Welcome To March

(Warning: Unedited Version -- Explicit Content)

It’s Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month. I’ve literally never been more *aware* of Colorectal Cancer. I hate it and I’m so angry. It’s taken away so much of my time, energy, and financial resources. It’s taken away some (though not all) of my hope for the future.

Let’s say that Heaven really does look like a Ziggy cartoon, where I sit on a cloud and play a harp all day, watching the goings on of my family down below. That’s not where I want to watch from! I want to be in the front row, screaming proudly and taking all of the pictures. I want to give my boys the best advice, then watch proudly as they make their own decisions and find their own ways. I want to be the one to remind them when they’re being dumb and the one to laugh loudest when they’re being hilarious (often at the same time). I need to be there to remind them to not act like the assholes on their favorite TV shows, but also to quote those assholes when the situation demands it.

I’ve forced my way into the front row of my kids’ lives. I don’t know that I would’ve done it if I wasn’t so. fucking. aware. of Colorectal Cancer. I may have let some others step in front of me. But, as I feel myself getting closer to the end of my life, I am less concerned about the toes I need to step on as I plow my way to the front. This is saying a lot, because I HATE crowds. I’m not missing football games. I’m not missing first jobs or awards ceremonies. They opted out of basketball, but are leading the student section. So I go to the basketball games to admire their leadership as they scream out the letters of W-I-N-D-S-O-R.

Dr. Ripple says that, despite optimistic expectations for the evil drug cocktail, Folfox, tumors are growing. There is only one more medicine they know of that might keep this cancer at bay for a while. They’re sending me to Dana Farber, where miracles happen every day. Maybe they’ve got one down there for me. Maybe not.

So, I’m thrilled that Dalton got asked to prom this year so that I can see them both go. And I can take a thousand pictures. although I don’t think Ziggy gets a photo album to keep on that cloud with him. At least my boys will continue to see their lives through my proud, blurry, eyes in the front row long after I’m gone.

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