Day 4. A little healing

 Today was the best day that we've had since Robin died.

 When I put it bluntly like that, it really leaves damn near anything open. What I really meant was that so far, today was the first day anyone could really talk about anything without getting choked up and sobbing.

 Not that I didn't do my fair share of sobbing, especially when I picked up Lily's ashes and read the "Rainbow Bridge" poem they tucked in with it, and thought about her waiting when Robin got to heaven, and how happy that made me. And I got caught in a sunshower walking with her ashes back to the car. I think that was heaven letting me know all would be alright.

 The part that is hitting me the hardest now is thinking about the future. All the things she won't be here for. Our Honeymoon we were planning, since we never had one. Logan Losing his first tooth, Morgan going to kindergarten. Meghan going to prom.

 I don't want to experience all those alone. I believe she will be watching, but I can't hold her through those.

 I miss her so much.

Day 3. Regrets.

 I only have a few regrets from our married life. I regret our fights. I regret unkind words we said to one another. I regret the honeymoon we never got to take. I regret that Robin won't be with us for Logan losing his first tooth, or Meg's first boyfriend. Not that she'll ever date.

 I am bitter right now over what we will never have. I am bitter for the moments when my brain registers the fact that my wife is dead.

 I take solace in the fact that she is in heaven, but I miss her. I miss her a lot. I hardly recognize myself in the mirror. I see someone else's life, because it can't be my life. My wife was vibrant and full of life.

 I miss her.

I hope time dulls the pain. There has been so much pain lately. Joe, Andres' mom, Robin. What the hell is next? A zombie apocalypse? At least then I could deal with it. I know what to do then.

 Eventually, I will have to stop self-medicating. Alcohol is not a good long-term answer. But, for the short term, go with what you know.

 Semper Fi.

Day 2.

Picking up the pieces.

 That about sums it up. As much as this hurts, and as much as I miss her, it is like any tragedy. Like the floods this year. After everything calms down, and the waters recede, you survey the damage and start to rebuild. Like in all of this, life has to go on as much as we don't want it to. I still have kids to raise, and they need me more than ever now.

 We are so blessed that we have been up here with her parents, as they have been everything through all this. Originally, it was because we were going to be building. Then, after Robin got sick, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

 Now we can heal together.

 I took the kids to the park with my brother and his wife and kids, and that was a great afternoon. The kids always loved their time with their cousins, and I know Robin was watching us.

 Today was tough in spots. Some times I feel really strong, and then it will all come rushing back. My wife is dead. She is with God, and that makes me happy. I know she is indulging all her questions, and healthy, and watching us. But the fact she isn't with us hurts to much.

 The part that catches me the most is when the kids do something cute,  or when I see our bald eagle, I don't have anyone to tell it to. That's when it drives it home that she is truly gone for now.

 Though, I have to say that tonight, I got to sit down and talk with the kids about heaven, and sin, and salvation. Granted, Meghan is already saved and understands, but Logan is four and had some off the wall questions. I finished the night feeling uplifted and strong.

 I still miss her so much. You can't love that fiercely, and not hurt this deeply, but tonight was the first time since she died that I felt it would be alright after all. Some day, the trauma off all this will fade.

For now, I still see her everywhere and in the quiet parts of my day, I miss her profoundly.

Day 1.5 a little extra

 The healing process is a series of small heartbreaks. None of them are as big as the first though. God gave us the blessing that our brains can't process it all at once, so it comes in smaller bits.

 When I put Logan to bed tonight, he asked, "When will it get back to normal?" I asked what he meant. Then, he asked "When will mommy come back from heaven?" And I cried. I cried and held him tight, trying to explain how you don't get to come back from heaven.

 "Can we go visit her in heaven then?" I told him I wished we could, but we can't. Then he asked me why we couldn't be with Mommy in heaven right now.

 I cried some more.

 Some times, I just don't have the answers. So I just held him tight.

"You Can Rest Now"

 This is the post I never wanted to write. I wanted to write a happy ending to this story, but I guess we don't always get those, do we? As Christians, we eventually get a happy ending, as we know we will meet our loved ones again, since they are resting in Christ.
 Right now, it's hard to take much solace in that, as my heart still aches for my wife. Tomorrow would have been one year since she was diagnosed. It took 364 days for that horrible disease, cancer, to take my beloved from a vibrant young mother to being home with our Savior.
 Today, I was thinking that only last week she was still sitting in the living room with us, and getting around to a certain extent. Two weeks ago, she was even out at our little get-together in the garage.

 Tonight, I go to sleep in an empty bed. A bed that my wife and best friend was in only hours ago. Tonight, I had to explain to my kids that mommy was dead and in heaven. I had to explain that she gets to be an angel now.

 Today, Robin had so much pain. Cancer is a horrible, horrible disease. I realized that before this, I had no real idea what "In Sickness and In Health" meant. It is the good days, and the bad days. It is nursing colds, and dealing with soul achingly terrible days of disease.

 But now, she is at rest. We, who are left behind are poorer by her loss, and heaven is richer for taking her.

 I think I cried most of my tears while she was sick, especially in this last week. I can't describe how hard it is to see the person you talked to every day for almost 12 years lose their ability to talk to you. It broke my heart listen to her try to tell me she loved me. But I knew.

 When Pastor  Harry finished praying, she said "Amen." And She told us all she loved us. I still don't think I ever had enough time to tell her how much I loved her. I don't think I would have even if we both lived into our seventies.

 It's still sinking in, though, even though I have been preparing for it for a while now, or Robin has been preparing me for it. It's hard to wrap your mind and heart around the fact that someone you loved with every ounce of your being isn't there anymore.

 I don't think the Robin shaped hole it my heart will be filled, though, maybe time will get some of the edge off.

 I think the thing I have been struggling with through all of this is what good could possibly come of Robin's fight with cancer, and now her death. Then today, I have gotten a taste of how many people her story has affected. Maybe that is the good? If only one or two lives were touched by our suffering, then it would really give me some solace.

 My real solace now comes from knowing that Robin is resting. Her pain is gone. She has her hair back, she has all her body back. She is free of scars. She is free of cancer.

 The cancer destroyed her body, but it couldn't touch her soul.

 And some how, it's fitting it was on the Marine Corps birthday. Maybe it was just so all my brothers and sisters who have gone before would welcome her dressed in their Blues. "Welcome to Heavenly Battalion Ma'am, you did your time in the trenches, enjoy your R&R."

 Rest now honey. You earned it. We got it from here.


 I love you so much.

                                           Robin Lynne Harris Hrinda 1/21/81- 11/10/11
                                           Beloved wife, mother, daughter, sister. She was a massage
                                           Therapist, a super mommy, a Marine Wife and my best damn friend.

                                            Every Day was a Blessing.

The Darkest Day

I meant to be asleep.
I really did. I got my shower and shaved well over an hour ago.
The kids have been in bed for hours now.
And Robin has been sleeping. It sounds like decent sleep from what I can tell.

 I wasn't going to post tonight. I was drained. I have nothing left right now. I wanted sleep.
But I knelt down to pray. Moved by the fervent cries and prayers and pleading of my daughter
to have her mommy stay. Moved by the simple, pure faith of a child, knowing that God has the
power to heal. Knowing that even the most horrible disease has no power in His kingdom, because He
can deal with that, I knelt down to pray.

 For all reason, I should have no faith left. I have been crying and praying for one thing, healing, a cure for my wife for almost a year now. This has been the worst year of my life. This has been the worst week of that year. We put our dog down a few days ago, and then two nights later our momma cat came back after getting in a tangle with something she probably should not have tangled with. (She is doing better though) But now, today, we have been dealing with the very reality of Robin passing on.

 Today, she took a turn for the worse. The pain worsened again, and she just wasn't doing well. I found that out after I had taken the kids to a wonderful morning at the park. It's amazing how a few minutes can change everything. I spent the day in tears, sobbing over my sick and dying wife. Then Meghan came home and we broke the news to her.

 The tears flowed. How can you explain to a child that God might decide not to heal their mother? How can you explain to a child, that for all their faith, for all their simple belief, their fervent knowledge that God can; He might decide not to. How?

 So I spent the past few hours on my knees, a broken man. Spirit broken, mind broken, heart broken. Broken before God, praying that He can validate the faith of my innocent daughter.

 She is a child, praying for her mother to live. To live to watch her grow. To tell her how pretty she is in her first prom dress. To be there and watch her graduate. To be there when she gets married. To be there and to watch her live.

 If God's great heart cannot be moved by the simple prayer of a child for her mother to live, then what hope do the rest of us have? Is there a prayer more pure and innocent than that? The simple purity in that puts all these words I have typed to shame.

 I am nothing. Everyone has talked about what a good father, and husband, and what a good example I have been through all this. The thing is, it isn't me. As far as husbands go, I'm mediocre at best, the same with being a father. As far as an example, I'm pretty sure I'm a terrible one. I've spent so many many days being angry, and doubting, and bringing everyone around me down. Whatever light everyone has been seeing in me through all of this is not from me.

 Somehow, I have been reflecting God. The peace that God gives us, and our sincere faith has been shining out through me. I may be a terrible mirror, broken, covered in graffiti; but God's light shines brighter. All peace is not me, it's Him.

 And that is what brought me to my knees tonight. Meghan's prayer for her mother to stay around. God told us that if we had the faith of a mustard seed, we could move mountains. He said by our faith, we are healed. I know that usually applies to spiritual healing, but I believe also to our worthless bodies. Meghan has the faith of a child. I have the faith of a father. My heart was broken listening to her, as I believe God's heart breaks listening to all of us.

 But He can. He has changed His mind before because of the prayers of His children. He notes us more than the leaves and the sparrows. He hears the pure and heartfelt prayer of the child.

 At this point, if Robin pulls through and stays with us on Earth, there is no other thing that it could be besides a miracle. Medicine has failed, her body is in the process of failing. But God still can heal. He has the power to do this, and it isn't even a stretch for him. It is a word, or a thought. It is turning His eye upon Robin.

 So I prayed. And prayed. And then I knew I should sit down and proclaim. I'm not praying in the town square so everyone can hear my pretty words. I was praying on a living room floor that I probably should have vacuumed first. I have praying that God would hear my daughter's prayer.

 Her's was so much better than mine.

 There is nothing left. Anything that comes out of this is of God. I am just a fool behind a keyboard. And if all my faith is for nothing, than I am truly a man with nothing.

The End of a Road

 So here, almost a year out from Robin's diagnosis, we find ourselves at the end of a road. They decided not to try any more chemo, since it hadn't been working, as it seems Robin's cancer is one of those resistant varieties. Now we are focusing on her comfort. Making the best out of the time we have left.

 I am still trying to contact some people about clinical studies. I think they might be considering more radiation. I don't know. I'm still trying to collect my head at this point.

 All I know is that we aren't giving up. God is still in control, and we aren't done fighting. Hospice just means we are looking after Robin's comfort most of all.

 Tonight, with a sense of peace I could only wish to have, Robin told me that we are going to live with this. We'll have to, because this is where we are.

 This isn't how I would have written the story, since I like a happy ending. I guess we'll see though.

Not Done Yet

 So this was one of the tough weeks. It started out well enough, Robin was still having pain, but it seemed to be under control. All in all, it hadn't been too bad.

 Then Thursday rolled around. I took the dog down to the vet to get her hip checked out, since it hadn't improved in a while, and it had gotten really swollen. We didn't get good news. It seems that it is pretty common with Rotties of her age to develop bone cancer, especially in light of the trauma from her hip displaysia. So, it is pretty much just keep her comfortable until the pain meds don't help anymore.

 So, I stayed home from the Dojo that night, since none of the family was really in the mood for much of anything. I put the kids to bed, and then Robin started having terrible pain in her leg. Her pain meds didn't touch the pain, and she was in too much pain to stand the car ride to Geisinger, so we called an ambulance for her.

 Sitting in the Emergency Room waiting for them to get her pain under control again was rough. How much healing can one do while in agony?

 She hadn't had any scans done in a while, so we didn't know if the last chemo she was on had done anything. We know the radiation on her head had done something, that much we could see, but as far as the rest of her, we were in the dark. That was the worst, since we were working with something, and for whatever reason, this far along, the best idea they had was just to throw things at it, and hope to find something that works.

 I'm not a doctor, but I am pretty vested in her recovery, so I think it's a little late in the game to try that. We already wasted a few months since her Breast Surgeon wanted to get good margins for her surgery, even though she kept pointing out that she wanted a double mastectomy, so the margins were basically pointless. Then, after two chemos and a few months, we found out her tumor had grown. And spread.
 I'm not trying to place blame, but this was the same doctor that told her, a year ago when she had the duct removed, the one that was causing her to get blood from her nipple, his advice was that it was probably nothing. And that she should stop playing with it.
 So, one of the main indicators for invasive ductal carcinoma was no big deal. It couldn't be that, because "we don't see that in young women." Once again, not trying to place blame, but if more attention had been paid a year ago, we might not be at this spot right now. I know I can't change the past, but the word needs to get out, you need to be in control of your treatment.
 Don't let the Doctor's ego get in the way of your treatment. Obviously, young women do get cancer, and this is one of the main reasons young women often die from it. Young women usually get the more aggressive forms of breast cancer, but the government and big medical tell us not to worry about it. Young women rarely get breast cancer. But how many young women in Hollywood have we seen just this year? How many young women do you know yourself?

 So now we are at the point we're at now. Robin is in the hospital with a blood clot in her leg, metastases in her lung, hip bones, arm, not to mention the ones that were in her head. They finally admitted that they had been doing a poor job of pain control. Not that she hadn't been telling them that for months now. Yes, a lot of chemotherapy drugs cause pain. Some of the pain is quite substantial. When you have cancer eating away at your hips in addition to it, there is probably pain.

 So we finally met with the NP from Palliative Care, who specialize in treating the pain, not the actual disease. They are a tremendously underutilized specialty, since most modern medicine is only concerned with wellness, and not the state of the  patient. It looks better on a resume to heal someone. The ends justify the means, so to speak.

 Also, to clarify, Palliative Care is not Hospice Care. Palliative Care does not mean you are just waiting to die now, though they do come in also when it comes to that point. They are the ones who specialize in making you feel better. So, the NP we talked to told us there was no reason for her to hurt this much. There was no reason for her to be constipated all the time. These things could be treated.
 She also pointed out that she would get them all together so they could really sit down and talk treatment.

 So, at this point, this late in the game, it seams that Geisinger's talk of her "team" was just that. It always felt like the discussion between specialists had been poor, with the most constantly up-to-date specialist had been her Radiation Oncologist. He made it a point to always be read up on her charts, and had always talked to the other Doctors in charge of her treatment.

 But where we are now, all the chemo seems to have been ineffective. Her cancer seems to be chemo resistant, something we were all starting to feel from the beginning, when her breast tumor grew to 8 cm while she was receiving the chemo. We could have monitored that better, but when we mentioned that to her Oncologists, that we felt it wad grown, he "hated to burst our bubble", but it hadn't. Even though, the surgery, when the tumor was on the table in it's disgusting, bulbous glory (Metaplastic Tumors are a horrible amalgam of different kinds of cells, like an insane stem cell), it had, in fact, grown significantly.

 So now here we are, modern medicine has failed to this point. The run of the mill treatment has done very little. We had been praying that if it wasn't going to improve, that God would just take her home. He hasn't. For some reason, it is our lot to suffer. I just pray that something will come of it.

 I pray that through our suffering, someone else will avoid this. I am still praying that she will be healed, or at least we will find something that works. If we find something that works, trust that we will get the word out.

 I just started to contact some people who are working on some cutting edge things. I don't know what to expect; I know that actually getting to try things, things that might work, is like pulling teeth.
 Remember that corporations run things. Therefore the dollar ultimately makes things happen. We have scientists out there really making strides, but they are often held back by the community and the government.

 That's just the state of it. I for one, and not done yet. I am willing to make the calls and try. I am not ready to tell my children that mommy isn't coming home. I'm not ready to be a single parent.

 I'm not ready to spread the ashes of my best friend and the love of my life over her favorite spot and the pond, because she doesn't want her body alone and in the dirt, at a place she doesn't want to be.

 I can't blame her either. I would rather have my body someplace I love.

 But either way, I'm not ready to do that.

 Otherwise, if that is all we have to look forward to, God didn't do me any favors bringing me back from the War. So I trust there is more to hold out for. I trust that there is a reason we're still here pushing on.

There has to be a reason for the pain.

 We're not done yet.

 Fuck Cancer.

A Cynic's Prayer

 This title was a little bit more prosey than I have tended to be in this blog, but it reflects how I've been feeling lately. Robin has been recovering pretty well from her hip replacement, at least until yesterday. Her other leg started hurting a lot, and now we have to wonder if the other tumor has grown to the point where it is causing problems in that leg too. I hope not.

 This brings us back around to the title. My only prayers lately have been: "Please God, heal Robin, and take away her pain." I don't think it's too much to ask, really. I'm not praying for wealth, or wisdom, or for my enemies to be defeated. I just want my wife to be well again. I want for us to be able to concentrate on getting ready for Meg starting middle school. I want to concentrate on Logan starting pre-school. I don't want to keep going over the scenario where I tell the kids that Mommy isn't coming home because she is with Jesus now.

 God I don't have it in me to do that. If it wasn't for the kids, I'd suck start a pistol at this point in my life. I just want Robin to ,at the very least, not be in pain anymore. Gone are the prayers of a job I truly enjoy, owning our own home, having any type of things... We are purely in survival mode. I am only praying for my wife not to die.

 I feel the worst for my mother-in-law and for my oldest daughter. For my mother in law, she is dealing with the one bright side in this for us. It isn't happening to one of our kids. For her, it's just that. Robin is her daughter, her baby, no matter what age she is.
 For Meg, my heart breaks because no soon-to-be fifth grade should have to deal with this. Her life should be decorating her locker, dealing with mean middle school girls and finding out that some boys are cute. Waking up wondering if mommy feels good enough to make her breakfast isn't part of the deal.

 I keep waking up every morning hoping one of two things: This is a dream, or I just didn't wake. The second one is purely selfish, because I am getting to the end of my rope. I realize the second one is me just raging, because I know I have to be here for my children, no matter what. Should it come to having to have a talk with them, I will find the reserves inside myself and do it, because they need me around. I don't want to, but life is a long string of doing things we don't want to do. It's duty, plain and simple.

I just pray it doesn't come to that.

 I keep praying. Even though it has become the definition of insanity right now: "Doing something over and over and expecting different results." I guess that is where sanity crosses over into faith, however tenuous it might be.

 Dear God,
 Take me instead of my wife. I am damaged goods anyway. My children need a mother more anyway. Mothers are the ones who really make things better. Mothers are the ones who kiss away boo-boos. Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of children. If you have decided you have to take one of us, because you, in you mysterious an unknowable ways, have to kill one of my children's parents, than take me. Heal my wife. I'm really trying not to be mad at you, but you have been kind of a dick lately. You have brought a lot of support our way through the love of others who have empathy to what we are going through. You have placed the burden on the hearts of many people to reach out to us. A lot of people are praying, right now, for you to heal Robin. What's the deal. I accept that sometimes you say no, because you have to. But that's bullshit, you're God. You said no to a lot of other prayers before. All I wan't is for my wife to pull through. you already took her boobs, her uterus her hip and left her with a patchwork of scars. It makes her more beautiful to me because her strength shines through, but damn you for the pain. I accept what is. Sometimes, Buddhists were onto something. I accept what is, where we are, and that you have some kind of plan. But please heal Robin. And if you can't do that, than take me in her place.
                                                                                                                -Amen

Pain and Powerlessness

 So today Robin had her hip replacement. Thirty years old is too young for many things, and a hip replacement is not the least of them. Nevertheless, here we are.

 The surgery went as well as possible, which I'm thankful for, but once she was in the recovery room, the pain started. We had heard it would be bad, but we just wonder how much you can take in the end.

 Sitting there, holding her hand while she writhed in pain was a place I didn't want to be at again, and it was a place that is becoming all too familiar.

 It will get better over the next few days, though. It's hard to remember that in the here and now sometimes.

 This too shall pass. And the outpouring of support and love and all the prayers has gotten us this far.

Reeling

 So the results from Robin's PET scan came back. The nodes in both lungs, and two we didn't know about, both on either side of her pelvis are showing up as more cancer. Not really sure how to deal with all this. We were so hopeful that this would turn out to be our miracle. That this would be the point where it would turn around and we would be headed toward recovery.

 So it is a bit of a setback. We are now waiting on the Doctors to figure out a plan on where to go from here. The good in this is that the bone metastases tend to respond well to radiation. The lung metastases respond well to chemo. So, looks like more of the same. It's just now she is officially terminal going through this.

 That is some shit isn't it? Terminal cancer at 30. Though, every day kids out there are dying with terminal cancer just because.

 I know I haven't talked a lot about faith in this blog, and that's because it is something I am having a harder time talking about. I pray. I pray a lot. I prayed that the lump would turn out to be just a cyst, or some scar tissue. Nope, cancer. I prayed the chemo would work and the cancer would shrink. Nope, cancer grew. I prayed that the mastectomy would go as well as it possibly could. That one, I guess we got. It went as well as getting your breasts cut off possibly could, but we did get the bombshell of the positive pregnancy test; which they assured us would have to be terminated, since the chemo would have messed up a fetus to an extreme degree.

 Luckily, she wasn't actually pregnant, it was just weird hormones being given off by the chemo, or some random other occurrence. But, for a few hours we thought we were being forced into an abortion. So, that went as well as it could. Then we had the hysterectomy. I prayed that would go well. Nope, Robin had five days in the hospital with a perforated bowel.

 Then, Robin got to be one of the lucky ones to react poorly to Taxol. Horrific muscle pain, plus horrific bone pain from the Neulasta. I spent nights praying that the pain would just leave her. It didn't.

 Next we were supposed to move on to radiation, but during the mapping scan, they noticed some nodules in her lungs that seemed weird. Hmm, if we had had a PET scan months ago, it probably would have shown up, but "the scan won't show anything that we wouldn't notice first by symptoms." So, since we hadn't had a PET scan yet, we had one the other day, during which I prayed that the nodules would be gone and that we would get our blessing. I mean we had tons of people praying with us for the same thing, right? God said he would be with us if we all prayed in one accord, right? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe He'll say no, just because. Maybe part of his plan is letting her suffer. Maybe he has more glory to come to him through that. Maybe there is glory to be had in suffering.

 Then again, if I wanted a god to randomly mess with my life for fun, I would have worshiped the Greek gods.    
Hell, I'd worship the Norse pantheon. Valhalla is a way better option for me. I'd fit in there.

 We had prayers answered before, mostly with no, but now I understand why. If I had gotten the Intel jobs that I was a shoe-in for, I wouldn't have been here through all this most likely. We probably would have been someplace else. Hell, If I had reenlisted in the Marines again, I might have been overseas. So, at least it makes sense why we are here.

 All of this, though, I can't wrap my head around. But it is our life, and we have to get through it. Now I just pray that I don't have a day where I have to tell my kids Mommy isn't coming home. I can't do that.

 I was prepared for the possibility of not coming home when I was in Afghanistan. It is part of the deal. When I found myself in a minefield, I accepted that as part of the job. Working at the prison, I accept the possibility that something could happen at any given time. With the jobs I have had, it's just part of it.

 I can't accept that God wants to take my wife from me. That he wants to take my children's mother from them.

 On the plus side, I turned my rage inside and went for a run. It felt good.