxXYn0F6uBybJyLqcVj6z1dItiPmgUd2DrdjOU/s1600/9347585-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkueX89D4B6oAG_5YMcjGi4VxQfx5VzhxOXai3hgKAWDe2Mh_OsIeGqGqJva64q2UdyTvv8fXmsu2LnREds9lOYYJKAoy4ir_UComZ5EhxXYn0F6uBybJyLqcVj6z1dItiPmgUd2DrdjOU/s1600/9347585-large.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
I watched the young girl to the right of me. She was about four years old, playing under the trees, surrounded by blooming Hosta’s. The stalks of flowers were taller than she was. This little mite had two sticks in her hands, keeping beat to the music with her imaginary drum set. She played the rock for over an hour, lost in herself.<br />
<br />
That scene brought me back to my own childhood. I must have been close to the same age as the girl with the drum set. My grandmother had a back yard full of trees and wild blooming things. Ivy was everywhere, giving this small yard a jungle like appearance.
As I gazed upward into the trees, I watched their leaves blowing and waving furiously. I could hear them whisper. To me. My aunt was leading me through the jungle, holding my hand. “ Do you see those leaves, Suzie? They are smiling and waving at you, telling you that they love you”. I believed her. And I never forgot that day.<br />
<br />
What were the Hosta’s telling the precious young drummer girl? I hope she was filled with wonder and the promise of all things possible.<br />
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I pray that I can continue to look at my one wild and precious life with open eyes, filled with wonder and awe. And to know that I’m not lost, like a ship in the night. But that I’m on my way.<br />
<br />
Love and peace~<br />
<br />
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<br />Susan Hayeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01029442645943725997noreply@blogger.com5