Hunting is Hunting

October is the elk hunt. He's prepared. He's day dreamed about the trophy. He knows exactly how to prepare the meat. He rehearses the path he needs to take and when. He's traveled the hills and knows every land mark. He has camp all set up. He gets there, completely prepared for what is coming. He heads out, like every scouting trip he has done, knowing full well that when he reaches the top of the next rise; he will be able to see the heard off in the distance in the valley below. He can smell them in the air. His breath pushes out of his lungs like a smoke signal.

He steps to the top of the hill and bends down to remove his backpack. He picks up his binoculars to glass the area below. As the dawn breaks, he breathes the cold air deep into his lungs and he whispers to himself, "Here we go!" The anticipation of all he has hoped, prepared for, and dreamed of, is about to become reality.

There is nothing but chilling silence. Peaceful anticipation rises to confusion when nothing is seen on the horizon. The elk have not made their presence known and the hunter is frustrated that this day is not going the same as all the ones before it. "What's different? Is it me? What have I done? Why would this happen to me?"

Shots ring out in the distance. The full sun lights up the sky and chill that once froze the morning dew is now gone. The soft dripping of melting ice sounds similar to a ticking clock telling my hunter to be quick and get to the next location before others do. As much work and preparation as he can do, has not resulted in what he had hoped. Anxiety from not getting his kill is setting in. Disappointment and self doubt begin to fill his mind. It's not fair and he deserves this. But what if it doesn't happen for him this year? Does he give up and quit trying? Is he jealous of other's success?

Maybe...

Why some people have all the luck and others have more challenges in this life is something I'm sure the creator will explain in enough detail to satisfy my angst. But not now. That will have to wait until my return and I know that's not today. So today I will do what I can to be prepared, go where I need to go and do all I need to do to be open to the possibilities that lay before me.

My life as I knew it, the life I planned and rehearsed for and worked hard to attain, has been changed forever by the events that have occurred since my hunter took his first ambulance ride almost 730 days ago. Its not just what has happened, but my perceptions of it all that have changed the course of my life. The reality is, there are more hard days than anyone should have to endure. Scott keeps reminding me that this is the same for most people, our reasons things seem so hard are just different. He didn't quit hunting when the opportunity wasn't present, he kept going, preparing, and being hopeful that next time would be successful.

It's hard to look at and talk about the messy, dirty, angry truth - I may have to live without him some day. I may be doing all of this to end up a widow. But so may every other wife out there - No one knows when their time is up. I just got a bit of a heads up I wish I didn't have. Do I feel bitter about it? Yes. Does it make me sad. Yes.

Do I have a right to feel cheated...I think so. Anyone would. I've just learned to work really hard at changing the focus of my feelings. Negative feelings come and I force them go. Sometimes they are fleeting thoughts and other times they move in and keep me from better things. I've learned a lot from giving myself permission to feel what I feel, say what I need to, write it down, then let it go. Trying not to feel is a more of a waste of energy which ends up being pretty destructive.

I get defensive, edgy, and loose my complete cool. My moods swing and I loose myself. I often say, Why us? What is this supposed to teach me, and why do our lessons seem so much more difficult than others around us? Oh that comparison thing... it gets me sometimes! I must confess, my family hears me yell, sees me cry, and feel me pull away to be alone to understand what I am doing and how I am going to cope from time to time. I don't have it all figured out and I don't pretend to.

The miracle here is that my family also sees me pull it all back together again and keep on going. They see me wipe my tears, apologize when I am wrong, take care of myself when I need to, and are learning that it's not about living a perfect life. It's not about getting what you want every time you search and hope for it. Its not about being good enough so that life is always good back to you.

I want my children to learn to have the courage to face what they don't know how to do and experience what life has to offer no matter how good or bad it may feel at the time. Having the fortitude to call things as they truly are, living with that kind of honesty, not making excuses, and not staying stuck in the yuck. This is how they will survive any challenges in life and still have joy along the way. Hunting is hunting, whether for bulls and bucks or joy and hope. The same mental strengths are required.

My husband hates that I write this blog. He can't listen to me talk about it. It drives him crazy. It's too real and painful for him. I asked him if he wanted me to stop writing and he told me no. "This is for other people, not me. Its too heartbreaking to hear how you feel and know there is nothing I can do about it."  This conversation sparked another where he realized that understanding how I really feel can help him know what to say or do to be more supportive of me and vice versa.

This is a huge deal. Caregivers often feel everything becomes about the person they are caring for and there is nothing left for them. This can happen in parenting and marriage too, not just illness and could be part of the reason divorce rates are so high. Scott just put the final board in a bridge we've been building across the gap of this illness for almost 2 years. Because of this breakthrough understanding, we can finally allow each other the freedom to be, feel, and express ourselves in the ways that make sense for us. We can each let go, because we have the security of knowing we won't fall into that chasm of difference, with a sure way to connect.

So, he doesn't like my blog, but wants me to keep doing it because writing about my feelings helps me. I used to begrudge his hunting trips, but he still went and we're still married. I've learned to appreciate the hunt for him. Not because I love it, but because it's necessary for him. We're finally on the same page.

Sometimes the hope is simply recognizing that no matter how painful, there is a beauty, a strength, loyalty, and a love that can come about no other way, than through a very difficult trial. Sometimes you get what you've worked for and sometimes you end up stronger with the benefit of knowing what to do next time. No matter how we could begrudge the harshness of this illness and the havoc it has wreaked on our lives,  we only truly appreciate what we have, by working in our own ways to keep it all together, and continue our hunt for hope.

Awakening

It's been one year since an awake craniotomy and diagnosis of an inoperable grade 3 anaplastic oliogadendraglioma forever shaped the landscape of our lives.

One year, since I learned what true love and sacrifice really is. 365 days to learn to become more patient, less reactive, more nurturing, less judgmental, more creative and much less willing to succumb to this trial and throw away any chance of real happiness. 

We've had another year of sorrow and heartache, disappointment, fear and anger. We've had a year of isolation and pulling away. We've also had a year of hope, joy, laughter, growing closer, working hard, and learning to truly appreciate everything and everyone in our lives. 

This year has been the very hardest and simultaneously the most rewarding year of our life together so far. I have been by his side, to literally watch as my hunter put his entire life in someone else's hands with the confidence and strength of the one of this world's greatest warriors. I am in awe. It's been the most terrifying and joyful emotional roller coaster and physical endurance test I can imagine.

But the result...

I don't know how else, but pure hell, to describe the anguish that comes from any terminal disgnosis. Yet to see, feel, hear, and live such love, faith, and hope through this, is nothing short of remarkable. 

For anyone who is a caregiver, whether for a spouse, a child, a parent, other family member, or anyone who is intimately close with you, there are days...more days than anyone likes to admit, where you want to disappear and not have to deal with all you have on your plate. 

For the one being cared for there are just as many, if not more guilt and anger filled days of wanting it all to end and for everyone else to just shut up and leave you alone. Enough with saying we are in this together! Being the one...is not at all what it's cracked up to be. 

I've learned in the past year it doesn't matter what horrible things happen, there will always be insensitive and ignorant people meaning well, but causing hurt feelings. I've learned to ignore and forgive a lot. I can't carry that kind of negativity around with me. 

I've also learned things about myself that have made me truly appreciate the kind of human being I am and what I have to offer myself, my family and those who want to know me. I've had to learn to fall in love with new aspects of my husband's personality and my own. We've both been tested on loyalty and compassion. 

In the last year I have grown faith only to loose it and gain it over and over again. We've been frustrated with why these lessons again and why now? I haven't learned all the answers yet, but I have found hope in people, places and things I never thought possible, especially in myself. 

That moment I heard a whisper, "This will be hard, and you will survive it," was a friendly reminder of all the other obstacles and adversity I have triumphed before. It was that familiar voice telling not only me, we are not alone and there is someone else who knows and understands this pain. 

That prompting, along with a need to feel whole, helped me connect with myself again. I knew Scott was having similar conversations with himself and God and reconciling the purpose of all this. 

I've struggled, been weak, and felt utterly defeated by every aspect of life at once. As soon as I feel overcome with hopelessness, one tiny thought creeps in...and then another. When I finally give in to a smile coming through tears, it forces me to remember our very first  conversation. 

That smile and that thought changes my heart literally, in that moment. I have no choice but to keep the reel on repeat for the first time he told me he loved me and I knew he would be the love of my life. 

In those moments, defeat is instantly replaced with success and my brain and my chest fill with warm fuzzies...I force this exercise over and over because remembering all the good, makes me forget right now and reminds me of the reasons I said I do, in sickness and in health. 

My heartache can be violent and so crippling. I've spent hours and days in torment from fear of having to live with all the effects of chemo treatment on my love, and it's possible outcomes. These automatic negative thoughts are so prevalent, and I have many people depending on me to function, that I had to learn ways to cope that could allow me to not stay frozen in fear. 

My husband kindly reminds me that it doesn't help any of us to dwell on the negative and surmise the what if's. They simply don't matter, even if they do happen. I am not as easily able to get there as he is. I had to really train myself to take time to think about thoughts that take me to another place and time. I've learned to trick my brain into thinking I am there instead of here. It works, one moment at a time.

I've learned in two semesters of this post surgery and diagnosis education, that my husband is far more equipped than I gave him credit for, to live his new life in remarkable ways. What man goes from brain surgery to super dad in a matter of months? Mine. 

He drives me absolutely crazy at times and I know the feeling is more than mutual, but we've been perfecting this rhythm of give and take which frees us to be who we are, feel what we feel, and learn to do all these new things together. 

I know this is not everyone's story and that's okay. I remind myself some of the most epic love stories in history are also tragic. I read somewhere that grief is the price you pay for love. I've learned to be grateful for loss, because it means I truly have something special. 

I've learned it's okay to grieve and mourn and have deep lasting sorrow. These are genuine emotions of the human condition not to be glossed over, reduced to weakness, or medicated out of us. 

They serve much more purpose than most of us realize. Not only to sweeten joy after sadness disappears, but to also remind us of how deeply and securely connected we can be to one another and how our souls rejoice at knowing there is so much more to relationships than superficial attractions and dislikes. 

True love is not perfection. In fact, it's the absence of perfection that tests our ability to compromise and build bridges where none exist. I've learned how to feel weak and not be sorry for it. In the last year I've learned not to apologize for my strengths either. Through truly having to suck it up and bite my tongue, I've also learned I don't always have to say what I think, but I can if I'm prepared for unintended consequences. 

I've learned...

The way life has completely changed for  the good of my marriage and my family is different than any of us ever expected. Our children all have a Dad who's learning how to be sensitive and nurturing. 

All of our children have the opportunity to know and spend quality time, not rushed by outside demands with one of their biggest fans. I don't know how, except for sheer determination to do the opposite of what he was told, Scott does all he does! 

He volunteers at school twice a week, takes kids swimming 3-4 days, drives kids to and from school, is an emaculate house keeper, keeps working on projects, ideas, stays up with technology, and just keeps going, even when he's sick from chemo. 

It's not at all what we thought. It's more painful, difficult and absolutely wonderful than any of us ever had the experience to imagine. Hope keeps finding it's way to us through unexpected ways. 

I'm beginning to embrace that hope springs from not knowing everything. It's in the tiniest spaces of the unknown where we unconsciously leave room for possibilities. Even if everything we know and love right now is destroyed...the potential for something more glorious than we could imagine, still exsists. 

We haven't done this before. But once we do, there's no going back. We are stronger, more empathetic, more willing to forgive the weaknesses in ourselves and others because we recognize where we once where. We had a very hard road to travel to get here too. 

Compassion comes much easier these days, because we've come to understand this one life we have should be spent in sharing hope, love, faith,  strength, and willingness to help others. It's the pursuit of happiness through these activities which truly brings us joy and purpose. 

Awakwnings come in the ways we need them and at the right times individually. The important thing to know is you don't have to do anything remarkable to begin to wake up. Just leave the tiniest bit of room for possibilities and wait...

One Year Surgiversary

January 19, 2015 has come and gone. So many things make it feel like a 100 years ago. Yet, moments come, and thoughts enter that take me instantly back there like it was yesterday. He could care less if anyone ever knew what we were experiencing. At first when I shared with him I was blogging about his brain cancer and my feelings about it, he said he didn't want me to. It made him uncomfortable to know people are reading anything about his life.

If for nothing else I blog about this, to remind me of the universal connections that bring us together whether tragic or joyful...in darkness or light.

Hope is what brings me back to writing this blog. There are times when things get so hard, the pressure so unbearable, and our weaknesses become so unavoidably obvious, that I throw my hands in the air and beg for this to be all over. "Take me now, I can't continue. What is the point?" It doesn't have to be cancer that brings us to the brink of self destruction! Many things in this life push our mortal being to the edge of security and sanity.

What stops us from giving in and giving up?

I've had more teary days and nights than I can count. I have done more second guessing than I care to readily admit. I like to think of myself as a good, caring, person, willing and able to help make a difference. But I get tired, emotional, and drained...I feel guilt for wishing we could go back to the way things were before cancer, even though I still had things I complained about then too. "Will I ever truly be happy with anything?"

I wonder...

I haven't had a perfect life. I don't believe any of us do. Although there are arguments for perfection out there, I think most of us struggle at one point or another to become who we truly are comfortable being. Scott and I have discussed this many times. This illness has brought about so many changes for both of us, its hard to imagine such rapid change being possible. I wonder why it has to happen so quickly?

What's around the corner if we are coming from this?

I rarely talk about the anger outside my close circle because it's uncomfortable. The grief. The deep, deep sorrow that comes from knowing the sickness is here, it's not going away, and my best friend who has it, is changed forever. It feels like I'm drowning in mourning some days, because Jan 19, 2015 the person I have worked to know live with and love, was still whole and we didn't have to try to remain connected.  We just were. Everyday since has been an exercise in mental and physical endurance to remain loyal, faithful and kind.

I don't openly share how difficult it is to wake up in the morning and go to work to take care of our family, all the while praying nothing comes apart while I'm gone. I've said, I am fortunate to have to work to escape to. I went through months of feeling guilty because I have my career and Scott doesn't anymore.  I willed myself out the door and then back again, because I knew once I left I would feel some sense of relief. Yet on my return, someone will be crying, unhappy, or yelling because emotionally, everything has changed and I'm not here to run interference so the guilt sets in.

I've been asked why I don't tell the whole truth when I write about this journey. And the truth is, unless you have to live with this kind if reconciliation, even if it's written about, you will trivialize it. You will judge the perception. You will say things like, it will get better or it doesn't look like anything is really wrong, or I know it's hard now, but it will not always be this way...etc.... and unless you have personally had to watch someone you love so dearly, morph before you eyes and without your permission, into someone you barely recognize and know - you don't always understand what it takes to mentally and physically live this kind of life.

People constantly compliment Scott on his weight loss. "He looks so good. He looks amazing. How is he doing that? Aren't you so proud of him?" If I never get anything else across to you, let me share this. It's not amazing that he has lost 140 lbs. It's not something he feels proud of. It's not a compliment to tell a cancer patient that since they've been so sick, and wishing God would just take them, rather than keep them here experiencing this pain and heartache,  now that they are thin, they should really be excited about that!

Its wonderful to be healthy. It's fantastic to be fit. Weight loss during illness does not equate to happily ever after and finally achieving weight loss goals. You ask him, if he would rather be fat and healthy with his career and his memory...or sick and thin from his treatment, retired and without some of his brain, which do think he will choose? For any one out there who thinks finally reaching your goal weight is the cherry on top of this whole cancer thing...it's not. It's one hell of a consolation prize for loosing so many other things you once held so dear and hardly worth it.

And then there's me. Angry with people for thinking he has this whole thing beat because he looks so good and seems so happy. I'm jealous of the weight loss, because I can't do it too. Feeling lost and frustrated that he gets to be home with the kids and run the house, while I don't get to anymore. He gets to sleep and do whatever he wants during the day, and I don't. My life doesn't feel my own anymore and even though I feel this way, so does he. I tell myself the same thing I just told you.

But I'm still mad about it.

It doesn't mean I've lost hope...don't get me wrong. We have asked the question, what is the point of all of this? Should we keep doing this? What if we try so hard and we loose anyway? I have cried and screamed and cursed God for all of this. We have bad days, or weeks or months.

And then, something happens.

The anger and resentment subsides. The smile returns to our faces. We can laugh, we can forgive each other for being weak in moments that overwhelm us. We remember that neither one of us asked for this and we are not in control. We can, look for the good in each other and those around us. We finally find a way to say the things we keep inside for fear of being rejected or abandoned. We find that in letting go, a new kind of security finds its way into our thoughts.

We keep moving forward because no other direction makes sense and we hold on to what we know, what we have made, and what we have practiced because that's how we hunt for hope.

The 25%

There are a lot of statistics about the success of relationships when one partner becomes seriously ill. Numerous people have actually said to me, "I don't know how you do it. It must be so hard to stay."

Yep. It's hard to stay but it would be harder to leave. When the thought creeps in of how easy it would be not to deal with this disease...I remember that life wasn't easy before this happened to us either. To measure the success of a relationship based on how easy or difficult it is, is pointless in the big scheme of things.

You must know sorrow to understand and embrace joy. Opposition in all things, is what makes us grow and reach beyond what we think we are capable of at the time.

Scott and I have been married for 17 years. All of them hard in one way or another. We don't live a fairy tale life by any means. We have fought, literally, to stay together. Every time the world says, "Why do you stay?" We show them and we grow stronger.

I read the other day that 75% percent of couples who have one spouse diagnosed with a serious illness, mental, physical, or terminal, do not stay together. Not because one spouse dies, but because one, or both leave the relationship. I wondered if this is really true.

Being sick or sharing a life with someone who is, to say the very least, is difficult on many levels for many reasons. No one is sheltered from a life altering diagnosis. It changes everything, and many people, it seems, don't have the ability to accept and grow with what comes.

The words to describe something so difficult don't come easy. Finding hope and hanging on when everyday seems more hopeless than the next, can be terrifying and exhausting. Giving up does seem easier at times, but giving up doesn't solve the problem.

At the end of the day, Scott still has brain cancer. I wish every moment of every day that he didn't, but he does. There is not much he or I can do to change that, outside of treatment and hope. The only way to win the war is to keep marching forward, so that's what we do. Right, wrong, or indifferent. We keep fighting.

We fight with each other. We have bad days. We struggle with depression, sadness, anger, and guilt. We feel sorry for each other and for our kids. This was not the way we planned to live our lives.

The way I see it, we have some options. We can leave...and he still has brain cancer. We can fight and argue, and guess what? He still has cancer. We can feel defeated and frustrated, letting all the negative in and surround us in it's unfairness...

Or

We can find ways to be thankful for the time we have together. We can embrace the life we have and make the best of it. We can keep our chins up and remember in the moments when it is hard, why we love each other in the first place and wanted to have a life together.

I say this all the time, nothing about this is easy. But I have come to realize that isn't true. Living with Scott, is easier than living without him. I know this. Some days are just brutal, no matter who you are or what you face.

Getting to have love in my life is something I cannot take for granted, no matter how hard it is to keep going. I won't just walk away because this isn't what I signed up for. The hope is, neither will Scott.

Days are getting better and better as time and healing goes on. We take them as they come and do our best. The thing I work on most is forgiving myself for the moments when I feel myself breaking. The moments I am so angry about the things I have to do now and the life I am still mourning, the times when I feel weak and afraid of what will be.

But they are usually just moments. I find if I can let them be and move through those times and not take up residence there, I can forgive myself and get on to something more productive.

I have learned, that even in suffering, love can shine through. When my faith fails me, I look for love and whenever I see it, there is hope waiting to be found right along with it. I don't know what the future brings, but I do know that the 25% of us who  make it through without leaving...

Are all in the best of company. Hopes finds those who look for it.

Honey, I Shrunk My Tumor!

It's a hard day when we have to go see the doctor. I used to think going in for my annual lady exam was the worst...this beats that, hands down. Seeing the oncologist, a fancy medical term for cancer doctor, reminds us of how real this all is, every single time we go.

I wish I could say we live daily in the reality of what we are dealing with here. But we don't. We pretend a lot. At least, I do. It's easier to think of everything as fine. I suppose for the most part it really, truly is. Except, when we get in the car to make that trip to the clinic. Once we pull in and valet park; as soon as we're inside that cancer center, it becomes all too real. There's no escaping what we are really doing here.

Today we made our way up to the second floor to check into the lab, so blood could be drawn and analyzed this morning before we saw the doctor.  We accidentally left the images and MRI report in the truck and I had to go back and get them, while Scott was getting his labs done.  Our truck had already been taken to the parking garage on the other side of this huge campus. The attendant told me I would need a ride, and to wait so they could just take me over to get what we needed, myself.

A few minutes later, this golf cart pulled up and a guy waived me in. It was like getting a tour of Universal Studios, complete with recommendations for where to eat and what to do when visiting in the future. I felt bad I didn't have any cash to tip him with.

It took me about 30 minutes to get to the truck and back. Scott asked me what took so long. I sarcastically told him a cute guy in a convertible asked me if I wanted a ride and I couldn't resist, so I let him take me for a spin around the hospital. I couldn't help it. I needed to make him laugh.

"Are you serious? I knew I should have gone myself!"

"Not really...a guy in golf cart pulled up to take me to the truck.  It couldn't go over 8 miles and hour! I have no idea what he looked like, I only saw him from behind."  I handed Scott the MRI CD and told him all about my tour and the cool shops and restaurants behind the hospital, which all would've been useful info back when we had to stay here, but today, not so much!

The thing is...none of this was planned. It wasn't even a spectacular event. So why am I telling you all about it? Because. I also didn't plan to have any fun today. In the middle of my reality of having to go to the cancer center with my husband to talk about his chemo schedule, side effects, and all the not so great things that accompany living with cancer...I had, what my Grammy would call... an adventure.

This random event took my mind off intruding thoughts about negative what could be's, rescued me from that downward spiral, and changed my perspective. I couldn't help but smile. I was satisfied with my quick wit, able to fully be there for Scott and not dwell on negative things that don't matter. 

As we sat together in the exam room, waiting for the doctor, we laugh, talked, and joked some more. Scott is always giving people a bit of a hard time and joking around. He immediately puts people at ease. I wanted to do the same for him.

His voice is soothing. His laugh, infectious. He doesn't fit the image of what we see around us at the hospital and I am so thankful for him. I am grateful for his way, for his ability to make light of a very heavy situation, and even make his doctors laugh. I especially love that he is able to still make and take a joke. He laughed when I pointed to the CD of his MRI and said, "This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs with part of it missing." (Children of the 80's might remember this PSA.)

I was glad for the chance to help give him a reason to smile. The doctor came in and we put all kidding aside. Scott turned to hear what he had to say about the latest scan. He listened for about 5 minutes, put his head down for a second, then looked right up into the doctor's eyes.

"So....what are you saying?  Just tell me straight, how long do I have?"

His words hung there for several seconds. My eyes welled up with tears. Awkward silence filled the room. This new doctor, never seen before today, gulped hard. He tried to pacify Scott's request by explaining why he couldn't give an accurate life expectancy for anyone with these exact genetics and tumor type.

This guy was a bit uptight and not at all used to being put on the spot. Just the kind of mark Scott loves to tease. True to form and without missing a beat, Scott took back the conversation. "I guess that means 20 or 30 years then, maybe even longer."

Scott knows and I know, he will live, no matter how long he has. Even if doctors can't give him a number of years, he is certain he will make it. He tells me all the time, he is not going to die from this and I believe him.

So here's the nitty gritty of what we learned today...

By looking at the latest MRI compared to the post-op one from February, the affected area appears significantly smaller than before. There is obviously a section of brain missing, that will not grow back. There will always be a fuzzy greyish area on his brain where the tumor is, but it is reduced and will likely continue to get smaller and smaller with treatment. The hope is that the tumor will stabilize at some point and not grow anymore.  No growth would be considered remission.

Scott's not having seizures or any other negative neurological symptoms at this point. He will have to remain on anti seizure medication until he has been at least 2 years seizure free, post-op. Then they might discuss weening him off that medicine.

Since it appears by all accounts radiation and chemo were successful in this first round, he needs to complete another 2 rounds of just chemotherapy, which completes the standard protocol for treatment. This will take another full year to do. If the chemo continues to shrink the tumor without any new growth, his doctors will say that treatment has worked. 

The good news about treatment is the hardest part was the surgery and radiation and that's now over. Scott tolerated all that so well, his doctors don't expect him to have too much difficulty with just the oral chemo alone.

What exactly does all of this mean? Scott isn't out of the woods just yet, but we are on the road where hope lives. We are positively on the right path. Recovery is in our grasp. Hair is growing back in the bald patches where aggressive cancer treatment made it fall out. We have more good days than bad. Scott's tumor is smaller than it was 3 months ago. He is recovering from surgery extremely well. It's all still really hard but....

All signs point to the hope of beating this, completely.

We are faithfully expecting a miraculous victory 12 months from now and hope makes that possible.

Don't Put Down Your Rifle...

Cancer. It's a word no one wants to hear. It's the equivalent of saying to my hunter, "Game and Fish has your spot closed to hunting because the soil tests in the area came back positive for radio activity." No hunting this season.

Wait, wait, wait....What? "For how long? Is this going to be permanent? Can they fix that? Will we have to find another place to hunt? Can we find another place?"  Everything about the way we hunted, before, has changed. Everything we thought we knew, is now questioned. Suddenly, without warning, our season goes from a sure thing, to a maybe because of something completely out of our control.

I don't know if this hunting analogy works for everyone, but it certainly rings true for us. For years, our life revolved around hunting seasons. Not just hunting, but fishing, camping, any outdoor activity that required hard work, determination, and some good ole' fashioned gumption. Being prepared is a must. Knowing exactly what tools and equipment you 'll need, just in case, is essential for a good outcome. 

Brain tumor world is really not that fun and there is really no way to prepare for it. It can literally suck all the life out of you, if you let it.

How do you keep going, when there isn't much to look forward to day to day? There's the nausea, the constant headaches and swelling, not sleeping, or eating, some weird oily discharge you can't explain, not being able to fully control your emotions, people wanting to help but not being able to tell them anything to do that will make it better, watching your hair fall out in patches, taking poison that comes in a bio-hazard bag which you have to explain to your kids to never, ever touch, wanting to go places and do things that you used to enjoy very much, but not having the energy it takes to sustain those activities...then feeling angry and sorry that you can't do the things you used to or feel the same as you used to...and all you want is for things to go back to the normal you knew before all of this.

How do you keep going when your world is upside down and literally closed to hunting?

You take some deep breaths. You force yourself to smile, even when you don't want to. You recognize beauty in your home, your family, friends, in your neighborhood, wherever you are. You take notice of the tiniest of things that are good and make yourself recall what it feels like to not be sick, tired, hopeless...You listen to music that makes you want to dance (even if you can't), you sing, write, watch your favorite movies, you get outside and breath fresh air (even if only for moments at a time).

Most importantly, you keep preparing for when hunting season will be open again. Whether hunting big game or hunting for hope, it's the same. If you put your rifle down, and never pick it up again, you stop taking care of your gear and equipment, reading up on the latest tactics and best hunting practices, when the season opens  again, you lose interest, will not be ready, and are more likely to pass on the opportunity. The greatest hunters I know, know that when hunting season ends, this is only prep time for the next. They don't stop hunting, they just keep on making plans and getting ready for next time.

Same with hunting for hope. You will need to read blogs, books, articles, scripture, tumblr, memes, whatever little quote people are posting on social media about hope...Copy your favorite on post-its and stick them everywhere around your house. Keep talking to people who can really inspire you, who make you feel like you are up to the task at hand. Let your friends come to visit and take you places. Let others remind you of who you still are to them. Keep a gratitude journal. Write negative feelings on pieces of paper and crumple them up once you're done, or better yet burn them! Surround yourself with happy thoughts, people, and events. There is enough negativity in the everyday, that if you don't force yourself to focus on something positive, you probably won't.

Finding reasons to be happy and hopeful the in the midst of a crisis of any kind is really hard. But so is just about everything else in life. Giving up when things are at their worst, when the struggle seems to real to keep on trying, is just the same as saying, "Well, they closed the area, so no need to hunt anymore." Would you throw away all of your guns, ammo and gear?

Well, would you?

Duh...you'd go find another place. No,  it will not be the same and you won't know this new place like you knew the old one. But there is a possibility that things will be better, even more accessible, and open to hunting in a way you never thought possible before.

THIS IS HOPE MY FRIENDS!

Pick up your rifle!! Heck, sleep with it if it makes you feel better.  Keep it oiled and ready. Make sure all your gear is ready to go. Have your bag packed, filled with food, and all the essentials. Because when it opens again, or you find an alternate hunting ground, there will be nothing to hold you back from going out and getting what you are after! You will be much more likely to say YES when the opportunity presents itself because you are ready.

How does this make things better?

I know. How can it be better when cancer is taking over or even threatening your life? Nothing about that is better or good. Nothing. What we've been learning is that it isn't about the brain tumor, the effects of radiation and chemo, or the loss of a career. Its about the life we're still able to live, in spite of all of that. It's taught us that the relationships we have with one another are much more valuable than the job, our health, or any other thing.

Material objects, things and circumstances come and go. Health is not always in our own control. The things which are constant and that remain with us forever, are those tied to emotion. What we think, how we feel and make others feel, what we know and learn, how much we love and are loved...these are what we take with us through life and beyond. Nothing else.

Don't put down your rifle because hunting season might be over for now. Keep it ready. Make yourself ready for when the new season of hope arrives. It takes a lot of effort. It is purposeful, not accidental. Keep yourself going by letting yourself feel good, even if it's just for moments at a time. Sometimes, it's the smallest moments that keep us from falling totally off the cliff into total despair.

Find your happiest memory and re-play it over and over again. It doesn't matter that it isn't where you are right this very second. It matters that it happened, and you were there to experience it at all. Find one reason to laugh. I promise it will help. Do it.

One of the things that keeps us going the most right now is laughter. That, and holding the rifle upright.

Ready, aim...fire. Hope is like that.

How are You......Really?

I get this question all the time. "I've read your blog, but I still don't know how Scott or you are. How are you, really? In the spirit of making sure this update is no frills, and to the point, here's where we are and how Scott is, right now.

You wouldn't know to look at him, that anything has changed. The 50 pound weight loss works in his favor. He looks amazing for everything he's been through. The giant scar from surgery, is barely noticeable, because they didn't have to shave his head for the surgery.

One month ago, Scott underwent an operation to remove as much of his brain tumor as possible, that required him to have an incision from about the middle top of his head, carved like a sideways question mark ending right in front of his left ear to expose his skull. They needed to create what's called "flap." This flap, is basically a 2-3 inch diameter piece of skull drilled out to expose the place in the brain to be removed.

At this point, they woke him up. So he could talk to the surgeons, ensuring they would not damage his ability to communicate. Both thought and speech are generated in the part of the brain they were operating on. Once the doctor removed as much affected brain tissue as possible, about a 4 1/2 cm section of the left temporal lobe, they put Scott back to sleep and closed him up.

Closing, involved patching the dura. This is a tough skin like barrier which prevents fluid surrounding the brain from leaking out. Then, they replaced the flap by reattaching the circular piece of bone they removed, with titanium screws. Once that was done, they pulled the skin back over his skull and stapled the entire incision shut.

This surgery was a miraculous in so many ways. The fact that human being can live through such a thing is absolutely amazing.

The recovery, however, is long and very, very difficult.

His surgeons told us, there would be relatively no pain, since the brain has little actual nerve endings.
What this ended up looking like, was that in relation to the rest of the body, the actual pain center would not be as much as say, an open heart surgery. But make no mistake, this was extremely painful. That would have been nice to know ahead of time.

He has had to be on a pretty strong narcotic pain medicine since Feb 16, 2015. He has headaches every single day. He forgets to eat. He has somehow lost all interest in eating anything at all. Food just doesn't taste good to him anymore. He still has to take 6 huge horse pills, also known as Keppra, to prevent seizures.

He has a hard time thinking of the right words to use. He forgets people's names, unless it's someone he knows really well and sees all the time. He can't read or watch television for any length of time, because his left eye is still recovering from the surgery. His left ear does not hear the same way and he has a hard time following conversations sometimes.

To most people, none of this is highly noticeable. He is great at masking. But he has lost most of his filter. He told someone at church on Sunday, that they look old. That 4 1/2 cm piece of the temporal lobe they removed, has affected his impulse control. He says whatever comes to his mind, whether appropriate or not. He doesn't mean to say things, but can't really control it at this point.

He hasn't lost any motor function, at all. In fact, when we met with the radiation oncologist last week to discuss the radiation and chemotherapy treatments he will be starting, I joked that the doctor had just declared there doesn't appear to be anything wrong. "You're doing above average, as far as I can tell."

Emotionally, though, he struggles with feeling different than he once was. He wants to be better, and is having a hard time, not working, and not having much to do that he can enjoy. I keep reminding him he is only 4 weeks out from brain surgery. But he still asks me everyday, "why does my head hurt all the time?"

So how is he, really? It's a complex question, with a lot of different answers. According to his doctors, he is doing fantastic. According to him, depending on the mood of the hour, he is either doing fine, or thinks he is a burden to his family and feels guilty and awful for something he has no control over. He sleeps a lot, which is to be expected. He has mood swings, which is also to be expected. He still has pain. He is still healing, and will be for a long time yet.

But in the big scope of how he is, he is alive. He is able to speak and think and do a lot of things independently. He is worried all the time, that he is causing too much difficulty for his wife and children. He worries about the fact he has been unable to work and provide for us for over year now. There is no amount of me taking up the slack, that makes him feel better about any of this.

How he is, varies from day to day. But he is getting better and stronger, every day. He is more aware of his emotions and how he affects others, although that control isn't there.  The emotional toll on all of is is quite a lot. But with the grace of God, and all the support of people who love us, we will get through. Scott will continue to survive and eventually be able to return to work and enjoy all the things he loves to do.

It will just take awhile. And in the meantime, we will keep hunting for hope.

Surgery

Scott's tumor is growing. The MRI in October, showed that it's progressing. At the neuro follow up in November the doctor said it was time to get in there and retract as much of it as they can, so we can understand what it is and how best to treat it.

So here we are. January 4, 2015. Eleven long, unknowing, hope-filled months later and he is scheduled for surgery on the 16th. We know he will have to actually go through with it this time.

We don't know if it is malignant or not at this point. We are hoping for the best. There is a chance they can take much of the tumor (but not all because of it's position on the left temporal lobe where speech, much of our memory and cognition happens) and use radiation to shrink it.

Scott is hopeful today. He says he knows there is purpose for this to happen at this point in his life. He is optimistic that he will make a full recovery. He is scared, too. But that doesn't overshadow his twinkling eyes telling me everything is going to be fine.

I have cried more tears, shared more fears, and been at the depths of despair over the past 11 months than I care to think about. But the one thing I keep coming back to is the thought that there is hope for this to bring about something new and different. It's scary because it's unknown. But unknown isn't always bad. Scary, unknown, different....

AND....

We have survived well to this point. We have felt the sorrow, the pain, the disappointments, as well as found utter joy, been extremely happy, enjoyed the fulfillment of being together instead of suffering alone. Oh, how I wish the days were not ticking down to brain surgery. But they are. And there is nothing we can do but go boldly into it and know we have prepared ourselves for that moment as well as we can.

We know what hope feels like because we have had it with us in various amounts all along to this point. We have seen it. We have shared it with those around us. Hope doesn't change what is happening. But it does change our outlook on things and help us react in less negative ways. We can't control what is to happen. We only have control over our own reactions to these events. This is exactly the place hope can sneak in and whisper to our hearts..."You are not alone. And this too. This is not all. Tomorrow is a new day."

As the hunter who carefully prepares for his hunt, we have scouted and prayed for hope to come our way. We have positioned ourselves to be in hope's path. We know where to find it. We have it stored up for times when we will need it most. We have used it when we needed it. We have made the most of the time we have had to this point. We haven't wasted it. 

Like the hunter he is, Scott has prepared himself physically and emotionally for whatever is to come. That involved many, many days and nights of being alone with himself, with his thoughts, mentally going over his game plan, making notes for preparation to come later. He has also helped to prepare us.

It drove me nuts sometimes. Sometimes to the point of feeling left out or forgotten. But he had to do what he needed to do to get ready for the biggest hunt of his life. He also had to prepare me for the biggest hunt of mine.

I won't speak for him. These are just my observations. But if anyone can ever really be ready for such a life changing event, I think he is. His courage is astounding. I have been hard on him many times over the years. But what I used to see as him shutting down and pulling away, I now understand is his way of preparing himself for being away from the people he loves most in this world. Whether for a few days for a few weeks, he needs to be able to be where he is, present in that space, so he can do what he is there to do. Whether work or hunt, that is is his way.

I used to curse it. Now I am better able to recognize it and embrace it for what it is. Bravery in the face of the unknown. He has taught me well. I only hope I can live up to the example he is and be as brave and optimistic going forward as he has always been.

A true hunter never really stops hunting. There is always something in the works even when it's not the time. The season will come again and the hunter needs to be ready. My hunter seems ready.

Since the season of hope never really closes, we are ever hunting wherever we can find it. Today, it's in the sunrise. We woke up today. We have another day to make memories and live our lives together. We have each other. We have our children. We have family and friends who continue an out pouring of love and support. We have some awesome memories we can channel anytime we need them to remind us that all is not lost.

We will certainly need all the prayers, love and support we can get for the days ahead. I will do my best to keep posting progress and prognosis as I know it. For now, we are going to enjoy these next 2 weeks as much as we can and be prepared with optimism for the day of surgery and recovery to follow.

We hope...and we live with this thing that controls our life in way we dislike, but we aren't bitter. We hope to understand the purpose soon, but until that time comes, we will be hoping and hope and keep hoping some more, that someday soon we can find something else to hope for.

"It Is What It Is"

"It is what it is." Seriously, what does this mean? We all hear it. We see this saying everywhere. I say it on a pretty regular basis myself. As I try and put this into the context of my life and what is going on right now, it makes me feel and sound seriously delayed. Like DUH!

Here's what I mean.

"I think this is a most likely a mid-grade glioma." If I repeat said catch phrase, "Well, it is what it is." We still don't know what the heck IT is! You can look it up. It's potentially "brain cancer" although we've been told several times they don't use that term to describe what they are looking at on the MRI. It's a lesion. A brain lesion. A tumor. A glioma. What it is, is....A big, old, fat, stinking pain in the neck, or rather, head! It's a "cause for serious concern because it isn't holding tight. It's growing. It looks as though it's increased in size in the last 5 months. We will most likely need to react and remove what we can, biopsy the tissue to determine the grade of malignancy and treat the rest with radiation and chemo."

This was our latest neurology appointment. We made the 200 mile round trip drive to the neurosurgeon and again left with no definite answers, only more questions. There is no way to know if this is a benign tumor, or not, without surgery. The doctor presented Scott's case to the "tumor board" on Tuesday morning and called us with their recommendations. We will wait for another MRI  and one more appointment on the 5th of January to determine when or "if" surgery will be scheduled.

My emotions are mixed and it's hard to understand exactly where we are in this process from day to day, still. Scott says he is fine. And maybe he is.  I don't want to speak for him. I can only imagine how difficult this all is for him, because it's devastating to me.  He assures me he isn't going to die. "It's all going to be fine. This is just a hiccup and we'll get back to it soon as we can." He's awesome with telling me what I want to hear and helping me try to avoid "worrying too much."

On our way home, he literally turned and said to me, "I guess it is what it is."

"What the hell does that even mean?" I shouted with tears in my eyes.
He threw his hands in the air and confirmed, "I don't know!"
"Why do we even say that?" I sobbed.
 "I have no idea." He whispered.

There is nothing else to say when someone is right. So we rode in silence for long time. He reached over and held my hand and all I could think was, "It is what it is and I can't change this no matter how much I want to."

Giving up control, is not easy for a control freak like me. I want everything in my world,  at the very least, to have the appearance of being under control and well cared for. This is where I find comfort. Pretending all is well, even when I know it isn't. I do know how ironic and superficial this is. It is what it is.

There are many more hills to climb, more tears to shed, more anger to express, and the cycle of grief to live and re-live. I am no where near acceptance. I don't want this in my life, and more importantly I don't want this, AT ALL for Scott. Who in their right mind would choose this?  I am obviously not in control. No matter how sad, sorry, angry, frustrated, afraid, grief stricken, and hurt I am...it will not change the fact that there is a tumor of some sort, causing seizures and headaches, growing inside the man I love. And I can't do anything about it.

So I sit and contemplate how best to show my love and undying support. I take in as much positive psychology as I can. I practice courage. I practice being kind to myself and kind to my family. I practice patience. Notice I say "practice." That is the hardest part of all. Patience...has been an extremely hard lesson for me all my life. But I have come to understand the serenity of the things out my control and knowing that what I can't change, I must live with in one way or another. It's completely up to me to decide how to live with all of this.

I'm not good at pretending. So I don't usually do it. When I do try, I don't usually succeed. I'm a, wear my emotions on my sleeve, kind of gal. If you see me with a smile, it's because I genuinely have something to smile about. My heart is a bit more heavy today than it's been in awhile but I still find reasons to smile. Even if I have to pretend I'm not dying inside. I am not sure what IT is, exactly that will bring me comfort. I'm not sure what IT is that I need because what I want, I can't have.

It's impossible to know what to do because there isn't really anything to do.... but wait for the doctor to say what he thinks is the best course of action and then to see what Scott wants to do. I know he will do what he thinks is best. I really wish we could just do nothing and keep on going like everything is as fine as it appears. I'm completely okay, in this moment, to pretend and think I can get away with it.

A stupid brain tumor. That is what it is. I know I can't really pretend it's anything else. I've tried. I don't have any hard and fast answers for why, how to stop it, or change anything about it at this point.  Yes, there is a treatment. There is a glimmer of hope that we can beat this for good. So for now, what it is, is....we are holding on for the ride and doing our best to keep hunting for the kind of hope that will keep us from drowning in uncertainty.

The Ebb and Flow of Grief is the Essance of Hope

To write a blog and share with the world, or the one or two of you who are reading this, is quite an interesting thing for me. It started as a way to keep family and friends updated on Scott's condition so I wouldn't have to text the same thing 100 times or answer email and phone calls to give information about what is going on in the middle of handling a bazzillion other things. And let's face it. I'm emotional. It gets old to hear, "How are you doing?" When the real answer is far more complicated than most people want to hear in the moment.

As the months have passed and my  husband's "condition" has neither changed or worsened, people have gone on about their lives, becoming less and less interested in the day to day of the Cooley's. It's not that interesting, I know..we live it. So even though my initial need has changed, I still find myself with a need to write. Not because there is anything compelling or spectacular, but rather the contrary. It's all just really regular. I suppose if I'm being really honest, and you already know I am... I just want someone somewhere to know that life, where ever you live it or what you have going for you or don't,  is hard for everyone. Brain tumors or not.

No matter the circumstances we face, there seems to be a big scheme to see what we can learn, how we need to learn it and what we are going to do with what we have in front of us. I do know there is a purpose. The clear message that's been given to me through this,  has opened my eyes and changed my perspective about how I'm choosing to face all of life's challenges from here on out.

We seem to go through all the emotions of life, in whatever capacity we do, to be faced with ourselves and to struggle with ourselves, in an effort to create something from nothing. And sometimes, the only purpose for our grief or pain is literally to help someone else learn something. We are, (okay maybe this is just me)  complete narcissists because we often think there must be something in it for us. Why else would this be happening? Why else indeed.

I don't know about you. but I create all kinds of happy places and good intentions for myself on a regular basis. Mostly, to give myself a break from whatever hard thing is staring me in the face at the moment. There is so much pressure to be a certain way, have a certain lifestyle, eat the right diet, exercise the right amount, pin the most popular posts, or create the most shared, like, pinned, tweeted, instagramed statuses and what have you. I'm not there by any measure of the world's current standards.

But the minute I begin pulling out the invite list to my pitty party, I realize it's a pretty short list. And I don't want pitty anyway. Remember those "How are you?" statements complete with frowny faces, make me simply crazy. So pitty, please...

I know no matter what happens, that in the end I'm not stuck here in grief or pain. I am not forced to live a life of unhappy endings. I can chose to dip my toe back in  and go as gradually as I need to  and go with the full force of life, or I can sit back and wait for it come for me. Because now matter which way I chose, it will come. The ebb and flow of grief, or any human emotion is that way for a reason. Once it comes back to us, or we get back to it, we can take a bit more, go a bit farther, get a bit stronger and last a bit longer each and every time.

That seems so much more merciful than to be forced to  soak in all the required learning all at once. Anyone who's ever been  student of anything, knows that isn't how true learning occurs. Line upon line. Precept upon precept. This is a true universal concept, no matter what your personal or spiritual beliefs are. The universe is set up in such a magnificent way, to keep bringing things around, in it's own time and when it is right for us to learn, so we have infinite chances to  discover, over and over again. So we can take in the relevant bits we need in that moment and apply them in a logical way.

It's the only explanation that makes sense for all the seemingly senseless things we humans have endure on a regular basis. What I've discovered is the ebb  and flow is the very essence of what breeds hope. Without this coming and going, there would only be absolutes. No hope. No faith. No real growth. Only believing in what we see, and never really understanding ourselves or each other on a deeper level. There would be no benefit of the doubt, no wait and see, no real discoveries.

Will things be hard? You betcha. Will life always be what we want or how we want it? Nope, not even close for most of us. Life really does seem so unfair if you look only at events and circumstances. When we can see the bigger picture,  often only through adversity,  is when we are open to understanding a master plan at work that involves us having many more chances to grow stronger, help others, be better, do better, and LIVE a full life. No matter how long we've got.

It's Offically Hunting Season

As our 8th month begins living with a brain tumor and deciphering what exactly is involved with that, I am reminded of several things.

First of all, February was brutal. Excruciating actually. As I stood there, screaming over my husband while he was having a Grand-Mal seizure, I kept thinking, "What if this is it? What if I never see him again?" I know I've said it before. But it was a big what if for me. In the 3 days we spent in the hospital, 2 of those days, the Scott I knew was not totally present. He did not recognize me. He did not recognize his own children. He knew he was in the hospital and did not want to be there. He knew he had to get out before someone told him he was never leaving. It was awful, gut-wrenching in fact. And then, just like that....he suddenly woke up. With the help of one of his best friends and reminders of the thing he loves to do most in this world, he was back.

Hunting... 

They talked and talked about hunting trips, and the things they have seen and done. They discussed stuff that seemed unimportant and irrelevant to my life as I knew it. And yet, it was this very stuff that literally seemed to be bringing him back to his own consciousness. Maybe it was me just me or his wishful thinking, but I thought I could literally smell gunpowder in the air. The smiles, the laughter, and the genuine love radiating in that room that night, was phenomenal. Scott was somehow able to breathe into his own soul the very parts of life that give his own so much meaning. It was quite literally a miracle to me. But how could I have been so oblivious to the importance of hunting, in my husband's life? How could I not know it was the very thing he actually lives for? I had said it, in jest, but didn't actually know it was true until that very moment.

Hunting has been  a source of a lot of contention in our home for many years. Not because I am against it, but because I simply did not get exactly what this really means to him. I saw hunting as a very expensive and time consuming distraction and a means to get away from the daily grind, to be a kid again and hide out in the woods and be naughty, without judgement or responsibility. I really viewed it as just a mancation with a reason to go out and kill something.

I didn't get it.  Maybe because I'm not a man and I'm just not wired the same. I don't feel the need to stalk and kill something. I don't enjoy blood and guts. I'm perfectly fine with the evolution of the grocery store and all the conveniences of modern society. I like sleeping inside where it's temperature controlled, in a nice, soft, fluffy, comfy bed up off the ground. I like bathrooms that don't smell and are enclosed for my privacy. I like getting my food already prepared to cook and eat. Call me crazy or spoiled. I'm okay with it.  I am probably the reason for all the problems of the modern world. I love the mall. I like shopping. I like the city, I'll have all of it please, with a side of lazy.

I can't help it. I am allergic to anything primitive. I did not camp or fish, or garden, or farm, or any of those things as a kid. I didn't learn to love or respect hunting it as a child and as an adult, I have been forced in a sense, to tolerate it. I have many reasons for being adverse to this whole "getting back to nature" thing. Not because these are not good things, but because I didn't recognize the significance and didn't have a reason to until now. It only took one night in the hospital with my husband and his friend, to literally erase all the ill will I had towards hunting and give me reason to be okay with getting back to basics.

Now, I want to fully comprehend what hunting is really all about. I need to understand why this was the thing that brought my husband back to us. As I was watching Scott and his brother Larry, pack up the truck to leave yesterday, it really hit me hard.  I stood there, my eyes welling up with tears I could not control, thinking...this almost didn't happen. How miserable would he really be and how much worse of a situation would we have here, if he could never do this again? To loose a career is nothing in comparison to the thought of never being able to hunt again. "Just kill me" is his response to that.

I was overcome with gratitude that Scott was able to be packing his truck up and actually going on his annual hunting trip. My heart was overflowing that his brother would fly in just to go along and not to hunt himself. I could not hold back my emotions, although I tried really, really hard. Scott looked back at me once the truck was full and asked if I was okay. I said, "Oh yeah. My allergies are really bad today for some reason and my eyes won't stop watering this morning."

Larry gave me a look that said, "I'm onto you." But left it unsaid, which I'm grateful for. I didn't want my emotional state to take away from the excitement of what was happening. The anticipation seemed exhilarating to Scott and I literally saw him climbing from cloud to cloud, happily landing on about 6 or 7 as they pulled out of the driveway, knowing full well he would reach cloud 9 in full camo, wandering the woods, waiting to take his shot.

I could spend hours blogging about the trials of being a hunting widow. But for the life of me, I never thought I would actually find a reason to love this time of year and be grateful that Scott can be out hunting. He gets to do what he loves to do and that truly makes me happy for him. He never complains that I shop too much. He never says to me that I spend too much time looking at shoes online. He goes along with me when I drag him to "just look" although I know how much he dislikes it.

My husband tries to just let me be who I am and do whatever I want, whether that's shopping or building my business. He goes out of his way to do things for me to make my life easier. He doesn't intentionally make me feel like I have to ask for his approval or permission to do anything. I am so grateful for that. I need to be more like him in that way and the least I can do is support him in hunting. I do many other things for him too...but wholeheartedly giving a thumbs up to hunting was a big one for me. I finally can, just let him be and do what he loves... because in my mind, the chance is now. Life is too short  not to do the things you love which gives you purpose. Hunting does not take away any of Scott's feelings or love for me. I wish I had understood this a lot sooner and without a brain tumor. But hey, some of us have to learn the hard way.

I titled this blog "Hunting for Hope" because Scott loves hunting and I've been hunting for years and didn't recognize it. I didn't know how many things it teaches us about life. Hunting gives purpose. Hunting forces preparedness and patience and many other things I take for granted on a daily basis. My husband and I had been hunting for different things, and then this tragic and life changing news gave us an opportunity to hunt together.  Now days, we have far more similarities than we have differences. Things are not perfect, but we maintain the hope we will get through this together.

We're both forever scared by events that brought us here. We have a reason to cry, a reason to be sad, a reason to have others feel sorry for us. And yet, we have many more reasons to rejoice and celebrate. We do have cause to tell people, "Don't feel sorry." We hunt for hope daily and find it regularly.

Here's to hoping we can all find things to renew our sense of purpose, our reasons for living, or even just one more moment filled with the kind of joy that sends our souls searching for that feeling over and over again. I sincerely hope we can continue to find positive ways to wake up and come back to being conscious to the world as it "is" with a greater acceptance of who we really are and what we truly need.

I am genuinely happy to say my hunter is out hunting this week. I hope his efforts are rewarded in many meaningful ways. Even if we don't get a freezer full of meat....I will have a heart full of gratitude for the opportunity we both have had to understand more about what makes us happy and what it means to be fulfilled. I know we will continue to have sorrow and hard times. We will continue to fall and make mistakes. We might deal with illness for a long time to come. We might miss some great opportunities. We might risk it all and come away with less than we thought we should have.

But no matter what, we will come away from each experience more knowledgeable and with more understanding than we had before... and I think that just might be the entire point.

Happy Hunting!