The night time

The night time is hard.
The daylight fades and things become hidden in darkness.
Still.
Quiet.
Not quite as real, especially to little ones.

Carys has been pretending that Chad is just at work for a little over a week now.
Usually at dinner time, her fantasy begins.

When the girls are sleeping and I”m all alone in this quiet house, it hits me hard too.

Last night, Cailyn woke up sobbing.
She was crying so hard that she couldn’t catch her breath.
By the time I calmed her weeping down enough to understand her frantic language, I knew what had happened to my sweet girl.

Cailyn had a dream about Chad last night.
A very vivid, very real dream.

If you believe in seeing angels or our loved ones reaching out to us after they’ve gone to Heaven, then maybe you’ll view this experience the same way as I do.
If you don’t believe in that, then maybe you’ll think it’s just my daughter’s overactive imagination playing tricks on her.

She says she woke up and looked around, and noticed a man standing in her doorway.
She looked at him for a while.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t talk.
He just stood there, observing.

She said she knew it was Chad – and she knew he wasn’t supposed to be there.
“He is ‘upposed to be in Heaven. Why was he in my room?”

It confused her.
It shocked her.
And it scared her, immensely.

She ended up in my bed with me last night, talking and hugging.
I assured her that, if it was Daddy, he was just saying hello.
And he would never scare her. He wouldn’t mean to, at least.
She was adamant that it was Chad.

Today, we talked about it some more.
I was hoping she could tell me more once she had calmed down.
But she had no new information.
The story she told me was exactly the same as it was last night.

The thing that struck me most about her story was that Chad used to do that; stand in the girls doorways at night and watch them sleep for a few minutes. He started doing that when they were babies; checking in to make sure they didn’t need a blanket or that they weren’t half-hanging off the bed, in danger of falling to the floor. Carys, bless her heart, fell out of bed frequently for a while when she was about three years old. It just became his habit to check on them.

As his disease progressed, he still checked in on them although it wasn’t every night.
Sometimes, he would sit on the edge of their beds and rest his hand on their leg or their back.
Sometimes he would just sit on their beds, trying to say things to them, to tell them how much he loved them.
When it became harder for him because he couldn’t stand very long on his right leg, he would stand in the doorway to brace himself in case he fell.

Cailyn didn’t know that he used to that.
I never told her.
I never told Carys, either.

The fact that she saw him standing there, which was so common for him to do, made me feel comforted.
She was scared. But I was not. I am not.

She asked me what to do if it happened again tonight, and I simply told her to say hello to him.
And if she couldn’t get the words out, to call me. I would help her through it.

I’m hoping she doesn’t get scared again, but I can definitely understand why she would be frightened.

–

I spoke with the counselor about Carys’ current situation with pretending that Chad is at work.
We’re going to keep an eye over it over the next few weeks and see what happens.
Carys feels comforted thinking that Chad is somewhere else other than where he is; which I can understand.
We just don’t want her to develop an alternate reality.
So, I talk her through it when she brings it up.

Yesterday, she wanted to pretend he was in an accident and in the hospital.
“His truck was waaaaay broken, Mommy. He can’t drive it anymore.”
I let her lead the conversation.
And I, gently, reassured her that Daddy was not at the hospital and he was not in a wreck.
He was dead. He was not coming home.
And she does not like that word; dead.
I am very careful not to say anything other than that particular word, even though it’s hard to say and, I’m sure, hard for her to hear. She has to hear it. Unfortunately.
She tries to use other words to describe where Chad is: gone, in Heaven, not here, in the better place, sleeping good.
She will, sometimes, say it. But she tries not to.

She is doing extremely well in school.
She is making great grades.
She’s sleeping well, eating well.

She just misses her Dad.
And I completely understand.
We all do.

Comments

Skye, January 21st 2011 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls

Girl Scout Cookies

I cannot believe that I forgot to include this information on the blog.
Carys is selling cookies this year (yay!)
The first order is due, well, immediately.
If you saw my message on FaceBook, I have your order and it will be submitted.

If you would like to order, please send me an email at skye.lanford@gmail.com
I will deliver to the Triangle area and will come to the Fayetteville/Stedman area when the cookies come in (mid-February).

Cookie Varieties:

Thanks-A-Lot

Shout Outs – NEW!

Lemonades

Shortbread

Thin Mints

Peanut Butter Patties

Caramel DeLite: formerly Samoas

Peanut Butter Sandwich

You can view cookie descriptions by going here:  http://abcsmartcookies.com/cookies.asp

$3.50 per box

All proceeds stay local – and go to Carys’ troop.
We appreciate your support!

Thanks :)

Comments

Skye, January 20th 2011 | Posted in Chatter, the girls

Catching up

There are days when I think about blogging, days I think about doing laundry, days I think about taking the girls to the movies and forgetting everything else that needs to be done around here.
There is so much to be done, so much stuff to unclutter.
There is a lot of mental cleaning I need to do too, and I find that to be the most difficult.

Right now, Carys likes to believe that Chad is at work and is on his way home.
This is especially difficult for me to handle.
She knows he is not coming home.
But it helps her to believe that he is, usually around dinner time.
We always had dinner together, at the table. Every single day.
And I know that is a particularly hard thing for her.
She wants our family back, as do I.
I am not indulging her fantasy, but try to talk to her about it instead.
We have an appointment with the children’s grief counselor this week, so I hope to get a little assistance in how to handle this.

Cailyn is doing very well, although she does pretend that Chad is all around us sometimes.
I suppose that he is, technically.
But she likes to pretend he is in the car with us, at the store with us, out to eat with us.
She doesn’t get weepy or upset; but she does insist that he is playing a game of hide-and-seek with us almost daily.
Again, I will be getting some help with this later this week.

I definitely understand that Chad’s death is more than they can handle at times.
It’s more than anyone should have to handle.

Last week, I happened across a bottle of Chad’s favorite cologne.
Cool Water.
He wore it all the time, until the scent made him nauseous over the last year or so.
So, he wore it sparingly until the bottle was empty and we never bought any more.

I purchased the bottle and brought it home, intending to share it with the girls (and myself) when we were having a particularly difficult day remembering the details of Chad.

I sprayed my wrists with it and got teary-eyed each time I would catch a whiff throughout the day.
Cailyn noticed the scent too, and before I knew it, I was spraying her tiny wrist with “Daddy’s smell”.
Of course, Carys followed suit once she got home from school.
I’ve caught them in my bedroom, standing perfectly still, taking turns inhaling the intoxicating aroma of the cologne.
They understand it’s special and they genuinely feel comforted.
As do I.
Scents definitely bring back intense memories.

And me?
I am doing the best I can.
Even though I didn’t thoroughly enjoy the holidays like I normally do, I was thankful I had something in which to focus my time and energy. I had Christmas shopping, tree decorating, holiday parties. There was always something to keep me busy.
Now, it’s just quiet. School is in, friends are back to work, traveling is over.
It’s so very, very quiet.
Just me and my thoughts.
Which isn’t the best situation – I need something to do that doesn’t include cleaning the house or rearranging memories and furniture.

I’ll be completely honest in saying that the emotions seem to hit me out of nowhere and make me feel like I am losing my mind sometimes.
I feel generally impulsive, sometimes detached, sometimes alive, sometimes super-sensitive, sometimes I lack patience, sometimes nothing at all.
I say and do things that aren’t me, things I don’t fully understand. I feel things that I didn’t expect.

Like anger? Not really.
I guess that is hard for some people to understand, but I’m not angry at God or at Chad or at anyone else.
I have so many other emotions that I don’t think anger has a place to fit in around it all.
In my weakest moments, I am more disappointed than anything else. But angry? No.

I think my lack of anger has a lot to do with the way Chad chose to handle this whole situation.
He had a brief period of anger, which he had every right to experience.
And then one day, he just decided he was spending too much energy being angry over something he had no control over.
This time period was shortly before he was given a terminal diagnosis, when he was unable to work or drive or provide for his family in the ways he thought he should be able to.
He told me that there was sense in being angry and that life was never promised to be fair; “It is what it is; life keeps on going.”

It would not be helpful for me to sit around and be angry.
Probably like it’s not helpful for me to sleep as much as I can and never get out of my pajamas unless critically necessary.
But I think sleeping and pajama time is a little less damaging than being angry all the time.
At least I like to think it is.

This week I have a goal to focus on: the girls & I need insurance.
We haven’t had insurance since the end of November, when Chad’s policy ran out.
And I am extremely thankful that no one has been sick or has needed anything other than a band-aid or a kiss to make it better.
It just makes my stomach twist in knots to see the premiums we’ll pay. Talk about something that does make me ANGRY…
We could carry over Chad’s insurance, but I’m not convinced it’s the lowest rate for us. So, I’m on a mission.

This week, pray for me to find insurance that won’t make me physically ill each time the premiums are due.
Pray for me to find the focus to feed my children healthy meals – instead of offering cereal or takeout.
Pray for me to find my patience, even in increments of 5 minutes per day.
Pray for me to find sleep at regular hours, instead of spread throughout the day – when I should be doing something else.

Comments

Skye, January 17th 2011 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls

Two Months

Dear Chad,
I can hardly believe two months have passed.
I’ll repeat what I’ve said before – it seems totally unfair that life keeps going, full speed, without you in it.
There have been a million little things I’ve wanted to tell you; little phrases the girls have come up with, the outstanding grades your oldest daughter is receiving, your youngest daughter is fully out of her shell, the fun we had and experiences on our trips.
Only, you’re not here for me to tell.
It seems strange, still.
Surreal.

I received an email last week from someone you used to work with.
Granted, he’s been out of the country for a while and didn’t know that you had passed away.
He asked me how you were doing and I went into shock.
He meant well; and he honestly didn’t know.
I replied with a brief response; it’s all I could type.

The cards, letters & emails have almost stopped; and I thought that intense period of grief and fact regurgitation was over.
I don’t know that it will ever truly be over, as there are people who have lost touch with you over the years and don’t even know that you had cancer.
I dread going anywhere public because I just never know who I will run into, what they will ask or how I will reply.

I feel like I have a sad, cold, metallic “W” emblazoned upon my chest.
Forget the Scarlet Letter A, my W stands for Widow.
And I feel like everyone stares at me, where ever I may go.
They look at me with sad eyes, think pitiful thoughts and whisper about the way I must feel to have lost you.
I know that a large majority of the people I come in contact with do not even know about you, about me, about this trauma in our lives.

Sometimes I just want to scream.
And sometimes, I do.
I find that my patience is thin.
And my voice is loud.
I’m trying to work on that; I do not like screaming.

I have a hard time going to sleep at night, still.
When sleep will not find me, I lay awake thinking.
Of all the beautiful time we’re missing.
Of all the promises we made to each other.
Of the life we were supposed to live.
Of our daughters’ future and how much they will miss you along the way.

Nightly, I press my finger to your sterling silver fingerprint that is securely fastened around my neck.
It’s like we’re holding hands, as much as we can anyway.

Call it synchronicity or just plain weirdness or times when my grief lets my mind believe something is more than it actually is or moments that God lets me know that you are okay; but that are times that I distinctly feel your presence.
This week alone, there have been three moments that stole the breath from my chest.

Lucy dropped a sock at my feet; your sock.
I have no idea where she found it, as your clothes have been stored neatly in boxes in the garage for a few weeks – until I can go through them and decide what to do with them.
It wasn’t a clean sock either. It was one of your running socks, dirty and grungy. It smelled like you – the sweaty, earthy, after-running-glow you.
Where did it come from?

The girls and I had dinner with some friends Saturday evening; friends that you brought into my life. We usually have dinner with them several times a year; taking turns hosting. You always looked forward to it.
On the drive home, I saw a shooting star, right in front of me.
I think you were saying that you were there, too.

Last night, I let the dogs out.
As I walked towards the steps on the back deck, I saw something shiny on the middle of the steps.
I went closer for a look.
And it was your keys.
A bronze “C” with Mickey mouse – a key chain that Shannon gave you back in high school, if I remember correctly.
Your keys.
How did they get there?

I have been disappointed over the last two months; thinking our bond would transcend this world and let me see glimpses of you.
I believe in angels. I believe in seeing them..
I thought I would be seeing you.
And I haven’t.
But there are moments, little things, that lead me to believe you are showing up the best you can.

And maybe that’s just my broken heart needing to see, feel, or hear something that isn’t really there.
Maybe it is.
But maybe, just maybe, it is real.
I like to believe that it is.
It helps to believe that it is real.

When I was in the shower last night, I suddenly realized that your shampoo and soap were still in the shower.
Small things like that become so second-nature; I pass by them daily and do not give them a second thought.
Finally noticing little remnants of you and your life with me mean so much.

I opened the caps and just inhaled the scent; your scent.
It was bittersweet, to say the least.
To smell you so distinctly, and yet you’re not here.

Although I had time to say my goodbyes to you, it wasn’t enough.
I don’t think there can ever be enough time to do that.
I still want a hug, and you weren’t able to give me a proper one for a really long time.
You held my hand, you squeezed it.
You did what you could, and I know it was all you could muster.
But I want more.
Just one more.

They say time heals all things; and I suppose that each day gets a little easier – if easy is even the right word to use here.
I’m finding it easier to sleep in our home alone at night.
I’m finding it easier to maintain a routine of chaos.
I’m finding it easier to let go of the small things and focus on the grander; life is so preciously limited.

The girls are doing well.
They both are craving attention from a father-figure and desperately cling to any of our male family members or friends.
They even called one of your friends ‘daddy’ this weekend; when I asked about it later, they told me that he reminded them of you.
I hope that didn’t freak him out…

Carys is doing fabulously well in school.
She writes letters to you, draws pictures for you, and she’s excitedly planning a birthday party for you in April.
She is testing boundaries of authority, but mostly with me.

Cailyn is also doing well.
She is embracing her last year at preschool and is testing boundaries frequently, too.
She also misses you and talks about you all the time.

Our home isn’t filled with tears quite so much these days; at least not from the girls.
Which is good. They deserve to be happy and live a full childhood, free from stress and sadness.
I try to stay happy for them; to keep them busy.
But when I’m alone and the house is quiet, it’s a different story.

Little things, like watching a television show we both liked, is difficult.
Driving and looking over to see an empty co-pilot seat, your sunglasses still clipped to the visor.
Buying groceries and not having your favorites on the list.
Sifting through junk mail and seeing your name.
Seeing your handwriting in the address book.
Refereeing between two children who just want attention; attention I can’t fully give.
Blockbuster movies arriving in the mail and knowing that it’s something you put on the list; like the Matrix trilogy.
Having to prepare meals for three, especially when I’m not hungry and don’t foresee myself to be for a while yet.
Keeping the kids happy, or maybe I’m failing miserably. I haven’t decided which.

It’s just hard.
I knew it would be.
You knew it would be.
There are many, many days when I want nothing more than to lay in bed all day, sleep and cry.
But being a full-time single mother doesn’t allow time for that.
I wish I didn’t know what that felt like.

Two months.
A little easier.
I’m breathing.
I’m well.
That’s all I can hope for, I think.

We love you.
We miss you.
Every second of every single day.

xoxo,
Skye

Comments

Skye, January 10th 2011 | Posted in Chad, Chatter

The NYC Chronicles

Snippets from conversations & a few tales during our wonderful stay in NYC…

We went to Benihana for dinner the second night.
And I met:
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Tracy Morgan.
Not a great shot of me – and he looks less than happy, too.
But he did preface my photo opportunity by saying he had to pee….so….
And I also found out that onions give him gas.
Fun times.

–

We went to Macy’s.
Oh, my. It’s bigger than you think it is.

086

–

FYI — chestnuts roasting on a street cart smell pretty nasty.
I heard they taste good.
But I couldn’t do it.

–

Carys: Wow. The subway smells like chicken nuggets.

Really? I didn’t know chicken nuggets smelled like that….

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–

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Cailyn in the subway: LOOK!!! A mouse!

That’s not a mouse.

–

The view of the city from 31 floors up was spectacular.

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51 floors up was pretty special, too.
I can only imagine how beautiful it is in the Summer…

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The Rockefeller Christmas tree was amazing.
And huge.
Amazingly huge.

097
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The festively decorated storefronts were amazing.
The girls were mesmerized.

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–

Cailyn’s favorite thing to do on the subway:

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Carys liked riding…

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Carys: “Mr. Chris, do you know what you’re supposed to do to strangers?”
We all panicked….
“You bite ‘em. My mommy told me that…”.
I think the men sitting next to her changed seats after that. At least she listens to my mommy-babble. Sometimes.
When Cai wasn’t asleep, she was dancing…
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–

We ventured to Chinatown, which is one of my favorite trips.
We saw lots of new things.

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From my FaceBook page:

I like it when I’m walking down the street & men
are tempting me with whispers about Tiffany,
diamonds, cashmere & purses. It’s like a dream
come true…but my dreams usually don’t require subtitles.
Go figure…

A petite woman asked us if we wanted a purse.
We said yes.
Then followed her quick-paced weaving through streets to an “office” building.
No offices there. Just fake storefronts and many, many lookouts for the fake purse market.

I kind of felt like Carrie Bradshaw for a while.
It was a little intimidating, and it was NO joke.
Thankfully, my fabulous tour guides were well versed in how-to-behave-properly-while-obtaining-copycat-merchandise.
I think it’s New Yorker 101.

And I have a great bag to show for it!

–

On Thursday, I also met a few ladies that I have been friends with since 2003.
I’ve never met them in person – we’re message board buddies. Long story for another time.
But it was great to meet them!

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Cailyn: Mommy! Someone dropped a bunch of candy on the steps!!!

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Nope.
It’s just Dylan’s Candy Bar.
Divine.

–

We visited Max Brenner on New Year’s Eve.
And had chocolate for dinner.

I had S’Mores something-or-other. And chocolate stout – also referred to as Big Girl Chocolate Milk.
Delish.

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Cailyn had something called a star-something chocolate waffle.
With gummy bears.
And vanilla bean ice cream.
And chocolate sauce.
And sugar.

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Carys had chocolate crepes.
And a sugar high.
In case you can’t tell…
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–

More to come.

Comments

Skye, January 5th 2011 | Posted in Chatter, photography, the girls

Alive

We’re alive.
We’re back from New York.
My house is a disaster.
The kids are back at school.
One dog is driving me crazy.
It’s been a crazy busy couple of weeks.
But I’ll be back soon.
When I can dig myself out of a funk.
And from the laundry pile.

A picture for you from our trip…

Happy New Year, too.

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Comments

Skye, January 4th 2011 | Posted in Chatter

Our first Christmas without you

Dear Chad,

There was definitely something missing yesterday, as the girls were opening their gifts and we shared fun with family and friends.
It was strange this year, no doubt.

All last week, I kept thinking about this time last year.
You had surgery on December 16, 2009 to reroute one of your shunts.
You had such a hard time with the pain and once you got home, your energy was just zapped.
Somehow, I knew it my heart it would be your last Christmas with us. And you thought so, too.
I hate that I was right; that we were right.
It just seems so long ago, yet not.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, I missed waking up to your famous pancakes.
Technically, this is our second year with them, as you didn’t feel up to your chef duties last year.
I even missed cleaning up after you – pancake mix dust all over the counter and sticky syrup faces on two sweet little girls.

Last year, you were awake and out of bed just long enough to see the girls open gifts; which isn’t very long.
They had everything unwrapped in record time this year, I’m sure you know.

The girls received some gifts you would have despised; noisy toys.
I can remember how those noises would aggravate your headaches, so we just never bought them – or the girls had to play in their rooms quietly, headphones and reduced volumes.
The girls were so excited. You should have seen the look on their faces when they realized the electronic piano has a microphone that allows them to sing along with their melodies. I think I will be hearing their remakes of Justin Beiber songs in my dreams for a while to come…

Part of their childhood has been stifled; I’m trying to make up for it.
They’ve been noisy.
They’ve been loud.
They’ve been what kids should be at Christmas; loud and often crazy on a sugar high.
It seems to make the quiet a little more bearable for me at times.
And at other times, it makes me crazy. And I wish I had never purchased toys that make noise.
But they are happy. And that’s all I need right now.

We followed our traditions, for the most part.
We went to the annual Christmas Eve party at Shannon’s house.
We came home and I let the girls unwrap one gift; new pajamas.
We went to bed and I hurriedly set up Santa Claus’ goodies – hoping the rustling of paper and bags wouldn’t wake them up.
Funny how we always worried about that; because they never budge.
They did, however, wake up around 3:30am to check out what Santa brought — then they went back to bed. I had to make them get up at 7:30. You would have liked “sleeping in” on Christmas morning this year.

We went to my aunt’s house in the afternoon and visited with family, just like every year before this one.
It was so good for me to be surrounded by so much love.
The girls had a lot of fun, laughing and playing with their cousins, aunts & uncles.

We had a good day.
The girls were exhausted when we finally got home.
And when it was quiet, when I was alone with my thoughts, I just missed you.
I sobbed, which caught me by surprise. I seemed to have myself together yesterday for the girls’ sake, but the quiet got to me.
The quiet exhausts me.
It doesn’t seem right and it doesn’t seem fair.
I’m so tired of the quiet.

Life is never perfect, I understand.
And it’s not promised to be fair.
I get that. I truly do.
Life is such a precious, precious gift.
I just hate that it was us; that it was you; that it was me; that it was our family.
I wouldn’t hope for this to happen to anyone else; I would just wish it away all together.

You seem to be sending me little messages here and there, putting people in my path that I would never have met without this unfortunate situation.
It’s humbling.
And it’s tragic.
And it’s also so beautiful.

We woke up this morning to a winter wonderland.
You would love it; snow and snow and snow.
Large fluffy flakes are still coming down – you would have been out with a snow shovel this morning so you could take your truck out and survey the snow outside of our neighborhood.
You would have been bugging me to get the girls dressed to go out and play.
You would have been dressed in your bright yellow Columbia parka, ready for fun with your girls.
I really miss seeing you in that coat today.

Merry Christmas, Chad.
I love you.
And I miss you.

xoxo
Skye

Comments

Skye, December 26th 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls

A hero in every way

Courtesy of Skye Lanford
Chad Lanford celebrates on the soccer field with daughters Carys, left, and Cailyn in October 2009.

A HERO IN EVERY WAY

BY CINDY SCHAEFER – correspondent

Chad Lanford kept his family busy during what he called the “ultimate summer” of 2010. He wanted to pack as much into the days as possible – days that would create enough memories to last a lifetime for daughters Carys and Cailyn.

He and his wife, Skye, took their girls to the Great Wolf Lodge in Concord, to an exotic animal ranch in Charlotte, to the beach and to visit relatives in Tennessee. He snuggled with Carys, 7, and Cailyn, 4, and made plans with Skye. But the summer didn’t last as long as he had hoped, and they never did get to Disney World; he was too weak.

Three years ago Chad and Skye returned home after celebrating his parents’ 40th anniversary. Chad was tired. During the night, he had his first seizure. Tests showed a mass on his brain, and the prognosis was poor.

Subsequent tests each gave a different result, leaving the young couple unsure what to expect. So Chad tried to tackle the cancer the way he did everything in life: head-on. For two and a half years, he fought the tumors with chemotherapy and radiation. Between treatments, when he regained his strength, he would run. “One of the things he looked forward to in between chemo rounds was being able to run,” Skye said. “He would build up his stamina and get a decent time, and then it would be time for treatment again. Once chemo ended, he returned to a normal running schedule, and he looked forward to it so much.”

An MRI in June showed the cancer had gotten worse, and Chad decided he had had enough. He declined further treatments and concentrated on spending time with his family. By July, he was too weak and the headaches too severe for him to stray far from home. On Nov. 10, Chad Lanford died. He was 32 years old.

‘Exceptional’

Chad and Skye had known each other most of their lives. They grew up in Stedman and met as toddlers in day care. They were friends in high school, but nothing more. In 1997, Chad’s cousin encouraged him to take Skye out. They were a couple almost immediately.

“If I had to describe him in one word, it would be exceptional,” Skye said. “He always did what was right.”

In 2001, he saw a car go into a pond during a flash flood in Raleigh. Inside were two women who couldn’t swim. “He didn’t think twice,” Skye said. “He jumped right in after them. He left shortly after the paramedics arrived because he didn’t want to receive any special attention.” When a TV station wanted to reveal his identity, Chad declined to be interviewed. “He just didn’t want attention for something he felt was his duty, to help people when they needed it.”

Bob Lanford said his younger son took the practical approach to life. “He was focused. He wanted to do something, and he did it.” In high school, Chad was at the top of his class. His father, a longtime employee of Krispy Kreme, suggested he apply for the company scholarship. It was little surprise when Chad won. “He was very intelligent. He could do calculus in his head. But he didn’t make you feel stupid. He was just a great kid.”

Chad studied engineering at N.C. State University and excelled in his career with the N.C. Department of Transportation. Skye Lanford said, “He accomplished so much and sacrificed a lot to get there. … He completed his master’s degree in civil engineering while we had a new baby at home.”

Chad Lanford at Mount Mitchell in 2008.
Courtesy of Skye Lanford


A forever presence

Carla Jones and her husband, Ryan, are neighbors of the Lanfords in Clayton. Jones said she would often see Chad outside, playing with the girls. “Our girls are about the same ages. The four girls would line up, and he would be out there spinning them around like tops. It gave me mommy heart attacks.

“When my husband and I get nitpicky, we look across the street and say, ‘We’re good.’ Watching Skye and Chad brought us closer. It’s been a journey. I’m sad, but glad Chad’s not in pain anymore.”

Chad was determined to be a part of his daughters’ lives, even after he was gone. He left cards for each of them to open on special days. Carys received the first – a handwritten card from her daddy on her seventh birthday. “She thought it was so special,” Skye said. When they turn 16, Carys and Cailyn will each be given a ring their father chose especially for them.

“He took care of us,” Skye said. “He made me stronger, and he left his legacy through our two daughters. I could not be more proud of him and the man he was.”

Chad L. Lanford

Born: April 3, 1978

Lived: in Clayton

Survivors: wife, Skye Lanford; daughters, Carys and Cailyn; parents, Bob and Sandy Lanford of Stedman; sister, Melynda Smith of Clarksville, Tenn.; and brother Todd Lanford of Stedman.

Open Online

Skye Lanford began keeping a blog when their daughter was born. After his diagnosis, Chad allowed her to share the details of his life. “When you open yourself up like that, it’s a risk as to what the reaction will be,” Skye said. The blog eventually became a reference for brain cancer patients around the world. Skye continues to update her blog.


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Skye, December 23rd 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls

From our tree

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Skye, December 22nd 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls

Almost Christmas

It’s so hard for me to believe that Christmas is right around the corner. The last month has been a fog. A self-induced, busy fog.
I’ve been keeping myself busy to focus on other things, to give my mind and body something to do other than cry and reminisce.
After the New Year, I will slow down. I think. I plan to, anyway.

The girls and I headed to Asheville for a quick trip to Biltmore with Shannon, Chad’s cousin and one of my best friends.
We had some wonderful travel companions, too.
We had planned a weekend to visit with Chad’s sister and niece, but she wasn’t feeling well and we didn’t get to see her. I hate that. But I also want her to take care of herself — so I hope that you are, Melynda!

We were a bit disappointed that there was no snow. A few remnants here and there, but nothing for the girls to play in. They were a little upset, but were excited to see the Biltmore — even though they did get a little tried of all the walking.
It’s a beautiful, magical place – especially at Christmas.

I think I’m done Christmas shopping.
I hope I am, really.
I made myself shop this year – to give me something to do.
And I may have gone a little overboard.
Oh, well.

The girls and I are going to NYC to celebrate the New Year with my dear friend Christelle and her hubby, Chris.
We are taking the train — which is a new experience for us all; should be interesting. The girls are very excited about it!
Being in NYC is something that was on Chad’s Bucket List, so I figured it was a perfect time to go.
My dear friends are also expecting their first baby and I couldn’t be more excited to watch their family grow. I am so excited for that; babies are such perfect little reminders of all things good.

Chad wasn’t really into Christmas.
He didn’t enjoy the commercialization of the holiday – but he did enjoy watching the girls open gifts and the excitement that filled our cozy living room on Christmas morning.
He enjoyed having time off from work to spend time with us and our extended families.

We have traditions, places we go and people we see, each year.
And this year I plan to keep those traditions.
It was a hard decision. Part of me wanted to forget the past and start new traditions.
But that’s not what it’s about.

It’s about family.
And having a good time together. Making memories to look back upon for years to come.
And celebrating the birth of a Savior that loves us unconditionally.
These are traditions I wish to keep.

It feels very strange to me that Chad is not here.
Sometimes it feels completely surreal.
Sometimes it feels like it’s always been this way.
Sometimes I wish I could go back, unsay things I said, undo things I did, unthink thoughts I had.
But it wouldn’t change anything.

I ran into one of Chad’s hospice nurses last week.
It was so good to see him, even though I didn’t quite recognize him without scrubs and the hospice environment.
Small, small world it is.

I plan to visit hospice after the New Year.
I consider each of those folks a part of our family and I really do miss talking with them and learning more about their lives outside of work. They are a phenomenal group of people.

Also after the New Year, I’m making some changes and decisions.
Some small, some large.
I’m not moving – just in case you’re wondering!
I do have some ideas about what I want to do next and who I want to be. I just need to focus on that for a bit before I unveil the master plan.

I’ve rambled.
Sorry about that.
I haven’t felt like writing and haven’t had much to say; but I thank you all for checking in here every day to see how we’re doing.
I promise we’re doing well.

And we hope that you all are, too!

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Skye, December 19th 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls
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