Bolt up! And, Notorious Big may have let you hear swear words.

Paxton,

Remember many months ago when Momma told you I was working on having something extra special occur in your honor? Well, today is the BIG DAY! With big help from one very little woman (with a heart of GOLD), I was successful in making this notion a reality. Surprise! The San Diego Chargers readily and graciously accepted my challenge to lead “charge” against childhood cancer. Today these giant men, with even larger hearts, will give a roaring, thundering voice to thousands of Little Warriors across the land. Today the Chargers will make an unprecedented move as they generate awareness of childhood cancer throughout the NFL.

The Chargers will run a full-page ad in the Chargers’ “Tailgate Times” featuring the Paxton Andrews Foundation. Throughout the game, messages relaying the chilling facts about childhood cancer will play on the jumbotron at Qualcomm Stadium. Slides highlighting the Paxton Andrews Foundation will roll on monitors around the stadium for the entirety of the game. Best of all, the Chargers will name you, Paxton Bowe Andrews, their Honored Hero for today’s game against the Dallas Cowboys.

When the Chargers heard about your beautiful soul and your brave fight, they wanted to help in any way possible. They asked what I most wanted. As always, I said, “awareness”. Yet, I never anticipated their support would be this grand. Though I am not sure why I ever underestimate what can happen when you are involved. Your spirit is so bold and bright, not even an entire NFL organization can help but to fall hopelessly in love with you. The Chargers are a great organization; clearly owned by even greater people. My appreciation is well beyond what even a million words could express.

San Diego Chargers

Incidentally, while I was running at the gym this morning “Going Back to Cali” came on my XM radio channel. Hearing Notorious BIG always makes my insides smile. But given the stir currently going down in Cali over you, I couldn’t help but think you and Biggie worked together to send me that one. (I’d prefer if Biggie would shelter you from his oft vulgar mouth. But, I’m hopeful he gave you ear muffs during the extra-naughty parts.) Sensing you all around me, and with Biggie lacing his lyrically genius beats throughout my soul, I ran faster and farther – and felt stronger – than I have in years. The only thing missing was hydraulics on my treadmill…and of course, you.

I am so very proud of you, Diddy. Enjoy the game. Bolt up!

Stay with me, Sweet Boy.

xoox

Momma

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A Gold Out, a heavy happy, and a Princess Warrior hug.

Paxton.

This week was chocked full of a shit can of mixed up emotions. By now you know the entire community of Brookfield came together in honor of your bright and beautiful life spark. It all happened so quickly that Momma didn’t have a moments notice to catch her breath, much less time to process all that was unfolding. Unbeknownst to me, Nita and Bruce spearheaded a “Gold Out” to raise awareness for childhood cancer. They chose to have the Gold Out this week because it is September…and because it was the biggest game of the year: the cross town rival football game between BCHS and BEHS. I was brought into the loop after the event had taken on a life of its own. But I’m told that within 24 hours of the suggestion for a Gold Out, BC contacted BE – and both schools were on board, BC vs. BE was named WISN’s Game of the Week, news outlets were calling for commentary, social media was buzzing, t-shirts were ordered, and posters were designed. The crescent tides of what would become a fierce sea of gold, were already swelling around me.

I was honorary captain of the game – and a balloon launch, especially for you, punctuated the Star Spangled Banner. The sweetest moment of all, however, could not have been orchestrated. It occurred shortly before kickoff. The sun, which was just beginning to set, came out for the first time all day. Stunning shades of pink, purple, and best of all…gold illuminated the evening sky. All who witnessed it agree: even the heavens above Brookfield wanted to participate in the Gold Out. (I don’t so much believe in heaven. So, I figure it was you and your flock of angels knocking on the walls of the picturesque fall sky to let me know you were nearby.) Hundreds of gold balloons were released; but I was given a special one. It was a brilliant, rich, purple – to match your birthstone. Bruce decided it’d be easier for you to spot the purple, amongst the blanket of gold, and know exactly which one Momma sent up to you.

The synergy created in efforts to bring awareness of childhood cancer, albeit within the confines of my tiny universe of BCHS, gave me more hope and promise than I’ve felt in a very long time. No money was raised, no promises for change were made. Awareness was generated. And, that is all I have ever asked for.

High off the adrenaline of fighting childhood cancer like a ninja, I made the bravest move yet. I met Emily. Emily is a valiant and beautiful warrior princess who kicked Ewings Sarcoma right in the fucking mouth. She fought the same type of cancer you had for over 13 months, endured 5 surgeries. She travelled between CHW and CHP – to ensure she was in the best of care – throughout her grueling protocol. I first learned about Emily through Dr. D right after your diagnosis. Since then, I’ve kept Emily tucked in my heart. But, I never had the courage to seek her out. In fact, I couldn’t even search for her on Infinite Campus. The mere notion of looking into her eyes terrified me. I still can”t explain some of my fears. Though, I recently read somewhere that grief feels a hell of a lot like fear.

In the meantime Emily silently roamed, like a princess warrior in waiting, throughout the halls of BCHS. All the while knowing who I was, knowing who you were…knowing, most of all, that our worlds would officially collide exactly at the right time. Today was the right time. By my request, Bruce brought her to my room. He did not say a word. Emily did not say a word. I, of course, did not say a word either. Words would’ve only gotten in the way. Instead, I scooped Emily into my arms and held her tightly against my broken heart. I didn’t want to let her go. I felt like she’d be better off in my arms – or in my pocket, for the rest of time. But, I figured her mom would feel otherwise. So I put her down. I took her adorable and innocent face in my shaky hands, and told her she was the bravest little warrior princess. Through tear-filled eyes and a quivering smile she said, “You are brave too.” (Oh, Emily. You really are the best little girl there ever was, aren’t you?) We didn’t talk for long because I couldn’t talk…or say anything of consequence. Yet we quickly realized we are, in fact, kindred spirits. Don’t worry Diddy, I won’t let her out of my sight – poor thing will have me creeping in her shadows from now until the end of time. Thank you for sending her to me.

The high of Friday has sent me crashing so low, that I don’t know how I’ll ever recuperate. The fact that I have to parent the son I waited my entire fucking life for by participating in high school “Gold Outs” to generate awareness of the very asshole who brazenly killed him, is simply impossible to digest. You must agree – my existence is all types of messed up. I do have moments of happiness. But when they occur, I almost always lose my breath. Happiness that exists without you is never guilt free. It is certainly not the kind of happiness I had back when you were here. My new happiness comes with a very heavy price that never goes away. This happiness feels as heavy as the absence of you, which is never far from my mind, heart, body, or soul. This happiness is heavy.

The happiness is almost always accompanied by tears. Tears because all of this is too damn much for one girl. Tears over the thousands of kids who are currently fighting cancer. Tears that so many other parents, like me, are left with a dead child due to this crap shoot of a world. Tears that if you survive it’s only because you got ‘lucky’ in a game of Russian Roulette. But when you lose, you lose big time. There are no “do overs” or second chances. No matter how loudly you scream and cry, or call out your child’s name at the top of your god damn lungs because you think if you scream it loudly enough, he’ll come home. (Not home as in fucking heaven, but home as in back into your arms, where he belongs.) Home: as in where you belong with me and should’ve been with me until I was the one old and dying, not you, young and dying while I sat by and helplessly watched you take your last breaths.

I am so grateful for the Gold Out, and the unyielding support the “Little Community That Could”. But I am not as grateful as I am regretful that this is how your life turned out. It was never supposed to be like this, Paxton. I don’t know what went wrong. I just know it should have been me. Never you. No. Never you.

I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.

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I miss you. I love you. I hope you caught my purple balloon.

Stay with me, sweet boy.

xoox,

Momma

19 months. today wasn’t gonna be easy…then cancer came back.

Diddy,

Today began much like everyday. I got out of bed, walked down to your room, and began our morning ritual. I whispered the many hopes and dreams I have for you: some old, some new. Each at the forefront of my mind as I face the dawn of yet another day without you. I told you how much I loved and missed you, and explained yet again how I wished a million times over that we could trade places. I shared many other secrets in the spaces in between. All the while searching and scanning the world on the other side of your bedroom window – – just in case today would be the day you’re outside waiting for me to come and rescue you. Then I ambled into the shower, got myself presentable, and set out into the ‘real’ world. (Also known as my ‘fake’ world.) Though I don’t recall the commute, I arrived at BCHS: parked in the spot reserved for me 13-ish years ago, entered the set of doors I’ve pulled on a million times over, navigated the hallways in which I’ve surely worn a pathway, entered my classroom, switched on the lights, landed safely at my desk…and was met by your beautiful face smiling right at me. Then, I exhaled.

I have become very adept at eluding eye contact with the 1300 students which fill the hallways at any given time throughout the school day. I avoid looking too deeply into the eyes of babes who, despite their individual stories and struggles, do not know anything about the dark, grim, gruesome world in which I live. Part of my avoidance comes from sparing myself from the pang which stings my soul when the realization strikes that you will never be in 9th, 10th, 11th or 12th grade, worried about a test, excited about a girl, donned to the nines for prom, decorated as a stud player on the basketball team…the list goes on. The other half, is sparing the kids who should they look too closely into my eyes, will surely end up getting sick and dying. But mostly my avoidance stems from the fact that I know I live in a parallel universe. I realize that no one in that building could ever come close to understanding the aforementioned – let alone a teenage kid. None of those teenagers: with the exception of two, little, lovely Lancers.

I met the older of the lovelies three years ago when she was a freshman. She is a spicy monkey. Spicy enough to be one of my students. Spicy enough to run hurdles to boot. It was during track season that I got to know her best. At the time, I was going through IVF treatments to conceive you. She and her family were rallying around her little brother who was in the final weeks of his victorious battle with brain cancer: medulloblastoma. He endured and triumphed over 56 rounds of chemo and 28 rounds of radiation. I remember the day she brought celebratory bracelets into a team meeting. The night before, her brother “rang the bell” at CHW. (At the time, I had no idea how intimate I’d become with the notion of one day watching you reach up to tug the string on that same bell.) I recall silently sobbing in the coaches’ office as I watched the video she made of her little warrior brother ringing the bell. My tears were those of sheer joy…the sobs I blamed on the assortment of drugs surging throughout my body. In retrospect, I wonder if the world was silently trying to prepare me for matters of which I wouldn’t have understood, nor heeded, had they been emblazoned in neon, flashing lights.

Today one of my closest BCHS friends, who apparently pulled the short straw, sat me down and delivered a brutal message. The little warrior boy, who rang a bell over three years ago, just received the crushing news that his cancer is back. His cancer is back in the same spot as the original tumor…at the base of his brain. His cancer is fucking back. How is this even possible?

One of my new-world survival techniques is compartmentalization. In fact, it is the single most effective tool in my arsenal. I simply cannot allow my real world to overlap with my fake world. That being said, I don’t do “cancer-talk”, “Paxton-talk”, “personal-life talk” while I’m anywhere other than at home. On top of the collision of my two worlds, the nature of this news shoved me right down my ‘isolate to survive’ rabbit hole. The net result left me paralyzed. As tears began to push against the backs of my eyes, and vomit started to creep up my throat, I merely uttered, “This is not good. This really is not good.” Bless her heart and soul, my sweet friend gently replied, “I’m sorry, Danna. I am so sorry.” And the exchange of those two sentences continued on a loop, until I walked away…and “deep six-ed” into my rabbit hole.

Many hours later, and in the safety of my own space, I called my friend. I asked her to make sure this family knew that I will do anything I can to help them – anything at all. I am fully and wholly committed to their every last need. No matter what it is, when they need it…I am here. The offer stands infinitely. She promised she would make sure they knew. And she did.

I couldn’t allow my commitment to this little warrior boy to be my ‘something different’ on the 12th of this month. I forced myself to do something else. It ended up being horse-shit because my heart, which is smashed into 12 billion pieces, couldn’t muster up anything meaningful. Plus it was hella late in the night. For that, I apologize. For committing every last resource I personally have and that your Foundation has generated to this brave and beautiful boy, I do not.

I still have a hard time wrapping my head around my reality, which I know is also the reality for so many other parents across the land who have lost a child. It’s a reality you never get to escape from or take a break from. It’s a reality that is tremendous and cumbersome to carry around – and the load never gets any lighter. But, I don’t ever want my reality to be another parent’s reality. One blonde haired, blue-eyed boy is one too many. How many more need to be spared? What do I need to do to stop cancer from stealing another child?

Please help this little warrior boy. Please help Dr. Jogal, Dr. Firat, Nurse Renee and the other all-too familiar cast of characters at CHW who compose his Dream Team find a way for him to (once again) defy the gruesome odds. Please help him find his inner-warrior strength and reign triumphant over medulloblastoma, a PNET sarcoma, which has yet again declared war inside his sweet, innocent body.

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I miss you each and every day, I truly do. But today I’d especially have done anything to have been able to rush home, scoop you into my arms, and plant a kiss atop of your innocent, beautiful head…as I thanked the angels everywhere for letting you be born healthy and happy.

I am so very sorry you got sick. I will never, ever stop asking why. I will never, ever stop fighting either.

Stay with me, sweet boy. Stay with the little warrior boy too.

xoox,

Momma