the Lanfords

Dear Cailyn,
Five short years ago, you came screaming into my life.
A chubby little newborn with a voracious appetite, a colicky demeanor and a dazzling pair of blue eyes.
You had me wrapped around your tiny little finger from the first moment I laid eyes on you.

You are my baby, the littlest Lanford Lady. You are my last baby. And I feel like you have that all figured out…already.
Sometimes, I wonder how you so often get your way…but I know I give in far too often than I should.
Those eyes…those dimples…I have to find some sort of antidote for their charms before you turn sixteen and ask me for a car I know you don’t need…

As I was putting together your birthday video, it hit me that this is the last birthday that you will have any pictures of yourself with Daddy from the last year. I know how challenging the last year has been for you and how very much you miss your Daddy.

It also hit me that you’ve changed so much in the last year. Emotionally; yes. And physically? Oh, yes.
This time last year, you still looked like a toddler.
Now, today, you look like a little lady.

You woke up on your birthday, feeling a bit wiser, a bit taller and a bit more confident than you did the night before.
That’s the magic of being five…a world of possibility that seems to be born overnight.

You are a perfectly equal mix of your Daddy and I; a detail-oriented planner, a shopping lover, a perfectionist, a daydreamer, a steadfast friend and a social butterfly.
You are very verbal about your emotions, which you clearly got from me; and you’re very thoughtful with your reactions, which you clearly got from him.

The rest of your personality is all YOU.
You were uniquely wired from birth to require more glitter, more sparkle and more sequins than should be humanly possible.
I hope you always keep your fashion sense…even though I’m sure I foresee a few fights arguments conversations in our future about your wardrobe selections as you pass into the teenage years. Thankfully, I have a few years to worry about that dilemma.

You have asked hard questions this year; questions that are hard for adults to wrap their head around…but you ask with a naturally inquisitive and pure heart. You make my heart swell with pride and unbelievable admiration when you remind us to be thankful for the beautiful life God has given us. I know, without a doubt, that I am shaping your future the way I should be; and I am grateful that your joyful spirit allows me to have such certainty.

Welcome to the fabulous year of FIVE.
A magical time that you will never forget, a time I hope you will always remember as the year all your dreams came true.

I love you.

High as the sky,
Deep as the ocean.

xoxo,
Mommy

Link to post from last year’s events.

–

May 11, 2010
One year ago

Today is the day.
The day I knew that something was happening.
The day I realized that the path we had been stumbling upon was going to be a bit trickier to navigate.
The day that my daughters witnessed our superhero seize in the road for over half an hour before paramedics were able to cease it.
The day we last spent the night at the hospital, missing our family and hoping for good news.
The day our lives began to change forever, irrepressible.
The day I finally learned that I, that we, are in control of nothing.

At the time, even though I knew there was something awry with the seizure and the state of IT, I never would have imagined the steep decline in Chad’s health in the following months.
Almost to the day, six months later, he left us.

I remember all the confusion about IT’s growth at the time; we were told initially there was no change.
And then, the following month, we were given a terminal diagnosis.

I don’t want to remember today.
I don’t want to forever remember the look of sheer panic and absolute fear in Carys’ voice and face.
I don’t want to remember what he looked like, lying in the road, with my hands under his head, tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat.
I don’t want to remember having to make hurried phone calls to family members, explaining the situation as concisely as possible through a rapid, trembling voice that was not my own.
I don’t want to remember that black overnight bag I had packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice, and I don’t want to remember how often I actually had to reach for it.
I don’t want to remember all the hospital visits or medication changes or physical changes or mental deficiencies.

As much as I try to push it from my memory, it is there.
Every second of every day.
It stings a little less lately, but it’s ever present.

Oh, no.
I just don’t want to remember any of that.

I want to remember this…

And this…

And all of this, too…

–

For more than three years, we have been incredibly and extraordinarily supported by family members, friends and perfect strangers.

Thank you.
Thank you for caring for my family, for reaching out to us emotionally and financially.
Thank you for realizing you could make a difference in the life of another. Because you did. Greatly.

Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.

Dear Chad,
You were just shy of your three year diagnosis anniversary.
You were given three months to live back in June.
It’s been three weeks since you left this place for somewhere better.
Wednesday is the third day of the work week – the day you left.

I just don’t think I like the number three.
And I really don’t like Wednesdays anymore either.

I had a few moments today when the grief hit me out of the blue.
Something simple – a song on the radio, seeing cookies in the cookie jar, reading an email someone sent me about you, haphazardly  seeing pictures of you when I was looking for something else. Pictures from a long time ago; when IT hadn’t entered our lives. We weren’t even married yet.
And there were some pictures from this Summer – with the girls and I. You looked so healthy in July. I just don’t understand how you could be gone when you look so good just months ago.

Yet, I do understand.
I know the brain cancer is a quick and quiet disease.
It steals things, little by little, until there is nothing little left to take.
Then it moves to the larger things; memories, motor functions, the ability to speak coherently.

But IT didn’t take away the way you looked at me from across the room, even when you couldn’t speak my name.
IT didn’t take away your prepared nature; you handled everything you knew you should – and then relinquished it all to me when you knew you weren’t able to do so any longer.
IT didn’t take away the grasp with which you hugged, kissed and caressed our daughters.
IT didn’t take away your humor and wit, even though IT slowed you down a little.
IT was unable to destroy your Faith or Hope in something bigger, something better for yourself.
IT was not allowed to take away our memories, even when I had to help you remember our life together.

We put up the Christmas tree.
I took a few days to decorate it.
And I’m not messing with any other decorations this year.
Just don’t feel like it.
I went shopping yesterday, trying to figure out what to buy for people.
Not really interested in shopping (if you can believe that, I know…)
I wasn’t going to do Christmas cards this year. Didn’t seem right.
But I did them anyway.
It stung when I typed our names on the bottom.
I automatically typed yours too – then realized it’s just the three of us this year.
There’s that dreaded number three again….

The girls are handling your absence pretty well, all things considered.
And truth be told, I think it was harder on us when you moved to Hospice.
We all cried a lot then; and we cry now too – but it’s not quite the same as when you left the house in mid-August.
I think we all knew that was the beginning of the end; and it gave us an opportunity to grieve losing you without you actually being gone yet.

Carys’ birthday is next week. Seven years old.
I plan to give her the card you wrote for her – she will treasure it, I know.
I read it last week and I know you tried so hard to come up with something to say – and to spell correctly.
She will probably sleep with it under her pillow.

It doesn’t seem like a year has passed since you held her hand while she got her ears pierced for her sixth birthday.
She wants a pair of dangling earrings this year. She’s growing so fast, Chad.
And you would be so proud of her – even though I know you were – I think you would be amazed at her strength over the last three weeks.

I gave her a puppy for her birthday, a little early – sorry. I know you would have jokingly threatened to divorce me if I brought in any more animals.

Oh.
We got a kitten too — just mentioning it for full disclosure.

Today, I saw a bright blue sky with huge fluffy white clouds – the sun streaming through in patches to kiss the ground with warmth.
And I hoped you were seeing that beauty from the other side; it was blindingly beautiful. It reminded me of you and how much you loved to be outside with nature. I can just vision you raking leaves outside, humming along and making piles for the kids to jump into.

We miss you.
I miss you.
Even Lucy the wonder dog misses you.
I was wearing your jacket last night when I let her outside – she was smelling your scent and going absolutely insane.
I did finally teach her to sleep on her bed — and NOT in our bed. Sorry I didn’t do it sooner. You were right. I do sleep better without a 14-pound pup leaping on my kidneys in the middle of the night.

I hope you’re enjoying your time running laps and laughing hysterically and eating and seeing everyone we love who’s with you.
I can’t imagine what that is like; to be free and perfect and calm and whole.
No crying. No sadness. No pain.
I just can’t even imagine.

Even though I miss you fiercely, I am glad you are whole again.
Even though I am not, I am joyful that you are.

xoxo,

Skye

Tomorrow, we have to leave the little piece of Heaven we’ve called home for a week.
And we don’t wanna.
Of course we’re ready to see our furry critters and sleep in our own beds.
But I’m not looking forward to doing normal things, like grocery shopping, paying bills or the school-and-homework shuffle.

All good things come to an end, I suppose.

We did have a fantastic day today.
Started with a late breakfast.
Went to the waterpark for a couple of hours.
Sailed away on a three hour cruise to snorkel (Both girls tried it. Both girls freaked out! Then Carys tried again for a few minutes.), see Iguana Island, find sea shells and see the beautiful natural areas of the island.
Ended with a beach party at the far end of the resort, sent some of Chad’s ashes to sea, and spent a little time in the hot tub before a much-needed shower.
Right now, the girls are watching television and getting ready for bed.
I’m putting off the start of my packing chores.

The next time I update, we will be on US soil…and probably very tired.
We’ve rested well during this trip, but I’m sure the lack of sleep will catch up with us when we leave the salty air and sunshine behind.

Here are a few pictures from today – enjoy!

I hope you all had a peaceful day with family and friends, gathered around laughing and sharing memories. And making some new ones, too.
The girls and I had a traditional Thanksgiving Feast, complete with reggae playing in the background.
We left the table setting for four people tonight and shared what we were each thankful for in our lives.
We talked about Chad and how much we missed him being with us on Thanksgiving.
We shared our heartaches with each other and promised that it was okay for each of us to be sad and happy at the same time.

We had a busy, busy day.
The girls had breakfast with all the characters from Sesame Street. Cailyn was way more excited about it than Carys was.
She was very sad to see Cookie Monster, since that was Chad’s nickname around our house.
There are still cookies in our cookie jar from early August. I can’t throw them out just yet.
Cailyn got to lead the Conga line with Abby Cadabby and I’ve never seen her smile so much.
Carys finally warmed up to Elmo — who doesn’t love Elmo!?!

We played all day at the waterpark and pool and then made our way to the beach for a photoshoot before dinner.
After we dined on turkey and all the delicious food, we walked around for a while and chatted.
Sweet, sweet girls.
Who are, surprisingly, getting along (and not driving me crazy). For the most part…

While they were napping today, I took some photos right outside our room of the flowers & such.
I brought Chad’s wedding ring with me, and I took a few pictures of that as well.
It was a good day, with a few tears. But it was still good.
I kept telling myself that Chad wouldn’t want us to be so melancholy in a place as beautiful as this.
And I chose this island specifically because I think it’s as close to Heaven as we can possibly be.

Anyway — here are pictures from the last twenty-four hours.  (You can click to make them larger in a new window….)
Enjoy.
Happy Thanksgiving.

Light the corners of my mind
Misty water-colored memories

Of the way we were
Scattered pictures,

Of the smiles we left behind
Smiles we gave to one another

For the way we were
Can it be that it was all so simple then?

Or has time re-written every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again

Tell me, would we? Could we?
Memories, may be beautiful and yet

What’s too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget

So it’s the laughter
We will remember

Whenever we remember…
The way we were…
the way we were…

Barbra Streisand