Day 1.

This is where the healing begins. There is something in that. I cried a lot today.

 Our bedroom always seems cold to me now. I'm numb a lot.

 I hold it together when I have to, I am trying so hard to be brave for the kids.
 We dropped off a few of her things with the mortician, who turned out to be people we knew, so that helped some. I find myself talking to her pictures, and the mirror and the air a lot. I know she hears me though.

 We went out for dinner with my parents, and it hit me that it was just me and the kids now. Our 5 is down to 4. And I think that will take a long time to heal.

 I keep telling the kids that it's ok, because she's in heaven now. She's better now. It is becoming my mantra, and it reminds my why I could let her go.

 But we have gotten through today. I look at her face in all of our pictures. I folded up the letter she wrote me before I left for Parris Island, and put it back into my wallet, faded and stained with time. There are still kisses on it for me to go back to.

 I'm gonna miss her as hard as I loved her.

 For everyone asking about the services, we won't be doing anything to spring. Robin said she didn't want a funeral. She didn't want everyone moping around all sad. She wanted us to have a party, and celebrate her life. So that's what we're gonna do. She didn't want to be in the ground, so she if being cremated, and her dad is making her wooden urn, since I could hear her saying, "Dad could make that better." I think we all heard it.

 We are also setting up a fund for the kids college, so once it's set, I'll get that word out too.

 Thank you all for loving her and reading with me.
It won't be over.

"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.

All the Little Things

 Today was a middle of the road day. The good side was that Robin's pain seemed to be under control for the most part. The bad side was that she was asleep most of the day. She would wake up when you talked to her, but could barely focus for more than a few seconds.

 So I went for a run to clear my head. I actually spent most of it talking to God, asking why, asking if He will heal Robin, since I know He can, but I was just asking if He would. In the event that isn't his plan, I only ask for a few good days where I can talk to my best friend again. I'm still praying. My faith is what is getting me through this right now.

 I spent a lot of time thinking about little things that we used to do. Like going for walks, since that was the area I was running. It came to me, that the thing I'm going to miss the most is the little stuff. Going for walks with each other. Watching TV with each other, since there are only a few shows we like.

 Going to Wal-Mart, even if it used to stress me out.

 All those little things are the bread and butter of our relationships with one another. All the little talks, that you might think mean so little. The little things that are just the time you share with each other.

 I remember when we were stationed at Meade, and would usually come up here on the weekend. We used to spend all our time talking on the ride up and back. All those things seemed so trivial.

 To quote "The Crow", nothing is trivial.

 This one won't be a long post, since I just don't have it in me tonight.

The Girls at our Cabela's trip.

 If there is anything I can express to you, my constant readers, Hold your loved ones close every chance you get. Appreciate the time you have with each other, because whenever it ends, it won't be long enough.

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.

Word that Needs to Get Out

 A few weeks ago, this came across my news feeds, and I talked about it. I mentioned that I had sent off an email to the researchers, and time went by. Yesterday, while Robin was in the hospital for the second time in two weeks, she made the choice to go on Hospice Care, since the chemotherapy hadn't done anything for her tumors, and we were basically out of options, as far as the Oncology team was concerned. They had a few more, more ravaging drugs they could try, but they said it probably wouldn't do anything, and they didn't want to put Robin through more pain needlessly.

 So yesterday and today were spent in trying to collect my mind and figure out where we were going from here. There are a lot of homeopathic, folk, natural remedies; literally thousands. I think there are a few we are going to try once Robin has gotten her strength back, but for the most part, I don't have to much hope in many of them. It's kind of like diet pills and penis growing pills, if there was one that really worked, everyone would know. It would certainly narrow the field down from the thousands that are currently out there.

 Then, this morning I got an email from Dr. Craig Meyers. He said they are hoping to go to clinical trials very soon, but funding has been a huge problem for them. So, that was discouraging, but then I thought, what can I do about it? I decided I could write about it. I could try to get the word out.

 There is huge promise in this. First, it looks like it works, which is a big thing compared to most chemo, which seems to be a lot like flipping a coin. The only thing you get to be really sure of, is that you are going to have pain from it. It is a fact that most chemo destroys healthy cells, since they target fast-growing cells, like cancer, hair follicles and mucus membranes.

 That leads to the second point they mentioned, so far, it seems to be leaving healthy cells alone. That would be a good thing. One of the hardest things I have had the pleasure of doing through all this, is watching Robin writhe through the joint pain, or suffer through the extreme nausea and body aches from the chemo. It's bad enough that you have to endure the pain from the cancer eating away at your body, but then dealing with that on top of it? And then all the drugs that counter the nausea and the drugs that counter the damage to your blood counts cause pain too. So a treatment that didn't cause damage and pain to the rest of your body? That would be good.

 You would wonder why funding would be so hard to come by when a possible treatment shows so much promise? I wonder. The only conclusion that I can come to is that there is no real money to be made in it. I mean, with all the chemo, and the radiation, and the assorted other drugs that come with it, our insurance has paid out hundreds of thousands of dollars. And that is not an exaggeration. One of the itemized bills I looked at today was originally for 154,000. Granted, the insurance only paid out 16,000. It adds up, and it really makes me wonder what people who don't have insurance do. Die? Yet another spot that a real cure would benefit so many. But they are having funding problems.

 In this day and age, we can give an old man an erection, even if he is far past the age of really needing to worry about having one. We try to cover everything with different drugs, but tend to miss the idea of curing. We treat. Having the chance to find a cure is amazing, and there shouldn't be funding problems. But there are.

 The reason I am so adamant in getting funding for Dr. Meyers and the rest of the lab at Penn State Hershey to continue their research, is that I'm not looking forward to watching my wife die. This past year has been the hardest one in my life.

 This time last year we were planning our last hiking excursion for the year before the snows set in. The baby was nine months old, and we were waiting to be told it was a cyst. Because young women don't get breast cancer like this.

 But here we are. Not even a year later. My wife lost her breasts, her uterus, her ability to walk well, her comfort, and her hair several times. The amount of pain I have had to watch her go through, and I would love for others not to have to go through that. I'd love to not see Robin have to continue this way.

I don't want to sit here and watch my wife die. There is hope in these oncolytic treatments, how much hope, we don't know yet, but it is promising.

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.

Still Pressing On

 Robin spent most of last week in the hospital with a blood clot in her leg, and now she is back in the hospital with a blood clot in her lung. That is the catch-22 of all of this. You get a blood clot because of reduced activity, but your activity is reduced because of the pain. What to do.

 All we can do is keep the faith, and at the same time, keep pushing ahead in our search. The doctors are doing their thing, other doctors elsewhere are making progress. Natural remedies offer some hope.

 A pastor that Robin's aunt knows came by and prayed over her last night. It was a pretty moving experience. I believe that miracles happen, and I believe that God could do something here as well. Whether He does or not remains to be seen.

 But, like I've said often, we don't know why these things happen, but our spot in life is to suffer through them well, because who knows who we might be encouragement for?

 Sorry to cut this short, but I'm off to bed so I can head out to the hospital in the morning.