Happy birth day, Lucy

Five years ago, shortly before the sun rose, on a Friday just like today I held my Lucy for the first time. Her birth wasn't quick or easy like her three older siblings; just as she would for the next 3 years, she did things her own way. From the moment she was in my arms my world shifted. Our connection, her piece of my soul, is unlike any of my other children.

Today, I want to choose to remember the beauty and the joy that her birth brought to my life. I want to honor the way she lived to her fullest every minute she was given on earth. Today I remember all her spunk, her beautiful blonde hair, her sweet smile, her glares and everything that made her my little Sunshine, my Lucy.

Today I honor your birth and your life and I promise to do my best to make it happy. Happy day of your birth, Goose. Fly free, baby girl.

Two years

Lucy Selah Bradford

November 4, 2011

Daughter, sister, cousin,

cartoon lover, Strawberry Shortcake addict,

silly face extraordinaire, pizza lover 

October 24, 2014

The last two years five months and 5 days have been filled with the hardest moments I have ever endured. There is so much more I want to say, but my heart just doesn't have the strength today. I love you, Goosey girl. And I can only hope to one day hold you in my arms again.

Two years ago...

Today, my Goose would have been celebrating two years of being cancer free.

I remember it all as crystal clear as the day it happened. The news being delivered unenthusiastically by our doctor--unaware that we had not yet been informed. The pure relief and joy that surged through my soul knowing we finally had a victory--- a solid, hard-fought victory under our belts.

The weeks of struggle and frustration, the hours of desperate prayer and cries for mercy, it had all finally brought us a win. 

Our princess, despite everyone's doubts, had not only achieved remission but she had done so with the drugs that were only used in hope that things would not get worse. The chemo that shouldn't have done it- did it.

There would be no more talks of palliative care, she had taken what was supposed to have been the hardest battle and kicked it's ass.

No where in our minds could we have ever foreseen that this victory, this battle against cancer, wasn't going to be the hardest.

Despite everything the last 12 weeks had tried to throw at her, how hard she fought to trudge out of the valley we would only get 6 weeks to celebrate on that mountain top before being plunged into an even deeper valley. An even deeper hell.

We had only 74 days to believe that cancer was the biggest enemy, and that she had defeated it... 74 days from the summer's greatest victory to the worst day of our lives.

74.

But my baby, she was nothing shy of a victorious warrior. Because she not only took out cancer, but she did with dignity and grace.

Maybe not always a smile on her face, but she was 100% true to herself.

So today I remember not only how short life truly is, and how quickly mountaintops can avalanche, but the beautiful and inspiring person that my Goose was.

My cancer-free warrior Sunshine.

Sinking

Some days life feels like a real bitch. Well, the truth is there are rare days when life does NOT feel like a punishment. I don't know what worse than rock bottom is but I'm pretty sure that's where I am. Honestly, how much further can I sink down? And it is no longer just the loss of my baby. That was rock bottom. It is what feels like the continual downward spiral of everything as a result of that loss. Most days I wonder if it wouldn't be safer to just stay in bed and not let anything attempt to happen, be it good or bad, because it's almost always bad. Without fail. And I know, I've heard it all. I try and tell myself all the same motivational speeches. I understand that life has to go on- believe me- I've lived it for the past 20 months. I keep thinking surely now God or the universe or whoever the hell it is that is in charge will grant me a break- give us just a glimmer of hope that the bad luck that seems to be raining down on our lives is all in our heads. I keep stretching for accomplishments, sure that when I hit that mark then life will turn for the better. If Andy could just get his real estate license--- If we just get away, go on vacation-- if I could just lose 30 pounds-- when I get that adrenaline rush from crossing the finish line-- if we could just get out of debt-- if we could just find my means to start the foundation. Nothing. It is as if every day were a Monday and I am just stuck in this hamster wheel, hoping to reach a better place. And I just keep spinning and spinning, getting more reckless and emotionless as the rotation counts climb. And I fear, every day, what's to come if I can't stop the spinning. If I can't find a purpose. And all I can do is latch onto the memory of my beautiful baby girl. And dream of what life should have been. Willing it to fix itself. To give me back what I should have had. What we should have had.

The classic Goose brood. And yet, so beautiful and full of life.

17 months

17 months ago this moment I stood, shocked and naïve, watching my life's worst moment played out before my eyes. Believing that just like so many instances in the five months prior, my baby girl would arrive at sunrise having hurdled yet another setback.
But sunrise never came that morning.
Only our surgeons delivering words that- for the second time in our lives- no parent ever wants to hear.
And now, 17 months later, every single brutal minute of that night and day still plays over and over in my head.
The last time I ever saw my baby girl's eyes haunts me.
Seventeen months later the what-ifs still swirl taunting me with the hopes of what could have been.
What should have been.

I haven't blogged much the past few months. I have so many thoughts, but the inability to translate them from my mind to words. I wish I could describe the state of my life. The way I all but stumble through every day. Never fully feeling. Anything. Feeling happy. But never true joy. Feeling sadness, but not true sorrow. Except my Goose. My eyes well only for her anymore. I wish I could explain how empathetic my former self was. How I felt the hurts and griefs of those around me and could sympathize. But now I can express my condolences, but my words feel empty. How that lack of care has spread to so many areas of my life. All of it, really.
How completely and utterly broken my soul is.
And knowing that nothing will ever restore it.
The world continues on around me, forcing me along.
And all I want is to be back 22 months ago.
Finding the path that I had to have missed.
That path that keeps my Sunshine here with me.
The path that has my baby girl twirling in a pretty new dress preparing for Easter.
The path that didn't lead to here.
Rambling through my grief seventeen months later.

Where did we go wrong, Goosey girl?

World Cancer Day 2016

I have nothing kind to say about cancer.
I have nothing kind to say about the treatment that has been developed for cancer either.
I am appalled that in this day and age so little advances have been made in finding a safer and more effective treatment- especially for children.
I am so saddened that the focus is still so heavily on the treatment of adults with cancer, while children- little ones who have barely had a chance at living life- are suffering and dying.
I am disgusted that our precious baby girl is just another statistic, another victim to cancer and it's horrific treatments.
Do better, world.
End the greed and work to save our future- our innocent babies.

5 months. FIVE months.
NO baby should endure this much trauma and a tragic death in a mere five months of cancer treatment.

Running

Standing perfectly still. But running. Running to escape what seems to have become life. Running in hopes that someway, somehow all of this will just fix itself. Running to escape the cloud that seems to cover my mind, forming my own wall of ignorance in hopes that reality is really the dream and somewhere outside of this fog is real life, normalcy, waiting for me. Because over the course of fourteen months I have taken steps to recover from the trauma of losing my baby girl, but also numbed myself to everything else around me. And I just don't know how much longer I will be able to maintain the facade. And I am almost certain that I won't be able to handle the reality. So off I go. Running.

missing this Light, my strength