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.

Finishing a major part of a journey is a funny thing. Today was my last chemo treatment. I had 4 hard treatments of the “red devil” and 12 very manageable treatments thereafter. 16 treatments in all. 16. I remember how I longed to be 16; now that number has a new meaning. Even the Benadryl today couldn’t keep me asleep as I watched the minutes and hours tick by. At 10:20 AM, I had a countdown going on in my head and as the machine beeped at me around 10:45 AM signifying that the medicine, as well as, time was winding down, I could feel the anticipation of the final steps-flush the port, pull the port out, apply a bandage with the words echoing in my mind “You are done.” “You are done.” Part of it doesn’t seem real.

My throat was tight this morning and my eyes a little misty. I haven’t fully grasped that I’m done, and I know a moment is coming where I’ll have a good cry- tears of joy, relief, fatigue, guilt. I am sure you weren’t imaging the world “guilt” but when sometimes when you go through something you know others will not be as lucky, there’s a little survivor’s guilt. I remember feeling this way living in Tuscaloosa after April 27 and seeing the devastation. Although I haven’t rang the bell, (decided to wait until after radiation) some will never hear that sound, and it pains me.

I am honored to have ended my chemo journey the day after Easter. I’ve thought about the sacrifice Jesus made and how he has supported me and seen me through the good and bad days. I was asked to read at church on Saturday about the promises God made to Abraham. He told Abraham to look at the stars and try to count them- that’s how blessed Abraham would be. I feel that way about this journey- some many blessings-like the stars and Abraham, I cannot count them all.

I think about how my own journey has changed me. I want to thank my husband, children, friends, and family for their constant support. Almost every treatment, there was my mom, a constant, a constant not having to say a word but be present. Thank you, God, for her presence and strength. My husband- patient, loving, and continuing to shave his head until my hair grows back. Text messages, lunch visits, etc. from friends have meant the world to me. I’ve not been perfect in this journey but have tried to remain positive and to push forward, and they’ve stood by me each step of the way. That kind of love is overwhelming, and I cannot begin to express how much that means to me.

Today, I went by and saw my grandfather. He called me over. I knelt down, and took his hand. He told me that he remembered when I took my first steps at his old house- the Yellow House (my favorite house). He said he called Maw Maw and said, “She just took her first steps.” It was a sweet memory and a moment I will never forget and will hold on tightly in my heart.

Today, I took my first steps in moving past the chapter of my life titled “Cancer”. As I turn the page and end the Chemo Chapter, I take a deep breath, wait on the next leg of the journey- radiation. I thank God and remind myself- to remember these moments, learn from these moments, share these moments, and use it, use it to help others. I am ready Lord. I am ready to serve.

There’s an old Steve Martin film called The Jerk in which Steve Martin’s character thinks he has discovered that he has rhythm and has found music that “speaks” to him. I’ve included the clip with this blog for reference. I can relate so much to this clip as I have no rhythm and coming from a talented musical family, this makes me the black sheep in a sense.

It’s not that my family didn’t try to include me. They did, and it happened one Christmas when I was in 7th or 8th Grade. I was being nosy and shaking my Christmas presents when I realized that one of these gifts was indeed a tambourine. It was their attempt to include me or help me find rhythm, but alas, there was no hope. The handle of the tambourine was red and had a nice grip. It was a nice tambourine but really deserved a better owner.

Have you ever been to a bar when a “woo” girl decides it’s time to play the tambourine or the band calls one of them up? For reference, a “woo” girl is defined by the old TV show How I Met Your Mother as a girl at a bar that screams “Woo!” when the band starts to play. I am myself was a “woo” girl back in college but was not, no matter how much liquid courage I had consumed, the “tambourine woo” girl. These were special “woo” girls that had rhythm. They were more likely a cheerleader, dance line member, or just had the right genetics passed down to them.

What have I learned from the old tambourine? I’ve learned that even though I’m not a musician, there is still a place for me in the band. It’s not always your time to be on stage in the lime light; sometimes God’s most important people are in the background making sure the equipment is set up correctly or it’s your job to cheer on those in the band and yell “Woo!” God uses us all and for different reasons at different times.

Now, I know my family loves me despite my lack of musical talent and that tambourine served a purpose. God’s okay, too, with me singing a “joyful noise” on Sunday as that’s how he created me. My “woo” days aren’t quite over because my dad and sister still know how to rock so it’s fun to yell “woo!” when they play a gig.

Honestly, after this year, I may just change my mind and be the “tambourine woo” girl but I can’t promise it will be in time. I’ll shake that old tambourine in celebration of moving past this chapter and then maybe I’ll get my own “woo!”

The day ended with the best fried chicken I’d ever eaten- from Jackson’s in Camden, Alabama. One of my best friends Russell and I had just finished one of the best tours I’ve experienced- the Home Tours in Wilcox County. If you have not done this and are a fan of old homes, be sure to like the Wilcox Historical Society Facebook page. Get your tickets as soon as they go on sale in December. It is worth it! And, please eat Jackson’s fried chicken and bring me back a box.

As Thelma and I, Louise, (oops I mean Russell and me) rode off into the sun (we didn’t kill anyone or run off a cliff) from the tour, eating our chicken (best straight out of the box, no plates or etiquette necessary), I began to think about how this past year has changed me and for the better. First and foremost, I have to say that God brings people in your life and at the right time. Russell and I became fast friends after one phone call. He means so much to Will, me, and our boys. He keeps us laughing with his quick wit and is a big giver.

One of the things I love about older homes are the parlors in the front. Parlors in the South were where guests were received and welcomed in the home. I imagine the lady and gentleman of the home rushing out to greet their guests with warm hugs and beverages, much like we do now except not as formal; we always end up in our kitchen when I have guests. Much like our friendship, Russell welcomed me, a stranger, coping with a new diagnosis with no questions asked. Upon walking up to one of these homes, Wakefield (probably my favorite that day), a gentleman dressed in period clothing, greeting guests, made a point to speak to me. He recognized that I was undergoing treatment and told me, he too, was a survivor for 10 years. There was a mist in his eyes and his voice lowered when he spoke. I could tell it pained him to see another member of the Cancer Club. The thing about this Club, once you are in, the out pour of support is overwhelming. We welcome new members open arms, but it pains us to know what that person has to endure. I’ve included a picture of him with this blog. I cannot begin to tell you what it meant to me that he came over and spoke.

These past few months, I’ve gotten closer to seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and the proverbial finish line. Being able to handle the latest rounds of chemo, has done so much more for me as it has allowed me to do things with friends, family, the boys, and Will.

I challenge us all-regardless of where we are in life and challenges we are facing- to seek new friends, treasure the old ones, and find new roads. God has so much planned for us all. I thank God for giving me a new view into life through my Cancer journey. I also thank him for my new friend Russell. I thank him for the friends I still treasure and who have been stars to guide me. I thank him for a supportive husband that continues to shave his head until mine grows back.

Next year, we will travel back to Wilcox County. I hope to stay in a Bed and Breakfast the night before the tours. By then, I’ll have hair! I’ll dress in period clothing, eat period food, and eat fried chicken. No one will be able to tell this Scarlett anything!

The weekend of this home tour was a peek into what my life can be- full of adventure, wonderment, and joy from the simplest of things- fried chicken, back roads, friendship, and old homes.

The gentleman that spoke to me, a survivor for 10 years!