Nine Lessons in Nine Years

Kelsey soon celebrates nine years of life.  Each of her nine years has been unique.  She has endured so many inquiries, tests, and circumstances, many of them we as adults may not have experienced.  To put it another way, it has been a journey.   Each year of the journey has taught us something new.  We are grateful for each year and the lessons we learned.

Year One taught us resilience.  We spent 16 days hospitalized and torn apart as a family, each in pain with worry, concern, and lacking a diagnosis.  By the first birthday celebration, we bounced back ready to learn more and find an answer.  Each one of us was forever changed by the experiences that we can never fully explain.

Year Two taught us to advocate.  In year one, we listened to poor medical advice and waited on others to seek solutions.  Year one was painful.  Year Two was the year of advocating.  Remember to be your own advocate and advocate for your children’s needs, always.  No one will ever care as much as you.  We did not accept, “she is fine!” and we sought answers instead of waiting for them to come to us.

Year Three taught us to listen.  Year Three gave us a diagnosis.  We thought that would make life easier, but instead, it led us to more questions and further complexities.  Medication battles with insurance and a true inability to process how little we knew made us listen more and savor small moments.  Upon one biopsy that resulted in a huge incision on the neckline, the surgeon soothed a mother’s worry about the scar to say, “We have to make sure she sees her next birthday.  This scar will help us figure out how to get her there.”  Listen.  Trust.  Breathe.  That was Year Three.

Year Four taught us promise.  There was so much promise in the medication we were using and so much happiness and joy brought back to our life when the medication started to work for our child.  A child who was once lifeless and listless was running and climbing stairs.  Promise and joy were restored in many of Year Four’s moments.

Year Five taught us Vulnerability.  We began this journey with Kelsey’s Kaleidoscope and we started to tell our story.  We put ourselves out there and started to spread awareness and raise money for our foundation.  We connected with others who shared our story.  We were weak when Kelsey took a tough turn and faced the return of frequent hospital visits and scans.  We had a fridge full of medication that no longer eased pain or brought joy.  We were vulnerable and scared.

Year Six taught us patience.  We trusted and prayed and after eight months of changes, a calm came for Kelsey.  She was walking, running, and smiling with ease.  We were patient and we were grateful.

Year Seven taught us endurance.  The road had been long and pain Kelsey started to feel emotionally and physically transferred to each member of her family in some way.  We laughed, we cried, and we got each other through.  It was not without a long road and another failed medication.  Spots, weakness, and pain returned to bruise emotions and bodies.

Year Eight taught us hope.  We were beyond touched by the community efforts and new faces that learned of our journey and cared.  We published a book, we went on television, and we reflected on where we are at this time.  We have hope and gratitude.

Year Nine is unknown and undefied.  Together, we are ready to persevere and lift each other.  We plan ahead and dream big.  We thank you for your support and kindness.  We wish Kelsey a happy ninth birthday and pray for all of her wishes to come true.

The Universal Language of Princess

Thanksgiving followed our gala this year for the first time in four years. Traditionally, Thanksgiving is spent preparing for and readying our minds for the gala.

This year, Thanksgiving was spent with reflection and warmth. We traveled a distance to be with relatives and newcomers. It was a day where all were welcome.  We had a newborn, an old-timer, and a refugee Kindergarten child.

This child struck a particular chord with our family.  Kelsey prepped for weeks with items she wanted to give this young woman.  However, no amount of preparation could prepare us for the reaction she had to Kelsey’s generosity.

A language barrier existed until Elsa came out of the bag. A crown was placed and the twirling began.  Princess, we found, is a universal language.

Each bow, dress, clip, and doll were met with a smile. The child was beaming with happiness and the mother’s emotion was hard to contain.

‘Tis the season of giving and sharing, whether it is time, money, or gratitude.  Kelsey saw clearly how to satisfy another’s need.  We are grateful for the lessons she teaches us daily.

Some lessons come when least expected.

Just Like That

Just like that, you cannot help but bring fear forward.  It starts with a limp, continues to an evening pain that must be fierce for it wakes a sleeping Kelsey with sensations strong enough for tears.  Concern, fear, and worry consume your weekend.  Though all “appears” well on the surface, the doubt connects you with doctors out of necessity.  Blood work is ordered with urgency.  Life turns upside down again in your home.  You also know it could be worse and pray it remains merely a concern.

Then, just like that, you are taken back to a painful trail of memories.

You check in at the lab; a very routine practice.  There is no concern or fear for Kelsey because unlike the horror of a weekly injection, lab work is less often and for some reason, less concerning or worrisome to Kelsey.  The brave and strong girl has no presentation of worry.

Another young man (baby by the sound) does not feel the same way.

He screams in pain for twenty minutes.  All the while, the staff does their best to calm him down and the mother does her best to do the same.  

Nothing works.

We sit in silence and I cannot help but drift back in memory to painful times when that scream was the norm and that pain was hers.  Tears stream and I would like to go back and offer that mom a hug.  Kelsey wonders the worry that brought that parent and child in today.  I do, too.

The doors are closed and no one else is the room.   We hold hands, and I pray for that little screaming voice inside and our own silent voices.

Twenty minutes later, “it’s over” is calmly stated by the staff.  The mom took five more minutes to calm her child down.  As they walked out of the office, distraught, I offered her a warm glance.

It’s now my child’s turn and though she does not scream externally anymore, we’ve had enough of those moments in the past to know how worried she is inside.  I put on my best face and smile to offer her comfort and calm.  Her determined face keeps me going, though I cannot escape the pain felt through confidence instead of crying this time. 

We hope, we pray, and we await results hoping we worry a little less when we do.

Sharp Taste

It seems that life recently gave us a sharp taste of reality.  Wednesday mornings are often enough.  We lost two family friends and watched a pop concert turn into tragedy.  

We found ourselves full of sorrow, questioning much, and understanding little.

We held each other tightly, reminded each other how much we loved one another, and shared a few laughs together.

We discussed how we were brave, how we were kind, and how we appreciate one another.  

We smiled longer and hugged tighter.

We celebrated a milestone birthday.

We honored those who served and prayed for their families.

We dreamed and we remembered.  

“Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.” Harriet Tubman

For those who wrote to help The Open Act, we thank you! 

To changing the world and dreaming, one day at a time.


SAVE THE DATE – DESIGNER BAG BINGO- JULY 13, 2017

St. Charles Borromeo * 176 Stagecoach Rd, Sicklerville, NJ 08081

Lessons from the Egg Hunt

We recently attended a huge egg hunt with a myriad of kids and parents.  It is an annual tradition and we usually have a blast.  This year, a variety of circumstances changed and as a result, so did the hunt.  This fun-filled tradition ended up being full of life lessons rather than laughter.  That leads us right to the rules of life and the lessons learned from the egg hunt.

Rule 1: Life happens.  Be early or on time.

We made it with only a few minutes to spare.  Traffic happens, life happens.  Be ready, but be on time.

The early bird does get the worm.  Those minutes to spare put us far back in the line-up.

However, I taught my children to be polite and wait their turn.  When the bell rang to initiate the hunt, all of the children would all be in the same place.  “Just be patient and wait your turn,” I reminded them.  

My two children did just that.  They were so excited.

Rule 2: Everyone does not follow the rules.  Do not let a poor example ruin your day.

One minute before the bell rang, a parent not only placed herself in front of my children, but also moved her children in front of mine as well.

What was I to do?  Decisions decisions… It was a trying moment for me (to say the least), and I had many phrases in my head that I did not want my children to hear me say.  

It was a moment to display self-control.  I took a deep breathe and loudly stated my apologies that not everyone in life plays by the rules (as steam was likely coming off of my scalp)!

I smiled and told them to have fun!

Rule 3: Be your own advocate and speak up when necessary.

Seconds later, the bell rang.  That woman was a steady blockade to both of my children and unfortunately the crowd had no other holes for my children to sneak through.  I had to step in at that point, politely excuse my children, and get them into the hunt!

My children were watching my every move carefully, and I had to decisively think through my every word and action.  

My words needed to echo what I want them to know and learn in life.  “Careful what you say, Children will listen…

Rule 4: You can’t always get what you want.

Minutes later, the hunt was over.  My son was easy to spot.  He had very few eggs but wore a smile anyway.  My Kelsey was harder to locate because she was persistent and still on a mission to find a single egg to call her own.

It did not happen.

Kelsey came out of the hunt completely empty handed.

I was certainly rethinking my earlier patience, but also reminded myself that this was a teachable moment.

Rule 5: Your family will always be there when you need them.

Consequently, those minutes and my patience cost Kelsey her eggs this year.  Her will was strong and her determination fierce, but with an empty basket, all she could do was run to me for a secure embrace.

I could not come up with an egg.   They were gone within two minutes.  I could only share the hug and tell her that there would be many more fruitful egg hunts in her future.  There will be.  I know that.  

It did not help.

With that came her brother to offer her a few eggs of his own.  He only had 6.  It was a rather precious moment.

I may have allowed a mom to block my children, but I also had a few tears of pride when my son shared his eggs.  

A brother was there for his sister.  I must be doing something right.

Rule 6: Sometimes, a kind gesture happens when you least expect it.

At that precise moment (I kid you not), the same woman who blocked my children walked by with the largest basket around.  It was overflowing with eggs…  Boy was it hard to hold my tongue then and there.

I had to repeat, “Careful what you say, Children will listen…

So I instead looked the other way, literally.  It was all I could do to remain calm.  What I saw when I chose to look at the situation differently was an entirely different perspective.  I saw a very thoughtful parent and sibling pair approaching my emotionally charged scene.  Her children had baskets with plenty of eggs, and I guess she watched our dramatic finish because her children offered some of their eggs to mine.

When one door closes, another one usually does open and the results are usually worth it.