when the end is in sight…

Y’all….(read that very dramatically and enthusiastically)

I registered for my FINAL semester of nursing school this week.
As in:
NO more after this.

I’m currently in the middle of OB/Pediatric nursing and swimming along just fine.

Next semester is preceptorship, critical care & nursing trends…during summer school, no less. It is going to be difficult and stressful, as most summer classes are.

But you know what?!
The end, that finish line, is within my sight.
I’m almost there.
I have *almost* completed one of my goals and I could not be more excited about the future for my little family of three.

2017 is shaping up to be SO amazing, full of hopeful & promising things.

I am so very in love with my life at this moment; it is amazing and fruitful and purposeful and just FULL of amazing & ordinary things.
I am slightly stressed at times, but then I remember how all of that means absolutely nothing when the end is in sight…

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Merry Christmas 2016

December has been a busy month for the Lanford Ladies.
Carys turned 13…and I cried. A lot. I had  written a long, sappy post but decided to keep it for myself.

She did receive a special gift I’ve been holding onto for 6 years…she knew it was coming and hasn’t taken it off since the day she opened it. So very special and treasured.


The other major present was contact lenses for my TEENAGER!
(It still feels weird saying that…)
Carys was SO excited to ditch her glasses. The confidence boost has been amazing to see! It makes her happy — but you can’t imagine how happy it makes ME to see her hold her head a little higher.

We celebrated turning 13 with a few of her close friends and an art day at a nearby art studio. We had a great time and made some memories, as well as beautiful pieces of art.

We’ve been busy, as I’m sure you are as well.
This is always such a crazy time of year – chaos at its best. I hope you can slow down a bit – like we plan to do. We aren’t really going anywhere and that’s just what is needed right now.

I haven’t done Christmas cards in a few years because I just haven’t felt like it. Christmas will never be the same as it used to be. I’m learning to embrace it all, even though it’s not how I had pictured it would be. It’s still wonderful. It’s still beautiful. It’s still a little crazy…kinda like us.

Merry Christmas!


Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment


6 years =
2,192 days =
52,608 hours =
3,156,480 minutes

Not one of those 189,388,800 seconds has passed without the three of us missing you. The hurt is always there, looming in the background.
Sometimes, its presence is subtle and quiet.
Sometimes, it screams for attention. Like today, for example.

Another year has passed without you here.
Life keeps going on; the earth takes another slow dance around the sun.
The seasons change. The girls are changing. I am changed and changing.

It never gets any easier to think about today’s date and its significance.

Funny how the mind works when you’re sleeping…I’m always subconsciously trying to get to you. To get you back. To be where ever you are.
When I’m awake, I know that’s not possible. But dreaming? You’re always there, somewhere, all the time.

Over the years, I’ve had dreams that we “just” got a divorce.
Isn’t that crazy?
That would come with it’s own pain; a different kind of grief would be attached. After all, it’s the death of a marriage, death of a relationship.
In my dream, I’ve reasoned that the girls would still have you in their lives – which would make it okay.
The mind is always working to explain things the heart cannot understand.

Carys will be 13 soon. She’s looking forward to the card and gift you left for her 13th birthday. There will be tears, but there will also be joy in knowing you chose the gift for her.
She misses you more than she can express. I’m proud of the emotional growth she has shown, even if it has been slow at times. She does things in her own way, in her own time; I’m learning to embrace that about her personality. It’s difficult for me at times, but I am learning to navigate the Tween years the best I can.
She’s a fun mix of the both of us. She’s sweet and daring, and even a bit sarcastic. She still loves swimming and hopes to ditch her glasses for contacts soon. She’s an amazing kid, honestly. You would be so proud of her.

Cailyn is 10…and looks so much like you it takes my breath away at times. She’s funny and helpful. She loves to make DIY videos right now, which is hilarious and frustrating at the same time. She’s a fierce friend who takes school pretty seriously. She will still hold my hand in pubic and likes to snuggle all the time. She’s pretty awesome – and doesn’t make me question my mothering abilities (yet…I know that’s coming, too).

I’m eager to complete nursing school; I should graduate next Summer. The girls and I will then decide where to go from there and how we will arrange our lives, yet again. All good things moving forward though – which is an amazing light at the end of this educational tunnel I’ve put myself in.

We would have celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary a couple of months ago.
Sometimes, I’ll hear a woman complain that her husband didn’t buy the right item at the grocery store or didn’t get her obvious hints for an elaborate anniversary gift. I quietly scold them in my head, all the while being jealous of their lack of deep hurt. They don’t know what I know. I would never wish it on them, either.

I can never adequately explain how your death has changed me, shaped me and continues to direct me. I just can’t find the words. I hope my life does you, and us, justice.  I hope my tears reach you – I hope they somehow convey my heart the way words simply cannot.

We miss you, always and forever.

Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments


They have wished their childhood away so frequently (and loudly), that I fear we are there.
I have a preteen.
And a pre-preteen.

I also have a huge heartache.

After this year, our family’s journey through elementary school is over.
I’ll have two middle schoolers next year.
My heart literally cannot take it.
At the start of this school year, I would get teary-eyed every single time we passed by the high school. The girls would make a joke about the “Cry School.” Yes, yes, I am a mess about it sometimes. Then I turn the corner and remember my baby is still in elementary, my older one still has a little while left in middle school. All is well for a bit…

Middle school is rough.
Carys has been navigating it pretty well so far; but it is very tricky.

No matter how I try to lift her up at home,
No matter how many positive people I place in her path,
No matter how many times we discuss the importance of ignoring drama,
It still seeps in.

My giggly girl is still happy, but I can tell you that something has changed.
I know it’s the age and hormones and all that stuff.
But it’s also something more.

It’s losing innocence.
It’s knowing a little more than she wants to know.
It’s seeing friends change and deciding if you want to change, too.
It’s hearing people snicker out of earshot and wonder if it’s you they are talking about.
It’s staring yourself down in the mirror daily, wondering if you’re good enough.

I wish I could put them in a protective bubble where only good things happen to them for the rest of their lives. I know that’s not possible, but I’ve wished it a thousand times.

I wish I could adequately explain that these days, these middle school years, don’t mean anything in the grand scheme of LIFE. Mean girls will grow up to be mean women; the cute boys are going to be balding and divorced one day. I’ve been to high-school reunions…I speak the truth.

I wish they could see how truly beautiful and unique they are. They are special. They have their own gifts and talents; they don’t have to be like everyone else.

I wish they knew that this awkward phase doesn’t last forever.
Everyone (well, almost everyone) outgrows it.

I wish I could let them see a glimpse of the future.
I wish I could show them that everything turns out okay in the end.
I also wish they come to understand the dangers of people on the internet – and not from learning the hard way.
I wish I could preserve their innocence, their eagerness, for life.

But most of all?

Most of all, I wish them peace and love.
I want them to be happy kids who develop into happy adults.
I want them to feel safe and unconditionally loved under my roof.

That’s what we all wish for, isn’t it?
I know I do.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

the importance of holding a hand

I believe touch may be the most powerful sense of all.
A gentle touch has the ability to calm us and let us know someone cares.

Did you know that chronically ill people and many aging adults do not receive touch stimuli like a hug, a back rub or even holding a hand?

Take a moment to think about how you would feel if no one ever hugged you or reached for your hand.

Would you feel unloved?
Uncared for?

Yesterday, I had a busy day of errands and tasks to complete. Usually, I am quite annoyed if my plans go awry. If I don’t get to check everything off on my “to do” list, I become quite cranky. But this wasn’t the case when hospice needed me.

I had to drive nearly an hour “out of my way”, using my GPS to guide me to a destination I’ve never seen. I entered doors I’ve never darkened, spoke to people I’ve never met, and had the privilege of holding a stranger’s hand.

A patient needed hospice yesterday, as she makes the transition home. She was comatose, but I sat with her, read scripture to her, spoke to her about the pictures she had around her room and just held her hand. I firmly believe she heard me, just as I believe Chad knew I was there when he was transitioning.

People often ask me why I want to work with hospice:
“I could never do that…isn’t it sad?”

Yes, it is sad. It’s heartbreaking most of the time.
But you know what is even more sad?
The thought of someone being alone, dying. Alone.

If you think there aren’t that many people who are truly alone…think again.
I used to think that everyone has someone — a family member or a friend — that would step up and assist when the need presented itself. But it’s not the way things often work out.

Sometimes, the patient doesn’t have children.
Or their families are busy with their own lives that they don’t fully grasp the fragility of life for their loved ones.
Sometimes, their spouse is older, too; not a suitable situation for taking care of one another.
Sometimes, family members are estranged for unknown reasons.
Sometimes, the patient has been socially withdrawn due to sickness or depression.
Sometimes, the family or friend is dealing with the death process by ignoring it.
Sometimes, a patient’s health decline is rapid – a family doesn’t have time to prepare.
And sometimes, a patient doesn’t say much to their family about their health because they don’t want to worry anyone…

Whatever the reason, it’s important to realize that all families are different. Just because I feel I would handle the death of a loved one in a different way, doesn’t make it the right way.
This has been a struggle for me to accept, especially living amidst an aging population. Many people retire to this area, leaving their families in other states. Then, when an illness strikes, it’s difficult to mobilize family members from multiple states in order to care for a parent (or other relative) that needs help.

It breaks my heart to realize how many people are in need of hospice, in my area alone.
I am eternally grateful for our own journey with hospice and my ability to assist now. It has really changed my outlook on life; the brevity of it all. I understand the importance of things I once took for granted.

Never underestimate the importance of holding a hand.
Never underestimate the ability you have to make a difference to someone.

I’m looking forward to holding many more hands…

hospice badge

“Your life may be the only bible someone ever reads”

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Catching up

I have a friend, whom I met through Chad’s career with NCDOT, who still reads my journal and comments from time to time. He suggested that some of Chad’s coworkers/friends might like an update about what’s going on with us…

We left in such a hurry (yay for quick-moving real estate!) in 2014, that I didn’t get the chance to tell a lot of people goodbye. I’m sure some of them wonder what happened to us – especially since my blog was defunct for a couple of years…

Every single one of his NCDOT coworkers/friends were such blessings to us. They gave their time when transporting him to and from work when he couldn’t drive, donated vacation time so he could stay out of work longer and collect pay with benefits, cooked for us, bought Christmas gifts for the girls…  I could go on and on. They are all magnificent people.

First, I apologize for leaving so abruptly. My house sold and I had to find a new home and move out all within 2 weeks. It was hectic, to say the least.

Currently, I am in SC on the coast. I am a short 15 minute drive from my mom, who helps me with the girls when I need it. I’m not currently working — because I am a full-time nursing student…which is a job in itself. I should be finished next Summer, if things go according to plan. We all know how “plans” go, though…

I am not dating or even thinking about it. One day….but not today. I was actually engaged briefly, but we decided to stay friends instead. I’ve got my hands full with the girls and with school.  I am trying to raise these little ladies of mine. My focus is on them, myself and God at the moment and I just don’t have room for anything else right now. That keeps me busy enough 🙂

When school is over, I definitely plan to move again – at some point. I might stay here for a few more years so that Carys can finish high school. Or, I might not. Cailyn is like me – we like moving, meeting new people and learning new things. Carys…does not. The girls really don’t like the beach, even though I keep telling them they will regret not taking advantage of it when they are older.

I do hope to move back to the Raleigh area. I miss my friends and it’s no secret that I want to work for hospice. I’ve been volunteering with Mercy Care hospice here, but took a break after my last patient went back to NY for the Summer. I love hospice – everything they stand for, believe in and aim to accomplish. I honestly feel like it is my calling. I would love to work at Transitions, formerly Hospice of Wake County, where Chad was a patient. We will see how that all plays out. It’s a ways off, still…

After I finish my 2-year degree, I will probably work for a couple of years at a local hospital to get experience while letting them pick up the tab for my Bachelors in Nursing.   🙂

Many people have asked me about my writing. I had entertained the thought of writing a book at one point. I decided to go to nursing school instead. I think writing a book is definitely in my future…and it won’t hurt to have some factual medical knowledge and experience to actually back up my personal account of our little story.

All in all, moving here has been a good move for us. We are each finding our way through this crazy life. We don’t come back to the Johnston/Wake area very much. When we do, it’s a quick day trip — simply impossible to fit seeing everyone and doing everything in. I was so wrapped up in classes this Summer that I didn’t get to do much of anything (except study). The girls start school next week – our Summer is almost over. I don’t know where it all went!

If you are reading this, and are one of the awesome NCDOT people (or JoCo/WakeCo friend) I was referring to, please know I do think of you all so often. I hope you’re doing well. I see a few of you on FaceBook from time to time and it always makes me smile. I will see you all again – I know that, for sure 🙂

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment


On August 4, 2001, I married my best friend.

I practically ran down the aisle and never looked back.
We started a beautiful life together that day.
Was our marriage perfect? Of course not…
But we were best friends who happened to be married to each other, too.

15 years?
It seemed like an eternity when I stood at the altar with my groom, exchanging vows and rings.
Now? When I look back, I don’t know how the time escaped me.

Sometimes I miss him so much I can’t breathe or think of anything else.
It’s not that I haven’t processed my grief appropriately (like some have suggested recently). It’s that grief is unpredictable. It never goes away. You just deal with it.

What makes days like today better?
Remembering the good days.
The early days.
The conversations.
The trust.
The life we built.
And then I have two little constant reminders that life is a beautiful garden, despite the thorny bits.
I thoroughly enjoy seeing the girls develop into the people they’re meant to be – and it thrills my heart when they exhibit some hint of their dad in their personalities. It’s simply amazing to see.

Carys never fails to say, “Happy anniversary, mama” on August 4th. Sweet, sweet child of mine.

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

the situation

There are many things I despise about my situation.
Even calling it a “situation” makes my left eye twitch.

My situation, just to clarify: 
I am a Christian.
I am a single mother.
I am a student.
I am a woman.
I am a homeowner.
I am a type-1 diabetic.
I am a widow.

That word – widow – makes both my eyes twitch.
It makes me nauseous.
And it’s not because of what it means.
It’s because of what everyone else thinks it means.
It’s because there is some type of stigma attached to it.
It’s antiquated.
It’s unfair.
It’s not representative of who I am.

Before I was a widow, I was right in the midst of a seemingly perfect suburban life.
I drove carpool. I made lunches.
I ironed my husband’s clothes for work. Well, let’s not start fibbing…I never iron.
Then, cancer came.
It huffed and it puffed and it took it all away.
For three years, I was becoming a widow.
Then I actually became one.
A real live widow.

People looked at me differently.
They spoke to me differently.
They treated me differently.
Or they didn’t, because they just avoided me.

This is life.
Things were almost perfect.
And then they weren’t.
Obviously, things don’t always go as planned.

I am a widow.
By pure definition alone.

Long ago, women just didn’t remarry after losing their spouse. They mourned forever.
I have mourned Chad’s death every day since November 11, 2010. I miss him.
Some days are good, some days are not. The last few months have been particularly difficult; but I am not, nor will I ever be, sitting in a black lace dress by a darkened window, knitting with my 13 rescued cats. I won’t wear a dark veil or swear off any future relationships. I won’t let my daughters think that my entire identity has been lost.

I miss him terribly. I miss our life. I miss who I was before things became complicated by cancer.
As terrible as the whole ordeal was, and as much as I wish I could have changed the outcome, I am still here. I am still responsible for two little lives and I am still ME.

The way I choose to honor his life and the love we shared is by living, doing, going and being. I think he would approve.

I am different, yes.
I am more aware of the brevity of life, the fragility of it all.
I am more aware of my purpose, my calling in life.

I am different, but I am the same.
I have put myself back together.
I just fit those pieces back differently.

I have a renewed sense of direction — fueled by faith, love, giggles from my girls and insane amounts of coffee.

I am rearranging my life in a way that makes me happy and complete.
It has taken me years to get to this point; 9 years in the making.
Grief is a process that I had no clue how to prepare for. I still don’t know what I am doing.

But I’m doing it…

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment


Simple phrase
But, man, did it change my perspective

new me

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Until it happens to you

Six years ago today, we sat in a waiting room. We sat, impatiently waiting, for our name to be called. We chatted about random things, trying not to address the situation we were about to face. I wrote a “to do” list on a magazine mailer I found on the coffee table in front of us.


We stood up. We walked, in silence, to a small room. There was no window. It smelled like rubbery plastic, like bandaids. The nurse took vitals. She chatted about the weather, answered a few of my questions. One included, “We have called a few times about symptoms…the PA is usually good about calling back within 2-3 days…why is he ignoring us?” I said it in half-jest. I was annoyed he hadn’t returned our calls – or had someone return our calls. She fought back tears as she informed us that he had passed away quite soon after his own cancer diagnosis.
She told us a brief story about how his widow recently decided to remove his coat from their closet and decided to check the pocket. She found a ring he had custom-made for their anniversary. They didn’t get the opportunity to celebrate and he never had the chance to properly present it to her. I literally gasped at the thought; how terribly sad and tragic.

She left us, as we waited for our own sobering reality.
Chad and I sat in stunned silence. I stared at a stack of out-of-date magazines, internally kicking myself for being insensitive.

The doctor entered.
There was no warm smile and general conversation, like every time before.
He was brief and factual. He offered a few options, none of which Chad wanted to discuss at length.  He already knew he  wanted to forgo treatment, without hesitation. Dr. T offered his condolences, thanked us for trusting him and told us to take our time in the room.

We cried as we sat in the room for a while longer.
I asked my husband a few questions, assured him that he was allowed to take his time and consider all available options. His mind was fixed; he was miserable and didn’t consider “more time” any consolation for the misery he felt on a daily basis. That has been so hard for me to accept. I can never understand that pain because I was always on the outside looking in. It didn’t happen to me.

When we decided it was finally time to leave the room, we weren’t sure what to do. I remember opening the door and peeking outside, like we were in trouble or needed permission.

From that moment on, every single thing looked different.
The faces of the staff looked different as they looked at us with such pity and sadness.
My husband looked different, defeated and tired. But also relieved, in a strange way.
The sky even looked different as we took the glass elevator down to the parking garage.
The drive home was different, as I tried to imagine my home without him in it.

At the time, I did not have time to process the manner in which that news was delivered.
Over the years, I have had time to think about it.
To analyze it.
It made me angry for a while.
It always makes me cry when I think about it.

And the conclusion?
There was no other way for him to tell us that Chad was going to die within 3 to 6 months.
There just wasn’t another way.
How do you present death, dying, hospice, and “getting your affairs in order” in a neat little package to a 32-year-old man who has a beautiful, young, vibrant family?

Imagine the job Dr. T had (and still has): to care for very sick people and hopefully make them better – even if temporarily. Sometimes he gets to tell people they are healed. And sometimes, like in our case, he  gets to tell people their time is extremely limited.

Can you imagine?
Can you imagine the toll it takes on a professional who has to deliver such news on a daily basis? The heaviness that must weigh on him when families try to bargain with him to save their loved one?
I can’t.
I just can’t fathom it.

I am thankful for that doctor.
He made a huge difference in our lives.
I even wrote him a note of thanks after Chad passed away. Sounds strange – but I told him how grateful I was that he took on our case, when no other surgeons wanted to. He gave us a chance and I will forever be grateful for that opportunity.

I’ve been volunteering with hospice in the last few months.
It has brought back so many memories and has reaffirmed goals I’ve set for myself.

I have been pursuing a career in the healthcare industry for five years.
While I never want to be responsible for telling a family that death is imminent, I want to be able to properly support people who are faced with such tragic news. I want to cry with them. I want them to feel supported. I want them to know they matter.

Nursing school has been the most challenging and rewarding experience.
Sometimes I want to quit, if I’m being honest.
Then I remember that I have something rewarding to offer to people.
I have personal life experience with death, sadly.

Supporting people at their darkest moments is something you can’t prepare for.
There are no books to direct your words or actions.
There are no words that adequately capture the pain, fear and loneliness that death brings about.

There is no way to properly learn empathy
until it happens to you.

I’m reminded daily of the things I miss about my husband and the brief life we shared.
All of those beautiful everyday moments happened to me before all the tragic ones did.

I’m thankful for the good and the bad; for both, equally but in different ways.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment