gold is the new pink.

Diddy,

September is nearly over. You know what that means, “Childhood Cancer Awareness” month is drawing to a close. I had big hopes for September this year. My ultimate goal remains that Gold:September will soon be as wide-spread as, and synonymous with Pink:October. For weeks, I have been in the middle of writing a post about all which has been unraveling surrounding my plight, and the plight of some of your favorite PaxLovers (LaLa, Erin, Dan, Meg, Allison, and Matt). Everytime I turn around, it seemed as though a new development has unfolded. In the end, I decided my energy would be better spent trying to make a real difference in this fight than to stop, even for a minute, to document my thoughts about how it shouldn’t be this hard to get people to pay attention to childhood cancer.

There are some special people, in high places,  who are paying attention…and joining our fight. One of the accomplishments I’m most proud of are the many different Proclamations that officially declared September Childhood Cancer Awareness month. Mayor Tom Barrett, City of Milwaukee, lead the way. Without pause – he declared September Childhood Cancer Awareness month in Milwaukee – in your honor. Following Mayor Barrett was Steve Ponto, Mayor of the City of Brookfield and David Ament; Mayor of the City of New Berlin; as well as a personal favorite of mine – Dan Vrakas, County Executive of Waukesha County.  

In less officious forms, several communities actively generated awareness as well. On September 20th, PAX Luminary bags lined the streets of neighborhoods all around the Milwaukee area. There were also several individuals who put a twist on the now infamous ALS Ice Bucket Challenge and chose PAX as their foundation of choice. In fact, close to $1,500 was donated to your foundation throughout the month. The timing couldn’t have been more appropriate. 

Unfortunately, there are some seriously disappointing events which have resulted from my efforts to keep Childhood Cancer Awareness on the forefront of peoples’ minds. These unfortunate occurrences have sent Momma into a tailspin. After much consideration, I refuse – simply refuse to give them any god damn air time – for now. For now, Sweet Boy. But as I always tell you, in time, “…shit always floats to the top”.

One thing I must give air time to is the refusal of the Empire State Building to light up Gold for one night during the month of September. The thousands of requests which have been made by desperate, yet hopeful, parents have been denied for some seriously lame ass reasons. The ESB lights up for pretty much every cause out there, but apparently childhood cancer is not worthy enough to be one of them. One night last week, it was lit green to promote the premiere of the  Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie. Promise.

During your treatment, and nearly every.single.day.since, I felt overcome by the overwhelming notion that you were being experimented on like a lab rat. I don’t understand how you had the biggest team in the history of Oncology at CHW, composed of the smartest people across the land, and no one could come up with an answer….not a single fucking answer. It still burns my soul that your death certificate, which I will never open, but inherently know lists your official cause of death as, ‘undifferentiated sarcoma’.  To those who are lucky enough to remain blissfully unaware of the world of childhood cancer, “undifferentiated” loosely translates to: “We don’t really know what kind of cancer your baby has…and without knowing what we’re treating, we couldn’t identify a protocol to treat him. So he died.”

I refuse to turn the other cheek and accept that more strides haven’t been made in the world of childhood cancer. It didn’t take long to learn that childhood cancer seems to be a dirty little secret that nobody wants to talk about. But, if nobody is telling the story of childhood cancer, research is not being done because the funding is just not there. Without the proper funds, cures will not be found and kids will continue have the same grim outcomes. Until things change, I plan on fighting the only way I know how. The way that you  taught me – by being as spicy as possible.

Through my new network of parents, who belong to the “club” no one wants to be a member of, I started to hear the soft roars of brave parents who are trying to accomplish some of the same things I am – only to be met by one brick wall after another. As the month moved on, these soft roars became louder and louder. Eventually it seemed as if the entire world (at least in my corner of the universe) was entranced by this very important issue. A social media campaign was launched with the hashtag #empiregogold. Thousands of people started voicing their opinions on this matter to any and all Empire State social media pages. The outrage intensified when they noticed their posts about anything childhood cancer related, started to disappear as well as pictures of their children. It was as if, much like our beloved babies, this “dirty little secret” was expected to die and be buried.

The Empire State Building grossly underestimated the advocates of childhood cancer community. We are not merely promoting a Hollywood film, or a front-runner for a Democratic Convention, and we could give a shit about the release of Mariah Carey’s new CD. We aren’t merely advocates – we are parents. Parents who were forced to watch our child fight for his/her life…while we helplessly stood by and watched them slowly die.  We are parents trying to change a very dark world by giving it a beam of golden light to help ignite this change. We are simply trying to give other kids a chance so they can grow up to do the amazing things that I know you would have done.

I want a face-to-face with the heartless bastard who operates the ESB. I wouldn’t need, nor want much of his time. In fact, I’d simply ask him one question, just one:

“What if it were your child?”

Huh?

What’s that you say?

If it were your child, you would want the best awareness, funding, and treatments possible so you wouldn’t have to kiss your baby’s urn every night instead of tucking him into bed?

That’s what I thought you said.

Jackass.

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Close those baby blues and sleep tight lil’ one. If you need me, just call my name.

Stay with me, Sweet Boy.

xoox,

Momma

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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

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

Three hundred and sixty five days. I still just want you back.

Paxton,

July 2nd happened. It was hard. It was painful. It was scary. It was sad. I did not die. I wanted to. But I didn’t. In fact I spent most of July 1st pleading – to no one in particular – to please let me die before morning. Alas, July 2nd came. And I had no choice but to face the one year anniversary of the last day I kissed your beautiful face and held your tiny, sweet hands in my own. To make matters more difficult – it was sunny, warm, and bright outside. It was as if the atmosphere took happy steroids and some invisible force catapulted me into a vibrant backdrop fit for a post card. Surrounded by quiet air, blue skies, green trees and wide open spaces – I couldn’t have felt more vulnerable if I had tried.

What I had been busying trying to do was shift my paradigm of thinking about July 2nd. For months, I spent a good deal of time and energy convincing myself that pieces of July 2nd hold a silver lining. After all, it is the day you ended your brave and gallant battle. It is the day you stopped feeling pain. I told myself time and time again, July 2nd was your very own personal day of liberation. I did my best to prevent July 2nd from simply being “the day my son died”. To help ensure the focus was not solely on the sadness in losing you – but also on carrying on your fight – I even declared July 2nd as National FU Cancer Day. My family, friends, co-workers, and many other special members of your adoring ‘fan club’ joined my pseudo movement. Despite Momma’s very good intentions, July 2nd proved more heart-wrenching than I could have ever anticipated.

I intentionally spent much of the day entirely alone. There is simply no one left in my life who knows exactly what happened in those final days…and final moments with you. I didn’t feel like faking it with my well-intended and kind-hearted friends and family. Maybe I should have. But, I didn’t. I ran away. I ran away to a place I’ve never been, where I knew absolutely no one. And there I stayed for precisely two and a half (2 1/2) days. I spent nearly the entire time searching for you…and, also searching for slivers of peace and slices of resilience. There were moments when I felt you with me: absolutely undeniably with me. And others when I felt like you were millions of miles away.

Back in Milwaukee, my very best lovelies and some of my closest family threw an epic “Celebration of Paxton”. To no surprise, they went over the top, bonkers to put together a celebration fit for a prince. (You are most certainly worthy of an affair of such nature.) Their ultimate goal: to send you love in such abundance, that you couldn’t miss if you tried. Rainbows and love served as the theme of the celebration. Each of those lovelies painted their nails a certain color to reflect the colors of the rainbow. (Broph even did hers as clouds!) They also made sure to paint their middle fingers gold…extra, sparkly-gold just for you. The extra-sparkly-gold middle fingers were used to send cancer a whole-hearted, united, resounding “FUCK YOU”. They sent that off at the part of the day they were feeling spiciest. The kids painted signs – outfitted with giraffes, balloons, rainbows and most prominent of all: your name. The adults recounted stories of your smile, your wonder, your innocence, your bravery. Music played, libations flowed, laughs echoed, tears fell. At the end of the night, when the moon illuminated the warm, summer sky, each one of those good people sent a wish lantern, full of good, sweet love, up into the sky for you. (***Lala’s was so chocked full of kisses, she wasn’t sure it would get off the ground.) I imagine you watching it all. I picture you smiling when they pulled out their inner-gangsta and gave cancer their gold-sparkly-middle fingers. I hope you felt all of their love, Diddy. Most important of all, I hope you know their love exists for you EVERY day. Not just on the day that marks the anniversary of the day you decided to end your fight.

Towards late afternoon, Momma met up with a new friend. She and I have had plans to unite for months. We met through childhood cancer; which we hate. But, we decided to be friends on our own; which we love. She lost her beloved son to cancer 26 months ago – just before he turned four years old. His name is Ronan. His mommy’s name is Maya. A few months ago, Ms. Maya was kind and gracious enough to invite me to her childhood home to spend some time with her on what she quipped as “…that horrible, awful day”. She explained how she and her family run away on Ronan’s “Death Day” too. The first year, she wanted to get as far away from the place Ronan died as possible. So her family headed to Boston. However, when they got to Boston Ms. Maya had a very difficult time. It turned out her tummy didn’t feel right in Boston. In fact, “…she fucking hated it.” She asked her strong and kind husband, Daddy Woo, to take her to Maine instead. So he did. It was reassuring to learn I wasn’t the only Momma who needed to run far away from the place I was on the day you were taken away from me.

In fact, so much about being with Ronan’s mommy was helpful in getting through the day. She knew all the things I was thinking before I could even get the words to come up my throat and out of my mouth. She talked softly, and slowly. She was thoughtful with her words, and compassionate with her eyes. Ms. Maya took me to a beautiful restaurant which held special meaning to her. When I couldn’t eat, she was unfazed. She simply placed her hand atop mine and said, “It’s okay, Momma. You tried.” After my non-meal, we went to a magical place tucked deep in the heart of the city. We spent nearly three hours there. We walked all about the grounds: sometimes talking, sometimes thinking…sometimes crying, sometimes smiling. The entire time each of us staring far off into space. Although we didn’t say as much, it was obvious what we were scanning the skies for: our “Lost Boys”. It was at this magical place where I especially felt you with me, Diddy. Did you see me? Was that you? (I’ll never stop hating that I have to ask these questions.)

When we parted ways, Ms. Maya and I ended our visit, the same way we started it: by hugging…and sobbing. Hating what brought us together…but, grateful we were brought together. I gather there is a secret society amongst we unfortunate mothers who know first hand the gruesomeness and helplessness – which magnifies the enormity of the loss – of watching your child wage a war against cancer. In each other, we found someone who shares the same rage over the lack of awareness about childhood cancer, and also the same passion in bringing about real change to the world of childhood cancer. We also found a slew of other things we have in common – which are more light-hearted and girlie. But, for now, those are secrets for only Ms. Maya and I to hold. Late in the night, Ms. Maya called to check on me. Among other things, she said, “I’m sorry we are going to have to be friends forever because of this. But we are. I love you.” Thank you for sending her to me, Paxton. (You always send me the best ones.)

So there it is, Diddy. July 2, 2013. It was nothing like I wanted it to be, nor like I imagined it would be. If I had control of any of the major changes in my life – I’d have switched so many things about the day. However, as irony would have it…I found a sliver of peace and a slice of resilience by running off to an unfamiliar place, to spend the scariest day of my life alone, and the rest of the time with a girl, who was once but just a stranger.

I miss you. I love you. I ache for you in every cell in my being.

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Stay with me, Sweet Boy.

xoox

Momma

big things come in little packages.

Hi Diddy,

The past few days have been filled with activity. I’m still on my nation-wide search for peace. Which makes the “filled with activity” somewhat counterintuitive. That’s pretty typical for your Momma, I guess.

Speaking of activity, I’ve been running a lot. Mostly because I haven’t had a gym I can readily go to for months. So I do ninja type things using my body’s resistance and I run. As for the running thing: it turns out I like to chase people. Not in a creepy, killer way. Rather in an “I can catch you” way. Your Momma has somewhat of a competitive side, what can I say? It’s been doing wonders for my pacing. I have a few different routes, depending on my mood and on my legs. There are hills everywhere, and some days I swear someone replaced my legs with Clay Matthews’ legs. Anyway, on my short, non-hill route, I turn around when I hit 12th street. I’ve been trying to hit 12th street, at 12 minutes for two weeks. I finally did it this morning! I also clocked out the distance….exactly a mile and a half. If you do the math, that translates into an 8:00 minute mile. Pow. Your Momma may be old, but she’s slowly getting back into fighting form. I don’t think I could keep up an 8:00 minute mile pace for 4 miles or 5 miles. Unless of course I was chasing people, or just trying to impress you.

While I run, I am always on the lookout for signs of you. It seems like I receive the best ones, when I am not trying so hard to find you. Yet the other day, I stumbled upon one. Literally. On the side of a dilapidated, vacant building, there was a painting. It was a simple compilation of wild flowers and colorful butterflies. Within the collage, in blue paint, were the words, Baby A. It took my breath away. My entire pregnancy you were Baby A – short for Baby Andrews. We didn’t want to find out if you were a boy or a girl until your grand reveal. For the record, I knew you were a boy. In fact, I was so confident that I secretly bought a few boy clothes before I was sentenced to bed rest. (You never got to wear those outfits. It breaks my heart whenever I look at those in particular.) You will always be my sweet Baby A.

The Baby A sign pales in comparison to the run where I found the most amazing thing. (That’s for Ms. Britta. She can’t stand the word amazing. In fact, her crazy daisy self sent me a text at some absurd hour to tell me ‘amazing’ has now surpassed ‘moist’ and ‘luscious’ on her most hated word list. You can agree that’s a pretty serious claim.) I digress, I was half-running across a street when I spotted an object lying in the middle of the street out of the corner of my eye. Sophie! I pivoted, lunged forward, and scooped her into my hand within half a second. I turned in what seemed like 112 circles. No one was in sight. Not a soul. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So, I did both. I clutched Sophie in my sweaty, shaky hand, and carried her with me for the rest of my run. The entire time, my mind raced. “The little-little who dropped her must be so entirely sad.” “I have to find the little-little.” “Paxton would be so happy if I can get her back to her rightful owner.” I went back to the scene of ‘Rescue Sophie-Two’ at the end of my run, half expecting to find a frantic mom scavenging the streets for her. I envisioned the relief on her face when I handed Sophie-Two to her, and planted a kiss on her little-little’s forehead. But, no one was there. With a heaviness in my heart, I took Sophie-Two home. She has been hanging out with Giraffey and Little-Tiny-Bear ever since. Until you whisper exactly the right thing to do with her, Sophie-Two will stay with us. We will take extra special care of her.

In even more exciting news, I connected with a long lost friend a few days ago. I haven’t seen her in 16 years; but that hasn’t stopped her from being one of your ‘Super Fans’. Little Cary has demonstrated stead-fast support for you, in ways both big and small, since last May. Truth be told, my dear, kind, generous friend just happens to have one of the biggest hearts on the planet. After learning she lives in the area, I decided to go out on a limb and send her an email. Unbeknownst to me, LC had just gotten home from work and was going through her mail and email. That afternoon, she received a letter from the museum asking for her annual pledge. LC threw the letter in the garbage. As, she had already decided in lieu donating to the museum, this year she would be donating to the zoo – specifically to the care taking of the giraffes; in honor of you! Moments after her “donation rotation” decision, she opened her email and found the message from me. She is confident this chain of events was not serendipitous. I have to agree. Without pause, LC and I had solidified plans to reunite the next morning. Upon sight, she wrapped me in her arms, and hugged me good and long. Just like that, it was as if no time had passed since we were last together.

A day of non-stop chatter, evolved into dinner, and rolled right up to night-time. LC has something big in the works to help us honor you, Paxton. That woman may be “little”, but she packs a punch. I know she will do whatever she can to lead the “Charge” in helping Momma put childhood cancer on the map. There are one (or two) other very little things she’s trying to help Momma secure as well. All in good time, Diddy. Your Momma has certainly learned how to exercise patience in the last two years. Nonetheless, I am so inspired by LC’s fierce passion for you – that even if nothing materializes, my heart can smile knowing you have another Super Mom who is intensely committed to helping you live on, and to seeing that childhood cancer is put firmly on its ass.

This afternoon, I am heading out to spend the weekend with LC’s family. Somehow, their hearts are even more beautiful than their beloved, adorable son. I am looking forward to being surrounded by familiar faces, warm love, and good souls. I will be sure to keep you posted on the things we get ourselves into. LC already has one plan for Momma. She is able to get me into one of the most beautiful and serene Hindu Temples. She thought it may provide an opportunity to feel closer to you…perhaps, find a sliver of peace to put inside my heart. Peace. It is precisely what I am in search of after all.

I carry you with me everywhere I roam.

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I miss you. I love you. I hope you are happy.

xoox,

Momma

Go for Gold.

We are so close! Let’s not stop now. Let’s not stop at 25,000. Let’s blow this out of the water. Do it for my sweet boy. Do it for the 7 warriors who ended their fight with cancer today. Do it for the 46 children who will be diagnosed tomorrow. Do it … because it’s the right thing to do.

It is time for The White House to join this fight. It is time The White House lead the way in bringing awareness to Childhood Cancer. It is time The White House light up GOLD in the month of September.

This should have happened a long time ago. I’m still astonished how simple awareness has continued to slip through the cracks. Did you know George Bush Senior, had a daughter who died from Leukemia? I believe she was almost 4 when she ended her fight. Heartbreaking, right? You would think the personal devastation of the most powerful man in the world would have been the impetus in putting childhood cancer on the map. We had not one, but two President Bushes who could have done something brilliant…something huge. But as far as I can gather, not much was done. So here we sit now, begging for a petition to get the signatures it needs in hopes that The White House will say YES to lighting the White House GOLD for the month of September. This is not something we should have to beg for. I begged for the life of my beloved Paxton. Begging for signatures just seems silly, but, I am not above it.

I hope President Obama, takes a stand on this cause. I hope the First Lady gets involved too.  (I love you Michelle – but kids are not dying left and right due to childhood obesity.) Do kids with childhood obesity have to go through harsh chemo treatments meant for adults? No, they do not.

Yes; I am begging for signatures on a petition I don’t even know if The White House will approve. Here I sit, at 3:30 in the morning, unable to sleep – tears streaming down my face not ONLY for the loss of Paxton, but for so many other beautiful warriors as well. All I am asking is for Childhood Cancer to be as recognized just like the other cancers out there. All I am asking for is for the color GOLD to be recognized just like the color PINK. Just make it equal. Why isn’t it already?

https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/light-white-house-gold-month-september-honor-pediatric-cancer-fighters-and-bring-light-cause/syV6M6wX?utm_source=wh.gov&utm_medium=shorturl&utm_campaign=shorturl

Thank you all who have signed and shared. Please continue to share with anyone and everyone.

Tears of Gold

(I love you Paxton.)

Warrior Momma