Answered Prayers

It has been a week of reflection. Four years ago, after hearing the devastating diagnosis of melanoma from dear Dr. Bradley, one of my first thoughts was of my baby girl's future. I wasn't particularly afraid for myself, but of what such a test would mean to my family, especially my 14 year-old, ninth grader. I knew my older children would be supported & comforted by their wonderful spouses and their sweet little children. I also felt my dear husband would gain peace through his life-experiences & faith. But the tears fell as I thought of my young, inexperienced, quiet, sensitive daughter going through difficult days, months, & years of having a mother with cancer, who might or might not die at a young age. Over & over again, I told my doctors and nurses that I wanted--no, NEEDED--to live to at least see my precious girl graduate from high school. At the time, anything that came after would be sweet icing on the cake.

Miracles happened. Last Thursday night, June 4, 2015, I sat in a packed auditorium next to my sweetheart, tears again rolling down my cheeks, as I watched my beautiful, smart, hopeful daughter walk across the stage, dressed in her white gown, a white cap on her head, to receive her diploma of graduation. I may have even sobbed out loud. I was so proud, knowing she was battling anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her, and yet, she appeared confident. & poised. I could imagine her sigh of relief to finally sit down and relax through the rest of the program. (Earlier she told me, "Thanks for marrying Dad so my last name would start with a 'B'!") I love her with all my heart. I love how freely we can talk to each other. I love how she shares her whole life with me. I love that I have been blessed to see all her accomplishments, triumphs, frustrations, and dreams of the past four years. And I am grateful to God that He continues to allow me good health & energy to keep up with her as she makes new plans for the future. My prayers continue, but now I pray to see her married...and to see all my grandchildren progress & graduate too!! I'll be there!!

Also enjoyed a wonderful 56th birthday with all my children, grandchildren, and my dear mama in St. George! I couldn't have asked for a better gift. 

Scans are looming once again. I have no worries, other than the weight I've gained over the past six months. Blehhh! Summer plans include better, healthier eating and daily exercise. I can do it. I can really do anything with prayer & faith in my Lord. I am blessed.

In Memorium

Soon after I was diagnosed with cancer four years ago, I started following the blog of a young mother who was also battling melanoma. Alisa and I shared some similarities - we both lived in Utah, we were both mothers, we were both members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints with firm testimonies and faith, we were both patients at Huntsman Cancer Institute and were both being treated by Dr. Grossmann. During the past four years, I've read Alisa's blog entries regularly, always curious about how she was handling some of the same issues I was going through, and marveling at her bravery and determination to try every treatment available, no matter where she had to go or how difficult it would be for her. She continually amazed me with her medical knowledge; she was trained as a nurse, but she also explored all her options to the fullest extent to understand the procedures, the side effects, and the long & short term outcomes. We both tried to qualify for trials & experimental drugs for the best results to fight our tumors, but I always felt Alisa suffered far more than I did, spending agonizing weeks in the hospital receiving chemo treatments in far-off cities that took their toll on her body and her appearance. Her most recent treatments stole her beautiful hair, but did little to diminish her love for her Savior, her family, and her home. In January, she was hospitalized with severe pain from tumors that continued to grow, despite aggressive chemotherapy. When she was too weak or sick to type, her blogs were often "voiced" by her good husband, who did his best to give updates to all of us followers who hung on every word. When days (and sometimes weeks) would go by without an update, there was a clamor for even a snippet of news about our friend & sister--how was she handling the pain meds, would she be coming home soon, how were her boys & husband managing, etc. Some days I was afraid to read the latest, afraid for the worst news. About two weeks ago, she went in for scans and found that the tumors were invading nearly all her major organs. One of her last blog updates was simply, "We are going home with hospice care." Unfortunately, I've come to recognize that cancer rears its ugliest head when pain becomes unbearable and can't be sufficiently managed with medications and hospice has to be hired. When that time comes, it isn't the spread of tumors or the fear of the effects of chemo that brings a fighter to their knees, it's the terrible, searing pain that can't be erased. I saw it happen with my friend, Dov, who for years put on a brave face & used every bit of energy to ease the hurt of others until his own pain robbed him of strength & hope. I saw it in the writing of another melanoma mama's blog who went from supposed cancer survivor to cancer casualty within a matter of months, when pain drove her to long days and nights in bed and away from daily life with her sweet, young family. And then finally, blessedly, last Tuesday I opened Alisa's blog to see an update, which was also her beautifully-written obituary. Today was her funeral and I've thought about her all day. I read online that the elementary school her sons attended decorated the funeral route with balloons and ribbons, and then stood at silent attention as the hearse passed. It made me cry again. I've been sad all week for those of us left behind...

In four years, I've followed three wonderful people who shared their trials & triumphs in fighting cancer. They each had a different story to tell, yet their words were similar. They all had hope, they all inspired other cancer fighters, and they all came to realize how very important the moments we have with our families & friends are. 

I pray that someday I can embrace Kathy, Dov, and Alisa and tell them how much they influenced my life for the best during our shared time battling cancer. I learned sacrifice, service, and the importance of love from each of their written conversations and documented experiences.They are my heroes, my friends, and my fellow warriors. Thanks from the bottom of my heart... You will never be forgotten.

(Picture posted by Alisa's family the day of her passing...)

Spring Break 2015

It was Spring Break here a few weeks ago. I wanted to have BIG plans - go somewhere we've never been, do something we've never done - but life proved larger than the dreams and we had to think closer to home, more like our usual get-aways. Dean had started working a teensy bit of overtime (which was an answer to many prayers) and really couldn't afford to take a few days of vacation right now, so Janessa & I decided to go south on our own, leaving our two "boys" (hubby & dog) home. I'm very grateful for my hard-working husband & his selflessness in giving Ness and me a quick trip to the sunny south. We needed it. He needed it, too, but unselfishly agreed to stay home. 

When I proposed the trip to Nessi, her only request was to "do something fun every day". I called Chels and my mama and asked them to put their thinking caps on. Nessi's first thought was that she wanted to take a hike through the beautiful red rocks near St. George, and as luck would have it, our very own professional hiking guide, Cindy, was also going to be in town! What a bonus! I wasn't sure how I'd survive a hike, but Chels assured me there were plenty of "easy" trails for those of us who might have to limp along!

The weather was gorgeous. We left our house in jackets and socks, but had soon shed both for short-sleeved shirts and flip-flops. The drive was pleasant, especially without a small black dog jumping from the front to back seat for five hours! Mom was thrilled to see us & have us stay with her. She had energy and looked better than she had during our last visit. Chels & Rob and their darling kids were as excited to see us as we were to see them. It would be a wonderful vacation. 

One "fun day", we (Mom, Nessi, and I) spent a few hours at the Ford dealership to get the oil changed in her car and to run it through the car wash, and then went to see the new Disney movie, "Cinderella", with Mom and Chels and all the kids, except Jax (who stayed home with his daddy). It was wonderful. I held Olive on my lap the first part of the movie and then Knox climbed up for the second half. Olive was mesmerized by the costumes and the music. Knox happily munched popcorn from his own little sack until suddenly I realized he had slumped back against me & was snoring! 

Another "fun day", all us girls & kids went shopping at a great Old Navy "pre-Easter" sale. Nessi got a cute new swimsuit and swim shorts, among other fun finds, and we ate lunch at Cafe Rio. Later, Mom & Ness & I went to a huge nail salon, where we squeezed in among other "Spring Breakers" to get pedicures. It felt great on my pale winter feet! So nice to be pampered.

Saturday, we went to the downtown Arts Festival. Chels & Ness headed off by themselves to take some senior pictures for graduation announcements, and Olive, Knox, and I walked around the booths to check things out. Of course, Grammy had to take them for a ride on the Merry-go-round! It was sunny & warm, so we found a shady spot where kids were making cute Easter crafts and I helped them make beaded necklaces & colored plastic eggs. We were just about to get our faces painted when Chels & Ness appeared, ready to head home via a quick stop at Swig's for a pink frosted cookie! Yum! 

After a short nap, we were ready for the big hike! I wore a hat and a long-sleeved shirt and slathered my face & neck with sunscreen. We drove to a spot about five minutes from home (west of Green Valkey), where Cindy & Bob and other members of the family were waiting for us. Scoobie Doo was let out of the van, Jax was strapped into his daddy's backpack and lifted onto Rob's shoulders, we grabbed our water bottles, and off we went! I quickly discovered that my arthritic right knee was acting up, so any time we had to climb large rocks, I had to take either Chelsea's or Nessi's hand to lift myself up and over. Other than that, and being horribly out of shape & panting like a dog, I was able to keep up pretty well, even though I was at the rear of the group nearly the whole time. After a slight incline, we found ourselves in a beautiful ravine that wound its way through a natural bowl. The rocky terrain was a challenge, but the scenery was wonderful. Spring flowers were just starting to bloom and bright, pink flowers with a tissue-paper texture had popped out on prickly cactus plants. There was a breeze blowing that felt so refreshing. Every now and then, Cindy would stop and tell us about an interesting plant or rock formation or experience she'd had on a previous hike. It was so interesting. I was also very impressed with my little Olive. She is a natural hiker! She was at the head of the group the entire time, sometimes dragging poor Scoobie along or chasing him down a path. She was amazing! I was impressed with Rob and his little "load", Jax. I could barely make it on my own, let alone carry 20+ pounds of baby! Knox did well the first hour or so, and then he fell...and had to go potty (Rob:  "When you're on a hike, you can go behind a bush any time, Knoxie!")...and was basically DONE. When we reached the summit of the butte (we'd hiked about 90 min, which was halfway, pat that point), I was overcome by the view. We could see all of the west side of St. George and beyond. It was fantastic. Nessi & I could have stayed there for hours. The descent was gradual and we were able to look out over the lip of the bowl and see the numerous bike trails, rock climbers, and even a zip line to the other side of the mountain. Breath-taking. Even though we knew we'd be sore the next day, I loved it, and I loved that Janessa had wanted to do this "fun" thing!

As wonderful as this "easy" hike was, we were exhausted at the end of the journey. We had a quick dinner & went right to bed. I was achy, so I took some Ibuprofen - maybe too much. I had been asleep about two hours when I woke with terrible foot cramps, sweating from the pain. As soon as I could walk, I hobbled to the kitchen for some water and a banana (for the potassium) and laid down to sleep again. Soon I jolted awake with the worst leg cramps I've ever had - in my thighs! I've never had thigh cramps before. The muscles actually felt like they were being twisted in knots! Once again, I found myself soaked in sweat from the pain. I couldn't stand up to walk out the cramps. I simply had to wait it out. This happened one more time & I was getting scared. This was not normal for me. I started to pray with all my might that the pain would go away and not come back, and that I'd be able to sleep the rest of the night. I was finally able to lay down & fall asleep, and the next thing I knew, it was morning and I had slept for hours. The real miracle was that I had little to no pain from the hike that morning and I remained pain-free the rest of the day. It was only after our long drive home that I started to feel stiff again, but the cramps never came back. 

I think we made some wonderful memories in those few fun-filled days. That's all that counts. Simple little out-of-the-ordinary activities, a break from the hum-drum of life. Just what we needed.

Four Years

March 7 marked four years since my original diagnosis of melanoma. When I think back to that day, I remember rain turning to snow in the late afternoon, darkness, an empty medical clinic, tears, and fears. Much has happened since then. My life was changed forever. My family's lives were changed forever. There is never a moment I forget I have cancer because it will always be there - hidden at times , but always present. There are days I feel almost normal and there are days I feel sick. Four years ago, I wasn't sure I'd make it to 2015; now I have hope & faith to make it far beyond this year and the next and the next... I feel extremely blessed.

I was blessed to see my Janessa turn 18. I will be blessed to see her graduate from high school in a few short months. I am blessed to see grand babies born and growing. I am blessed to see their milestones as they journey through their precious lives. Birthdays, baptism days, school advancements & achievements...I am blessed to witness their good choices & joys. It is more to me than earthly treasures. It is everything. I look forward to every new step. 

Four years is only the beginning. There will come a day when I will say, "Eight years...", "Ten years...", "Twelve years...", "Twenty years...", and on and on. 

(Pictures from J's birthday and L's baptism day:)

Loving Concern

One of the best parts of our humanity is the desire to help our brothers or sisters in need. It is a tender, loving concern that transcends age, gender, race, or religion. It is the tugging of our heart strings and the whisper of a still, small voice that urges us to push aside our own comfort to give to someone else. I have been the humbled receiver and the grateful giver many times, but recently, I've been awed by the goodness of others who long to ease the burdens of a suffering friend. In some cases, it involves someone they barely know and have only heard about through social media, such as blogs or news reports, or through word of mouth. Some are friends, some are neighbors, some are relatives; some are in circumstances that mirror our own, some live a haunting existence, and some go from carefree to aching heartbreak in an instant. 

I regularly read updates on three of my fellow cancer warriors. I'm sure I've mentioned them before. Kathy and Alisa are both melanoma fighters, and Dov started his journey with a colon cancer diagnosis. All three are parents of young children and all three have devoted spouses & family members. Dov is the only one I have met in person. He is the epitome of hope and optimism in the face of harrowing pain, loss, and "bad news". Recently, he has been going through more painful rounds of chemo, and yet he continues to "walk the halls" of Huntsman, offering mini candy bars, words of encouragement, and heartfelt hugs to other cancer patients, all while dragging his chemo bags behind him. The other day he posted a plea for "good vibes", as he was going to have  another MRI to determine what could be causing an extreme pain in his back. Worse-case scenario: tumors embedded in his spine. The mere thought of it prompted him to ask for "help" from all of us. There was nothing physical we could do, but collectively we could pray, send positive energy and love, and keep him in our hearts & thoughts. Miracles happened. More tests will be performed, but spinal tumors were ruled out.

Alisa is a patient of my wonderful oncologist, Dr. Grossmann, as well as other good Huntsman docs. In the past few months, she has had new tumor growth instead of shrinkage and was finally accepted into a new chemo combo trial. Her infusions are given over the course of several days at a time, which means she stays in the hospital to receive the treatments. She started in January, and soon her blog posts were not in her own hand, but were being written by her husband & other family members. Alisa was in severe pain and spent most of her time in medicinal sleep. It was heart-breaking to watch and read. When she was awake, she was loopy, too drugged to make any sense. Her husband recently wrote that she didn't remember much of anything about those long January days. Again, there was nothing I could do physically - she was being tube-fed, she couldn't have visitors (germs & all that), and she was mostly asleep - but I could pray. And I did (and still do). Even though she is home now (until the next round begins), her husband's sweet posts make me cry. She is my sister, though we have never met.

Kathy, too, suffered terrible pain and sickness before she passed away at home on New Year's Eve. Her husband's post about that unimaginable day when he and his father and mother carried Kathy from the bathroom to the bed, knowing that she had already passed, and dreading the moment they would have to bring the children in to say goodbye to their angel mother had me weeping with a broken heart. I had never met her, but I knew her. I had prayed for her, for miracles to keep a young mother with her babies, but her time had come. I still read her husband's eloquent posts about his new, changed life without his sweetheart, and I still pray.

Our little neighborhood has been reeling from recent events, too. Our wonderful, kind, loving Bishop suffered a heart attack last month at the young age of 36. Our congregation was stunned and shocked at the news. Here was a man who exercised regularly, participated in life to the fullest, had a beautiful wife and four small children, and radiated a vibrant lifestyle.Tests revealed that he had a tear in his aorta, a condition that could only be resolved by open heart surgery or with medications to slowly mend the tear. A few phone calls and FaceBook posts were made, asking for fasting and prayers that he and his family could make the right decision, a request which rippled through the entire neighborhood & community. After a long stay in the hospital, in which he was kept as quiet and non-stressed as possible, further tests were done...and miracles happened. The tear had mended almost to the point of being completely healed, something his doctors assured him never happened as quickly or as well. 

And then, just yesterday, in the blink of an eye, something happened that got me thinking about our ability to "love one another." Sirens are a rarity in our little subdivision, but about noon, a horde of police cars, an ambulance, and a fire engine came racing past my home, sirens blaring. They suddenly squealed to a stop in front of the house directly behind us (we share a fence). I stood at my patio door, hair still wet from my late shower, no trace of makeup, sweat pants and bare feet, and watched as policemen scurried through my neighbor's open front door. Sweet, beautiful Faby, young mother of two little ones - was there a fire? Were the kids okay? Was Faby okay? That tugging, those whispers, would not let me stand & watch. I had to go, if for no other reason than to let my neighbor know I was there. As I came around the corner of our fence, two paramedics rushed out the door, cradling a baby between them. One held an oxygen mask over the baby's face, the other held a limp, seemingly lifeless body of a baby boy. Faby also came running out, carrying her own little boy, her daughter and another little girl close on her heels. Two other neighbors came out of their homes, each mothers of little ones. Faby struggled to tell the story as quickly as possible, handing her children off to the young mothers. She was tending the baby & his older sister and had laid him down for a nap, checking on him every few minutes because he had been sick and was congested. The last time she checked on him, he had turned over from his back to his stomach and was not breathing. She called 911 and started CPR.  The paramedics were able to get him breathing again, but he ended up being flown by Life Med to Primary Children's Hospital for further testing. The waiting was torture for Faby, even though the police & paramedics said she had done everything right. Hugs and words of comfort were exchanged before one neighbor took the little girls to her house to play "princesses" and another took Faby's baby home to play with her small son. I became the "storyteller", as neighbors poured from their homes into the street, worry and concern on their faces for the baby and for Faby. Our quiet little street was completely blocked off by police cars, sheriff vehicles, and neighbors who heard the helicopter from many streets away. Everyone I talked to offered help in some form or other, but mostly we prayed. When the baby was lifted from the ambulance into the helicopter, his little arms and legs were stretching and kicking against the blankets, and I felt in my heart that he would be okay.

This "loving concern" is a blessing, both for those who give it and those who receive it. It is part of our brotherhood and sisterhood. We are all children of God, siblings in a huge eternal family. No wonder our hearts ache for those who suffer and rejoice in the miracles and tender mercies that come from our Father. I hope to always keep an open heart that can be touched from within.

(Happy, happy February birthdays to these sweet treasures!)

New Year's Musings

It's officially 2015, New Year's Day. The old year is gone, along with challenging days, sleepless nights, wonderful miracles & joys, lovely timeless memories of family & friends, a little jumble of every emotion and thought. I celebrate those awesome, exciting times, but I also reflect on the difficult days. In spite of all the precious blessings I've been given, I feel melancholy creeping in today. It makes me feel terribly ungrateful and selfish. But maybe that's part of beginning a new year - experiencing regret & sadness and resolving to make life better in the coming days and months.

The happy, heart-warming season of Christmas is over. The family has gone home, the decorations are put back in their boxes, the calendar pages are turned, vacations are ending, and routine (often boring & stressful) is back. I see what has been neglected through December: the house needs a good scrubbing top to bottom, drawers & closets need to be rehauled, the paper trail is screaming for attention, and the desire to do & be better is urgent. I want to do it all, but I recognize the truth that nothing happens overnight. It makes me sad.

I'm also in mourning today. One of my sweet blogger friends, Kathy Taylor, another Stage 4 melanoma warrior, passed away yesterday at home. Her husband briefly and bravely posted about her death within hours of her passing and said that New Year's Eve would forever be a celebration of her life. His first concern, as he finished the post, was to comfort their sweet little children. I cried to read this news. Kathy held onto life with much hope and faith, and it blessed all of us with the same hope. I am grateful that she has returned Home to our Heavenly Father and is now without the severe pain of cancer, but I mourn for her family and friends.

We also went to our traditional New Year's Day movie today and saw the third installment of "Night at the Museum". I liked the movie a lot, but I was surprised at how emotional I became seeing the late  Robin Williams on the big screen. There were several very wonderful scenes between "Teddy Roosevelt" (Robin Williams) and "Larry" (Ben Stiller) that actually made me cry. I miss Robin and his wonderful humor and immense talent. He was a troubled soul, but he devoted his life to lifting others. It makes me cry now to think of him.

On we go. In the coming weeks, we'll be celebrating our baby girl's 18th birthday (what??), and working on applications for financial help with her college plans in the fall (again...WHAT??). I'll also be searching for a job that will fit my "new life" - at least for the next 6 months of no scans or treatments. That scares me, honestly. I just want to write books. I want to be my girl's taxi service because that's where our best conversations happen. I dread dealing with drama, (more) stress, time restraints, exhaustion, etc. But the bills keep coming & lottery tickets are too expensive - ha! I pray that the Lord will guide me in the best direction. He knows where I should be & what I should be doing. He knows the Big Plan. I'll be listening carefully to the whisperings of the Spirit.

Happy New Year. May it be one of kindness, joy, health, love, faith, and hope.

The Christmas Miracle

I've been silent the past few months because I was in the midst of enjoying not having to think about my cancer. Four months of no scans or worries...it was fabulous. I admit that I spent more time than I should have just resting and not actively doing much of anything. I loved my quiet house after taking my girl to school. I loved cleaning up the kitchen from dinner the night before and hearing the dishwasher rumble away. I loved getting toasty under a blanket and rocking my puppy on my lap and reading book after book after book. I loved falling asleep on the couch, in my bed, or in the recliner in the middle of the day. I loved going without makeup and not caring. I loved eating donuts and cookies and Halloween candy. I felt good.

But, I was still worried. I wasn't taking care of myself. I had been given so many wonderful blessings of healing and health, and no matter what cancer had taken away from me, I still had so much to be grateful for. As Thanksgiving approached, I realized that my four months reprieve was quickly coming to an end. Celebrating all that God had given me opened my eyes - I have a beautiful, supportive family and wonderful, caring friends who pray for me every day. They deserved better. As that holiday weekend with my family in the "south" ended, I resolved to eat better, to go to bed earlier, to pray more sincerely for those facing struggles, and to try harder to live every day with more purpose. I have not been entirely successful, but going sugar-free & getting better sleep & praying with a grateful heart has  helped me feel better. I still worry, but much is beyond my control and can't be solved without time and patience.

Yesterday morning, Lindsey and baby brother and I headed up to Huntsman. I was feeling good, happy to have lost a few pounds and not finding new lumps or bumps. I was grateful to have Linds with me, even though she's been working hard getting ready for Christmas. Bless her heart...she helps me in sooo many ways, too many to count. I love her and am so thankful for her. Having baby brother there too was an added gift. He makes me smile. The CT scan was quick; even better, I was done with drinking the contrast. Not only does it make me shudder to drink it, but it hurts my tummy and makes me sick. It usually takes me a couple of days to get it out of my system, so I'm kind of out of commission for awhile after my appointments. The brain MRI took about a half hour and I listened to Christmas music to help me stay awake & not go bonkers listening to the MRI machine. It was lunchtime when I finally finished, so we had a yummy spinach/chicken/strawberry salad at the "Beast" (Bistro). We had told all the techs that I had a doctor appointment at 1:00, so we were praying hard that the scan results would be ready by the time we got to Dr. Grossmann's office. (I usually have the scans one day & the doc appt the next day.) With a gurgling stomach, I was weighed (lost 9 lbs in about 3 weeks!) and we were taken to an exam room. We expected to wait for awhile, but Dr. G came in after a few minutes with a new intern, Gerry. He sat down, asked how I was feeling, and in the next breath, he said, "Your scans look great. I don't see any tumors. Merry Christmas!" As Linds and I gasped and shed a few tears, he showed me the scans on the computer and pointed out the differences between past scans & tumors and the new scans. The tumor in my back showed a very small shadow, which he felt was probably scarring. The tumor in my groin was completely gone. Nothing in the liver or anywhere else. It was miraculous! I think I was in shock.

Leaving Dr. G's office, his assistant, Carolyn, came down the hall with a huge grin on her face. She gave me a big bear hug and said she was so happy for my good news. The ladies at the reception desk reacted just as happily. Pam said we needed to go out & celebrate! Nancy, the nurse in the lab who was de-accessing my port, congratulated me and told me I was the "poster child" of survival. I mentioned something about how happy I was for myself, but how sad I was for those who would not get good news for Christmas. Then she told me that I should never feel undeserving, that other cancer patients, especially those with melanoma, needed to know that there was someone who was responding to treatments and was moving forward to long-term survival. She said it was important for the doctors to be able to tell their patients about me, to give them hope and show how the new research & meds are saving lives. I had never thought of it in that way. It made me feel better about my own purpose.

Everything now is hopeful and long-term. Because I am a late (and slow) responder to the Ipiluminab, it has continued to work long past the chemo treatments. Dr. G said we "cheated" a bit by radiating my back & groin and kick-starting the Ipi, but we all laughed when he said, "I'll cheat against melanoma any time." If nothing happens in the next six months, statistics say that I should have a long-term survival of more than 10 years! What a long way we have come since the day Dr. Bradley said, "You have melanoma and there's really no cure." As Lindsey said, "Take that, Stage IV!"

My next scan appointment is in June! Summer! My girl's graduation! Six months! I prayed long & hard from Day 1 to see my girl graduated and never ever thought I'd get to this point...and here it is, our Christmas miracle. This is my gift and it is all I have prayed & hoped for. Thank you, Jesus. I know who gave me this gift...and I love Him with all my heart and soul.

May God bless us this Christmas. I know He has blessed me.