If I am being completely honest, I do not think I really started living until I thought I might be dying. Funny how that happens when you get an unexpected diagnosis that feels as though it came from left field. The signs, however, in looking back at the last year were there and were mainly extreme fatigue and extreme weight loss (not counting the obvious lump). Silly to think about it now, but I really thought the weight loss was just from trying to eat right and chasing a toddler. I actually felt good about my weight but after learning why I was losing, the number in my clothes’ tags became unimportant. I weigh about 10 pounds more now and am much happier with the focus on trying to exercise and eat healthy most of the time.

It’s been almost a year now since I was originally diagnosed with breast cancer. I’ll go back this week for a pet scan as a precaution. There’s a certain dread that sets in now when these types of procedures are scheduled and when your blood work is checked. I’m guessing, too, that I may be having a little PTSD triggered by certain dates and memories, but I’m self-diagnosing.

There also a thing about being diagnosed at what’s considered a young age- the aggressiveness of my type of cancer. Although, I caught it early (thank God), there’s a lingering that I don’t think I’ll ever shake, and it lives in the corner of my mind-the chance of it returning. This thought is not an everyday kind of thing but still exists.

So, how does one live with the uncertainty and play the card that’s been dealt? With a new lens and letting small, insignificant things (those that don’t pass will it matter in 5 years test) go. I’m also challenging myself to stretch outside my comfort zone (new job at the hospital is my such challenge). I’ve also learned to laugh at myself, i.e., trying to learn the latest Tik Tok dance from my sister (former high school cheerleader, musician, and the one with rhythm) with my two left feet and no assistance from an adult beverage to give me a kind of false confidence. And, I’m even repeating over and over again to give myself grace. I cannot stress granting yourself grace enough.

Finally, it’s all about the moments. The tiniest of moments you might miss if you aren’t looking- like the chance to sing at the top of your lungs with your 2-year-old Twinkle Twinkle or wearing the silly hat the restaurant gives your child just to see him smile. It’s also about time even when you are tired too listen to your 9-year-old explain to you how to play to chess even though you don’t think you’ll ever learn or much less win against the boy genius.

Breast cancer has taught and is teaching me a lot- a lot about myself and who I want to be with the time I’m given on this earth. The silver lining is that I get to choose how I react and respond in this life. It’s an everyday choice but it’s mine to make.

If I could give anyone advice it would be to don’t start living when you think your dying. Live now! You don’t want to be in the movie theatre watching your life, you want to be the star of your own show!

For as long as I can remember, I have always been enthralled with things of the past-clothing, music, and mostly stories. These stories came entirely from books I read and my grandmother. Out of all the great literary characters of all time, the heroines of stories have always been my favorite. From fiery characters, such as Scout and Idgie to the women that were more comfortable in the shadows like Ruth, Idgie’s softer counterpart; I have always felt somewhat of a kinship with them all. I do not consider myself girly yet I am not completely a tom boy. I feel as if I do not fit into one box. Really, I imagine that I am some lost time traveler stuck in the now when I am really supposed to be fighting for women’s rights to vote or a freedom rider, fighting for equal rights for all. I am for the meek and mild, the voiceless and powerless. You see as much as I love the same stories repeatedly, sometimes ad nauseum, real life continues to be so much better and more poignant. I hope that at the end of this life, I live on through my children, their children, their children’s children, and so on. I dream of being the old, strong-willed grandmother that tells giant tales to her grandchildren as they sit in front of me with big eyes of amazement and beg for just one more story and ask “did that really happen?” I smile, a knowing smile as the wrinkles slowly appear across my face and I say “Well, yes it happened! There was time when I fought cancer and I sent it running for the hills! I also worked to improve our hospital’s patients’ experience even though I was no doctor!” The dash in my epitaph will be one for the ages. The old woman I become will be pieces from other women before me and the memories they instilled in me. The shy little girl I was once will now be of literary legends. Courage I once read was telling your whole truth. The end of my days will be a new beginning for another girl who once had a grandmother that was a time traveler of sorts as she brought with her the past in the tales she told.

You ever forget just how much you miss a person or people until you actually see them? And you think, “Gosh I’ve missed you!” That’s exactly how I felt yesterday at my granddaddy’s house as we gathered to spend time with family. One of my aunts was visiting from Clanton, where my grandmother was born and lived until my daddy was 5 years old. Chilton County was once named “Baker County” after my descendants. The Bakers gave every other plot of land to build this county. Politics or the Bakers’ dealings in politics lead to the county changing its name to Chilton, a judge in the county at one time. So, I guess I was an heir to a county once upon a time.

One of my favorite things to do when our family is together is to get them to tell stories about their childhood. Daddy always tells the story of “The Sack Man”. Stay tuned to another blog about the infamous “Sack Man”. This story never gets old and neither do the reactions from my dad and his sisters.

By now you are wondering what in God’s green earth do peaches and Vanity Fair have to do with each other? To understand, my grandmother, is to know both peaches or Chilton County and Vanity Fair. While going through some of my grandmother’s things, my aunts and I stumbled across an old photo of my grandmother and the ladies that worked at Vanity Fair.

Peaches are a big deal in Clanton, and you know they are a big deal because every year someone is crowned “Peach Queen”. If you’ve been living under a rock in Alabama then you wouldn’t know this fact. Most Alabamians, however, know the best peaches are from Chilton County. Both peaches and Chilton County are both big muses in my writing. Nell, my grandmother’s youngest sister, always said that “May peaches ain’t no good; June and July were”, simply meaning that the best time to pick peaches were in June and July. My grandmother could have been described as a June or July peach.

She had a soft, delicate and beautiful exterior with a hard center from a tough upbringing. She came to Demopolis from Clanton seeking a better life for her children, leaving behind family and all she knew. A young mother, she waited tables until one day a kind gentleman named Mr. Northcutt offered her a job at one of the newest industries in town-Vanity Fair, a sewing factory. Vanity Fair opened the doors for a lot of women back in the day- the ability to provide for family and in hours that corresponded with school hours-7 AM until 3 PM.

Now, I know a lot of the younger people may not remember Vanity Fair. I only remember the bits and pieces from my early childhood and hearing from my grandmother, as well as, the embarrassing bras and panties I got each year for Christmas (God, I would kill to have those as gifts now). What I do remember and sticks out the most was that these women became like family as they worked side by side, every day. They shared grief as some women traveling from a nearby town to work one day were killed in a car wreck. They celebrated birthdays, births of children, grandchildren, life. Two of my great aunts also worked at Vanity Fair and later my mom’s sister and my dad briefly.

You could say that Vanity Fair changed my life. If it had not been for Mr. Northcutt, I’m not sure how my grandmother would have been able to continue to provide for her family. Chilton County also changed my life. It raised some beautiful peaches, my grandmother and her sisters.

Seeing my aunts and my great aunt (93 in September and the only peach still alive) did my heart and soul so good. By spending time with them, my grandmother in a sense is still with us. I know she was proud to see us gathering around, telling the same old stories.

I know she was proud when we found her picture from Vanity Fair. One request my grandmother made as she was passing away was to be buried in a gown from Vanity Fair; that’s how much her time there meant to her. I am going to make copies of that photograph for my aunts and keep a copy for me for my new office. It will serve as a reminder of the real super heroes in this world, the women who work hard to put food on the table and raise their kids.

Aunt Jan brought peaches for the whole family yesterday, and I can’t wait to make a pie, tarts or just take a big old bite out of a cold peach. So next time you bite into a peach, remember to always be a June or July peach; may peaches ain’t no good. Count your blessings and remember a time, when women came together at a special place, a once upon a time type of place, to provide for their family.

So, hear me out-I’m not crazy. Okay, maybe I am a little crazy but aren’t we all with our little quirks and anxieties? I finally took my car to the car wash, the newest one in our little town except it’s not really new because I think it’s been here for at least three years. I am a little leery of car washes. No, I don’t have a full-blown fear, just that the unexpected process causes me slight anxiety. Questions before entering the car wash pop into mind like- will I move over far enough to be in line on that track thingy? Will I gun it when I exit? What does my face look like to the guy directing me onto the thing? Do I look bewildered?

My mom volunteered to ride with me and help me vacuum out my car when the car wash was over. Bless her. She didn’t really know how dirty my car really was. I was silently relieved that she volunteered because my aforementioned of apprehensions. I know what you are thinking. She’s 37 and is afraid of the big bad car wash. It’s silly. I think there’s a deeper meaning behind the silliness of it all.

When you enter the car wash, you put your car into neutral and take your foot off the brakes-ceasing to have control of your car. As the wash begins, you cannot see in front of you for the most part except that I have a front camera so I could see but in older cars, you would not be able to see. It’s really symbolic of life and trusting God to see you through. You have to give up complete control and sometimes you really don’t know what’s ahead, following only his lead. When the experience is over and God brings you through, you are washed clean of your old self with a sparkling new outlook.

For those in Demopolis, if you see Joe and Jim, tell them I finally did the car wash. They will probably look at you kind of funny and that’s okay. It’s good to not take yourself too seriously. I’ll be back to the car wash less apprehensive. God does that, he shines a light and makes a way. The path less traveled then becomes more familiar.

If I had any advice- it would be to go through the Car Wash or whatever is your unknown.

It’s taken me some time now to figure out how to put into the words what the end of radiation and treatments means to me. I’ve been trying to process now for almost two weeks completing this leg of my journey on June 22, my 37th birthday, a birthday I will never forget. Now, as I look at the calendar, July, I am reminded of how far I’ve come since being diagnosed in September of 2021. I don’t know how to quite process all of this or even if I’m supposed to.

Last night, Will and I enjoyed an evening out in Pensacola. The female musician we were enjoying at the District Bar began to sing Stand by Me, one of my favorites, and tears slowly filled my eyes. Listening to her voice and the pianist that accompanied her was like hearing music for the first time. The funny thing about Cancer is that if you are blessed to be able to reach this point in your journey, you began to finally see and hear for the first time, not in the literal sense but in a way that you begin to appreciate things so much more than before (so much so that it feels like the first time).

I’m finally beginning to feel a lighter load than what I’ve carried. I feel I can breathe a little easier and my physical body is relaxing. I’ve put on some weight, not realizing the weight I was losing last year so quickly was a symptom, along with extreme fatigue (but as mothers aren’t we always tired?) I’ve slept harder this week than I feel like I have in a lifetime. I’m beginning the new steps into a new journey as I slowly creep out of the door of this past one, wishing to be able to run like hell but these things take time. Yes, I’ll continue to see my oncologist every 3 months. I’ll continue to take my hormone suppressant and receive a shot every 6 months. I won’t be able to close this door completely but at least it’s now a crack and not fully open.

Now, that this ride has slowed down, how can I move forward? Living, by living and serving. I’ve asked God to show me how I can serve others; he has provided. As I step into a new position at our local hospital, I am reminded of one of my favorite Bible verses from Luke 22: 27:

For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who is at the table? But I am among you as one who serves.

I’ve always been drawn to jobs that allow me to serve others, and I am grateful for this new opportunity to do just that. I pray that God will use my Breast Cancer journey as a light for others and that I always remember what it was like when I was the patient so that I can better serve our patients- maybe not knowing exactly what it’s like to be in their shoes but provide some support, a similar set of footprints.

As I move forward, I want to express my sincerest thanks to my God, my family, friends (two new ones that I shared my radiation journey with-you know who you are), my FUMC family, and especially Will and the boys for being a constant and standing by me. I would not be here today without this support. I am excited about what’s ahead-glancing back only for a second- as a reminder of where God can lead you.

Watch out Whit Regional Hospital-here I come-ready to make my mark and serve others!

Anderson and I played in his baby pool this past weekend. We took turns filling each other’s buckets. He held an orange one, and I held a purple one. This exchanging of water took some time. It got me to thinking of the importance of filling each other’s buckets up with love, support, kindness, etc. Equally important is that we don’t empty other’s buckets with negativity with judgement, harsh words, etc. Also, I think it is important that we don’t empty our own buckets out completely when giving to others. We have to fill our own bucket up by loving ourselves and taking care of our needs.

As mothers we tend to be really good at emptying out our buckets for others- our spouse, our kids, our children, etc. leaving our bucket empty. We do not know how to express how we need our buckets to be filled. I’ve had to learn the hard way this year about taking care of my own bucket. I detest asking for help. I’ve had to learn how to say I’m taking some time for me- a nap, a pedicure, a binge of a Netflix series-whatever it takes for me to reconnect to me.

And then there’s the cliché bucket list. I’ve also learned how important this list is as well. Life is way too short to not go for your dreams, even if they seem small. Although I haven’t done much on this bucket list, I’ve gotten started. I’m pushing myself to seek the uncomfortable.

Each of us has our own bucket- it’s up to us to take care of it, share in others’ buckets, and seek new opportunities.

I wish I had taken care of Anderson and our buckets.

Pirate ship… Pirate ship.. Where is our treasure? Pirate ship….Pirate ship. We’ve scaled the seas and searched the shores, looking for something so much more. Pirate ship.

Sweet boy, you are the treasure. Anderson and I made up the lyrics above, our first song together, sitting on the bed in the guest bedroom downstairs. He strummed his ninja turtle guitar, and I sang the song. It’s a moment I will never forget.

Anderson will be 3 in September, and his imagination is everything I love about a good children’s book like Bridge to Terabithia or a movie like Hook; you know the one where Robin Williams plays the adult Peter Pan who has forgotten his childhood and that he once defeated Captain Hook. I think as adults we all suffer from this type of tragedy. We get so busy… paying bills, washing clothes, routines, etc. We forget that once upon a time we fought monsters, rode on pirate ships, and hunted treasure. Pillows and blankets were forts, and boxes were mansions.

If we are blessed enough to be given the gift of children, we are able to step back in time. It’s as if a portal opens when your child begins to laugh, plays pretend, hands you a plastic gun, and beckons you with the sweetest invitation, “Mom, come on! There’s a monster!” It’s up to you if you choose to step into this moment to defeat the monsters or simply ignore the opening to another world. There are sometimes I am so tired. I just want to hand Anderson my phone and plant myself on the couch but this past weekend, something inside of me said, “Be intentional.” Be intentional with your time- the greatest gift you can give your child. I also thought about my oldest. I sometimes think I take advantage of him being able to entertain himself. I need to make sure that we spend time doing things he enjoys and get him off his iPad or away from YouTube.

With the choice of being intentional with my time with my children, I’ve been given a gift, the gift of experiencing another childhood but through the sweetest eyes, the eyes of my children. I’ve killed a bunch of monsters I never knew existed in my house. I saved a bunch of trees like a fireman outside. I’ve been Hulk, and I’ve been Ironman. I’ve shot basketball and played board games.

Through the world’s view, we keep looking for what we think is “treasure”, but if we stop for just a moment and spend time with our children, we find the real treasure.

“Even though you want to try to, never grow up.” -Peter Pan

I’m trying to remember what the day was like that Schoolfest in 1999. I know it was hot, and I knew I felt prepared because I had my disposable camera. Ah, the sound of a disposable camera- click, wind, go- never knowing your results until CVS developed them. Damn, you asked for doubles and some didn’t turn out. It’s all a part of the gamble of your 13-year-old life.

This Schoolfest felt different from the years before, you are the tail end of your 8th grade year which means you’ll be entering the high school next year. Scary stuff! You think you’ve got it all figured out, at the moment anyways, because you remembered your hemp necklace and it pairs well with your overalls. This Schoolfest would also be one of the last moments you would get to spend with people you thought would always be around or your friend. Knowing now when I didn’t know then, I think there would be a few things I would have liked to said but I’m not sure what that would have been coming from 13-year-old me. I’d probably try to be profound and quote some lyric from a Wallflower or Bush CD that meant something to the both of us. Finding the right one would prove challenging though as I would have to look at the inside of the CD cover and that’s some tiny print!

What amazes me when I look back at my childhood and this point in time before the technology boom of 2007, is that we thought we were so “grown” but in reality, we had only begun to experience life. The summer of 1999 I learned about heartbreak for the first time as my first love moved away. Remember, there was no social media and long distance still was costly. Hot tears, hugging my favorite dog and the sound of the car horn are what I remember that day. The honk signaling the end of a small era. As an adult we may call these type of experiences as “growth” but it hurts to grow.

The next year would provide a hard to pill to swallow on the journey to adulthood as we had to bury one of our own. Balloons, the blue and white balloons releasing into the air, is what I remember about the day we buried a friend, a baseball player, and all-around good guy. Again, “growth” from pain but not understanding what could be gained from a tragedy of losing someone so young.

As the years continued to pass by quickly, each stage brought more changes: driver licenses, high school diplomas, college acceptance letters, college degrees, marriage, kids, and cancer. All of these opportunities to “grow” but still some hurt more than others.

All that being said is that I think I’ve “grown” up from all of these experiences but a part of me is still at SchoolFest in the bleachers laughing with friends, at the Old School playing yard football, and in my parents’ backyard with my favorite dog. Yes, I guess we all “grow” up, and we have plenty of experiences that provide “growth”, but I think it’s important that we don’t forget our childhood. Look through the prints from CVS, remember a girl you once knew with a wired smile and a hemp necklace, a time, and people that contributed to the 36-year-old version of you. Thank God for the growth and the pain and use it as you’ve got two boys that are growing. Tell them your story and help them create their own- living doesn’t always come easy, but it’s so special.

Live between the “Once upon a time” and “The End”. Shel Silverstein said it best “There are no happy endings. Endings are the saddest part, so just give me a happy middle and a very happy start. ”

This year’s Derby Day Party hosted by the Marengo County Historical Society was off to the races as guests began to arrive in style, donning their Derby best. As I looked around the room at my hometown people dressed in fabulous hats, coats, and funky ties, I could not help but smile. The atmosphere was light hearted and fun. Hugs were exchanged, hands were extended for hearty handshakes and all was right in the world in one moment in time in a tiny town of Demopolis, Alabama overlooking the Tombigbee River. And who doesn’t love any opportunity to wear a pair of red high heels for the evening?

Friends old and new gathered to watch a race steeped in history and tradition. Ironically, I don’t think any of us realized that in this moment we were also creating tradition and making history. After the race and with the music starting back, people continued to enjoy themselves by dancing. Familiar favorites echoed in the old Civic Center, a gift from Vanity Fair, a sewing factory from days gone by that helped feed families like mine (my grandmother, great aunts, and aunt were all employed there at one time; even my dad worked there briefly). The Civic Center has seen some parties in its day. Conversations mingled outside on the balcony in the cool evening with lights twinkling above. A pontoon boat rode by on the old Tombigbee with its passengers, honking their greeting.

I enjoyed watching my friends’ eyes light up as they spoke sharing stories and laughter. It was nice to be among the familiar, comforting sounds of their voices. I, also, made a new friend, a fellow warrior, fighting a similar battle. Making these connections are so special.

The evening was rather perfect, and it will be something I will always hold dear to me. I’m thankful for my small hometown and the people in it. Once upon a time, I thought I would never come back here, and I’d live in some big city but honestly big cities are overrated (read in your most Southern of accents for dramatic affect). Demopolis may only be “more’n just a little knockabout place” but it is my home and it has my heart.

I don’t know who won the Kentucky Derby but I can tell you this party was a run for the roses and it won!

I started this journey wanting to normalize conversations about having cancer and all that goes with it. If I am true to my journey then I need to be completely honest with myself and you. I’ve started radiation. The whole process takes about 15 minutes or so. My arm is propped up and my head is turned. Seems fairly easy, right? I go to radiation every day, five days a week for 28 total treatments. Again, like chemo, who is counting? I am counting.

I have experienced some anxiety with this process. I am not sure why as chemo was much harder in terms of the physical. Radiation is more of a mental game. I am not great at sitting still and being forced to sit as still as possible is not easy. As I type this, I feel ridiculous. Anyone should be able to sit still for a period of time. What’s wrong with me? I could nap in a tanning bed back in the day (yes, I put those stickers on too, lol) so I can do this. This is not even enclosed!

This is where I am still learning to give myself grace. The part where I have to be okay with not being okay. I am not admitting defeat but rather that I am having some struggles that will be overcome! I’ve come a long way since September and the finish line is near. Endurance is now the game.

Cancer is physically exhausting but it can be just as taxing mentally. I share this because I want someone else going through something similar to know it’s okay and it will be okay. Going through Cancer treatments is not about perfection but rather getting better and in my case, preventing it from ever coming back. When I start feeling a bit of anxiety, I think about my blessings. I try to push through the uneasiness. I have also learned that I may have to take something to help ease this anxiety- again not defeat (even though I felt it at first) but getting through this part and being okay with needing a little bit of help.

So, what does Cancer and treatments look like? It looks like someone who is trying to live their very best every day. It’s someone who wants so bad for everything to be normal but has to learn to strive in a “new” normal (so tired of that phrase from the pandemic, but it’s true). It’s someone that will not accept defeat. It’s someone that must lean on the Lord, take a deep breath, and instead of counting the days until the end, live moment by moment. It’s someone that’s learning to give themselves grace and more importantly, accept it.