Best Times-Best Friends-Best Places

Maybe the tone for Summer Of Two Thousand Sixteen is set well for Kali....?

From what I can see, it's coming together pretty good.

Kali is lucky enough to roll with the high rollers.  Those high rollers so happen to be my friends.  And those high rollers take her to the finest at the finest.  From VIP at Stage Coach to concerts where she's tucked away in a suite. ThankyouverymuchRoxanne.....ThankyouverymuchShelly

.

Monday night she'd roll into a concert with her bestie Maddie- And...Shelly...Shelly the chaperone.

In true spoiled fashion.  

Welcome home Miss. Kali.  I hope this summer is good to you.  

But we might start planning that nanny job?

Buellllllerrrrr?????

Have a great Wednesday lovers.  Go spread peace.  And love.

This Warrior Mama Lisa-

Reset Buttons

One of the things I've noticed during this journey is post traumatic stress syndrome/symptoms- Whatever it's called, it's real.

It happens to him and it happens to me.  I never really paid too much attention in the beginning, because what was important at the time, was stem growth, and counts.  

Moving forward, and being a part of support groups, and forums, you soon figure out that things can happen in a split second.  One call.  One doctor visit.  One lab draw. 

And so, each time we've made our way back to lab/doc day, I see a pattern. The pattern seems unfair, yet familiar.  It's like walking into a dark alley at night.  I try to encourage and push him along as we load the familiar items into the car.  Puke bag. Mom bag. Water jug. Sweatshirt. Kris. Lisa.

Down the road we go, as I can feel his energy.  Most always feeling the same as me, only I am sure ten times worse. 

As we arrive, choosing a new parking lot, we'd try to make light of the surroundings and most important, of the day. I am by no means a Hollywood lover, so as I navigate every foot step making sure I don't step on spit, gum, or whatever lines the street of Sunset and Vermont. I am a freak, we all know that....so even parking creeps under my skin.  We also play dodge ball with the Church Of Scientology wierdo's that almost chase people down trying to hand them a flyer in their penguin looking tuxedos.  Women wearing the same.  

It's not even funny at that corner of Vermont & Sunset Blvd.  Children's Hospital a short distance from Kaiser keeping things in real perspective.  Mixed with transients, sadly, mentally ill. Mixed with penguin looking flyer slingin' folks, mixed with doctors, nurses, patients, families pulling their little totes behind them trying to grab the bus, as the bus omits that stench into the air.  There's a hustle feel there.

I guess that distraction is good.  As we walked into the elevator area, they were pulling a young lady out on a stretcher.  EMT with a bald girl in the fight.  We'd never know what was going on, just that it surely didn't look good, or peaceful.  All we could do is offer smiles.  Both jittery in our own groove.

Arriving just in time.  Our doctor on time, calling us back.

Her always loving demeanor the minute she sees him.  If there's one thing in this life, it's the love someone shows your child.  As a grown adult, I can see his dimple shine through as she literally hugs him and holds him exclaiming..."Oh my Kristopherrrrrr"-  How are you honey....and so so so much love.

Then a huge mama hug for me.  

We'd sit in the room with her for close to an hour.  Her love overfloweth.  Going over meds. The infection.  The hospital stay.  Her strong opinion to him that his mom made the best decision of having him transferred to Sunset.  He'd smile at her. Not really looking at me, because the wound is still new and fresh of that shitty stay.  He's healing. 

She'd start to load his counts.  One of the main reasons always for the visit.  

All recovered counts.  

Although he's almost 5 months old. (Inside) 

His platelets were at 38 at one point- Yesterday, 188

WBC 10.7

RBC 3.61

HGB 11.00

He only weighed in at 126 lbs.  Making him cringe.  The only noticeable difference I see, is him pulling his pants up the entire time we walk.  His belt at the last hole, and he doesn't want to pop another hole.

Can't blame him.

We'd leave her with more hugs.  A print out for me.  Future appointment with labs,and chest x-ray next week.  Along with a game plan.  She listens to me with meds.  It's something I can't describe, but my gut watches, and see's this pattern.  My concern of not being on chemo right now because it just scares me.  Yet the minute he gets on chemo his platelets drop.  And taste buds drop.  Meaning he won't eat again, and 126 lbs isn't good.  Yet my biggest concern is cancer coming back.  Yet her reply is he has GVHD.  And when a person is in this early phase of transplant and HAS GVHD- It's declaring the donor cells have taken on a war.  Although it's not easy, and causes lots of grief, it's a good thing.

For now. 

Later in life, it's not.  There's a difference in Acute, and Chronic. 

We'd decide to hold off for now.  Let him recover a little more.  Let his body take on some calories.  Along with nutrients. 

We'll start back up on chemo, and possibly more steroids.  Something he's strongly against. 

He's been off Sirulimus for over a week.  Good thing, his body isn't showing any signs of problems.

He has GVHD in the mouth, stomach (we think it's getting better)-

He had a pep in his step on the way out of there, down from that 8th floor, to the parking garage we'd go.  I can't explain or describe what it feels like to leave there with a good tone.  Answers, and love. 

As we pulled away and out of that structure, I rubbed his back.  Affirming that he's gonna get through it.  We both will.  That nightmare week was yet another part of this chapter.  Lessons learned, yet not worth digging up dirt.  It's life.  It's not something anyone deserved, or asked for. 

Thank God he's alive. Thank God he has a doctor that told him "we all watch you Kris" (meaning the transplant team)- Thank God he has a family that roots behind him.  And a Mom that albeit tired, and worn down, she's not willing to ever toss the towel in.  Thank God his stems are still trying hard to grow and take out the Kris cells.

Thank God he has insurance, and a Mom that continues to navigate through mounds of paperwork and disability forms.  

Thank God he has a dad that understands my need to go to appointments for answers.  Never declining my need to search for answers.  

Thank God for friends and family like you that offer him support while he's trying to get back in life.  And trying so hard to just live normal. 

Thank God for Jen that serves him like a king and loves him during the hard days.  Puke, shit, tears, and a skinny body.  She loves him.  

Thank God for her parents that love him every single day.

He will kill me with this picture, but comes to show you how exhausted and worked up he gets.

Solid traffic all.the.way.home....and when mom plays classical music....well.............

Today is a beautiful day. It's interesting when all is good in the world, how a mom can sit down for a breather and look around. 

Most always counting blessings.  

Even when I look at some bills that haven't been paid at home, simply because I forgot.  And so I mail them late.  Or a lawn and flowers that are thriving because I stop to make the time to keep that going.

I'm thankful. 

For today.

Much love to you all,

This Mama Lisa

ps.  Our weekend was full of peace.  Love. Happiness.

With our babies home, our friends stopping by unplanned, and yet turned out to be the best plan.

The First Man.

Today is my Dad's birthday.  

While driving to work this morning I was behind a "bob-tail" truck.  Funny thing, I stayed behind that truck, when normally I'd make my way around it, into the next lane.  I was floating back in time. Memories of the many days, hours and places my Dad spent in a similar truck.  My Dad was a hardworking construction guy.  He was far from a blue collar, white collar, or any collar for that matter.  He was forced to work while in high school.  Blossoming from a home filled with alcohol, and abuse.  A home filled with 3 boys and a sister.  He, being the oldest.  His childhood, and high school years, weren't the easiest.  In fact, they were at times, awful.  My mom and dad began dating in middle school.  During the recent visit with my mom, she reminded me of my dads hard days while in high school.  She witnessed pure heart break, and dysfunction.  His grandmother raising him.  He worked with his hands for years and years.  Never pushed through college, or a tradesman job.  He built hundreds and hundreds of pools for people to enjoy. 

Leaving southern California to join a mountain style life.  With my mom in tow in the late 80's. 

Learning a new life, without alcohol.  Falling off that wagon at times, but learning to pick up the pieces and moving on.  Without it. 

What he was left with, was guilt. 

Many many years of heartbreak stuck inside.  For what he put us through. 

The cycle in life. 

I reflect on those days often.  How his future life would be mingled with that pain.  As a child I never truly understood his sadness.  The sadness would never rear it's ugly head, until he drank.

This man has more love that flows through his veins than any man I've ever met.  He was a Coors fighter, and an herbal lover.  That man would fight through parties, weddings, camp sites, and local gigs.  Wishing people didn't cross his path on a bad day, or most important during a full moon.  He'd turn up any stereo louder than all those around him.  Music moves my dad.  As a matter of fact, it still does.  So much so, it's crossed into my blood line.  

He can play a guitar like a master.  Dabbling into the harmonica at times.  His outlet was always music.  

To this day, it flows through his blood.  When the going gets tough, he jams on his porch.  My mom, takes the treadmill.  Dad grabs his guitar. 

He's a wise man.  Who taught me more about life than he may even know.  He taught me to stand up for myself.  As a matter of fact, he's the one that taught me to never stop at the first answer.  If you're still in doubt, ask again.  And again if it's still not clear.

He taught me to be kind to all animals.  Big and small.  That man has nursed, and cared for any animal that would live in a mountain environment.  The most interesting to me, was a mama skunk and her young.  She trusting my dad.  I can totally see why.

My dad navigated through rough waters, and caused lots of rough rough waters for us. 

I was a rebel in high school, clearly understanding why now.

My mom tolerated so much.  

They set the example of "through better or worse"-  

Many of us, closed up shop and walked away.

My dad took my recent sadness and abandonment while in my shit storm, I'd pull away, holding resentment.

Although I'm into my late forties, I still wish I had the option of pulling into his driveway, for a hug.

For his wise, and yet stearn affirming tone. 

He always told me to be strong, especially during this chapter. 

It's not easy to be strong. 

He held us up as children, and yet we wouldn't even understand until years later. 

His grief, our grief, creating better things. 

A break in the cycle.

He's not even aware that because of what we endured, made me strong. Stronger. 

Independent. 

Loving. 

Kind.

Hard.

Able.

Because of you dad, and I'm not even sure you read my blog.  But because of you, I am a better person.

I will always cherish the life, even though at times hard.  I will cherish the moments you shared with us.  Camping.  Fishing. Surf side.  Making the best firepit.  Listening to you while camping at Red Rock, and we were back at camp because you embarrassed us.  You'd name all the stars in the sky the loudest, because of Coors.  Making bear noises.  And if we had a stronger mom she would have packed our shit up and left.  But we didn't because we knew the next day might bring sunshine, and hikes.  And your amazing famous breakfast scramble "goulaush"-  

Dad, I hope you read this someday.  You built me.  You gave me wings.  The biggest wings a warrior mom ever knew would grow.  I am my fathers daughter.  I look alot like mom, but I am you.

Music.  Kindness.  Animals. Strength.  No tolerance for bullshit. Love.  Smiles at strangers. The feeling to drink and drink, only now I've learned the pattern of that bad cycle, so I quit easier. 

I love life, and cherish little things as you taught us. 

I hope I can call and hear your voice for many many more years to come.

I always wait for you to call or need me to rescue you. 

Because your life wasn't always easy. And I think to let others finally love you the way you deserve is what will finalize these chapters for you.

I'm glad you have mom, and mom has you.  For that, I will always be grateful.

Always. 

Happy Birthday Dad. 

Thank God you aren't slingin' Coors and cigarette's, with the music too loud any more. 

Enjoy what you love.  At least for today.

Sure wish I could sit shot gun next to you...

Mom, Tina and Dad....1969

Love,

Your littlest #2 as you call me.   Or in some recent text'  LOL #2 (which interprets to you as Lots of Love child number two)  But really, in the techy world to me, and I laugh, is Lots of Laughs you littlest shit.  

Lisa Lynn

 

 ps- Today we head back to Le' Kaiser at Sunset....check up on the world of BMT, and counts.

Pray for us! Pray for him!

That Ticket

If you are ever unexpectedly handed that roller-coaster ticket I told you about, try to run.  Don't take it. 

But if you must, I thought I'd take a moment to guide you through my way.  Not that my way is the right way, or even a good way.  But my world is a better place if I can help. Anyone.  

So, lets back up to Sunday evening.  I figured it was a good idea to sort Kris' meds and create a large easy-to-read board for him, and most important whomever was helping him take the many meds he takes.

I'd make my last round to the pharmacy the week prior to make sure TWO trays were filled.  Just in case.

Just in case I slipped out of town, and never returned.  kidding.  Bill and I were slipping out of town...or so I thought.

 I spy--super ripe banana's--And if you wonder if those rotten banana's ever went to use....they didn't.  Tip-When my banana's get to that level, I peel em' and put in baggies and into freezer, making smoothie time so much more "fun"- Try it kids, try it.

Any way, I digress.  Here's a list from two weeks ago.  They've been adjusted since then.  Adding some, taking some. My goal, to begin my weaning process of hovering.

I'd also help finish clearing Kali's apartment.  Something she took by the horns, and had bags and bags ready to pick up.  The only thing Mom needed to do was take things to storage, and "sweep the carpet & floor because the vaccuum was gonerz"  

Monday....

And just like that, apartment two eighteen, a first and a last experience there.  Good ol' chapter pages.  A place that she had to adapt to co-existing with a room-mate that she fought hard to get along with, and vice versa.  Sharing a bathroom, food, hallways, and an adjoining wall.  

Chapters.  Memories.  Mostly good, sprinkled with some bad.  

Packed up and done. 

That night we'd continue settling in for a new week.  Washing laundry. Sorting bags without a dresser.  Deciding on what should of stayed in storage, and would she in fact, does need.

Then the phone call.

"Hey Mom, I think I have a fever"....

And fever he had.  Our night going down as the worst memories thus far.

He'd puke, and shit and puke and shit and be hooked to a heart monitor for the next week.  

Learning that he was septic, and infection ran wild through his already skinny body.  Pulling an all nighter with my crocs and comfy socks on just laying there watching him breath in the most scariest way.  I'd watch him take breaths like he'd just ran a marathon.   I'd start my newest journey introducing myself to calloused nurses and at times, confused doctors.  Catching myself schooling one doctor about Kris' meds one morning.  

Losing my shit more than ever.

Part of me resentful that I'd send off the rest of our family off to the lake, while I selfishly sat/laid bedside next to him.  Watching a heart monitor, and listening to the iv cart go round'n'round.  Watching the call light blink forever because he'd push it, and we'd be ignored.  Not for long though. 

A bun on top of my head so high it'd hurt by nights end.

Bags under my eyes and a makeup-less face for dayzzz.

The fight.

Something you wish you didn't have to contend with. 

But you know....

You have the ticket to the rollercoaster. 

And so you have no other choice.

Preach.  Pray.  Cry.  Holler. Argue. Resent. 

 

 Nag.  Quietly observe as I made the decision to have him moved to another Kaiser that specializes in transplant, or most important where his doctors are.  Wasn't the best and easiest choice.  That seventh floor was a shit hole.

It was most hurtful one day when he made a hurtful comment to me, and an argument ensued.  Both carrying validity to our beliefs.  One thing I'd agree.  He didn't ask for this assignment.  Infections happen. 

Later listening to his doctor explain the reasons why.  

I can perfectly remember on Saturday morning I would HAVE to make myself get out of my pj's to just get going.  My girlfriend leaving donut holes on my porch, sending me a text.  I'd get up, shower, and head to the nearest nursery to buy a flat of flowers.  Telling myself to get busy.  Praying as I removed each old flower, replacing with new.  Knowing he was at the hospital waiting for me. 

But the "Me", was on the verge on mentally breaking down.

I'd pack the bag I'd take.  New clothes, and new things.  Never over packing because I'm becoming all too familiar with the gig of stays there.  You don't need all that much.  

Going home just offers a shit load of stuff on top of the standard discharge stuff.

 I would bring his shaver because his arms were riddled with needle holes and tape was taking hair like an army.  Sitting quietly, watching him navigate through these pages.  

This hospital offering different things than the other.  But nothing will ever be perfect in a hospital.  One thing I thought was rad, was the camera (you can see it left of the tv monitor) that kept an eye on him, and his heart monitor changes.  Little extra comfort for me.  That commode where he shat' in all night, every night. Meshed with a mom that had to REMIND and make sure the CNA would CHANGE it, CLEAN it, and NOT REPLACE IT WITH THE OLD ONE.

 Remembering during his rounds of chemo, I'd decorate this board like a soccer mom would and add all kinds of love quotes.

Hmmm. 

This time, I'd remain vigilant.  Firm.  Loving, yet worn down.  I'd get food, and deliver whatever I needed.

I'd refrain from dwelling on the rest of our family in Havasu, trying not to have a pity-party looking at the fun pictures Bill, and Shelly sent.  I mean, Shelly worked her ass off, feeding 7 people, 8 including herself.  They went out to dinner, once. 

Imagine that.

She made breakfast, snacks and dinner. 

Bill drove the boat, managed household stuff, but nothing really in comparison to what takes place in sheltering 6, 20 year old college girls.  

His comments to me one evening on my drive home "Hun, this is alot of work"-

I can remember on Friday night, leaving that hospital garage, it was dark (something I hate to be is out and about without Bill at night in my car)- I pulled onto the 101, then 5, then 710.  An old punk rock song came on, and later I'd see that I was going 87 mpg.  

I slowed my horses down, and began to cry.  I cried all the way to my driveway.  

Alllllllthewayhome....hahaha.   (These little piggies went to NOT the market LOL)

I continued to cry into my house.  On my couch.  Next to Bucksie (grand-doggo) and finally showered.

What I realized was maybe this path was meant for me.  Maybe through these life lessons I can help others.

Maybe it's because I can navigate through medicines, and hospitals like a pro.  

Maybe it's because......

Just because.

I can share a few lessons, if by chance you are handed this rollercoaster ticket.  

I hope not.  But if so....

Here's my helpful link. jk

Admissions-ER

Ask as many questions as you so choose.  And if you aren't tended to, go find answers.  If those answers aren't good enough, get more.  Find out who the charge nurse is, and make eye contact, or introduce yourself.  Let them know who your loved one is.  And politely navigate WITH kindness and firm tone, you aren't there for a good time.  But a fucking world full of answers time. 

When you know you're headed for admissions, bring the following items in your bag. 

-You're welcome-

1. Hardcore Clorox wipies (and if you don't have any...they DO, ask for them.  They have a particular type so strong you'd better wear rubber gloves) -I currently tote around 2 jugs in my car, and 1 in my warrior bag. You will first wipe the bed-button areas, phone, light switches, bathroom knobs, table tray next to them, bathroom knobs, and toilet knobs.  Will will then wipe down the iv cart pole. And if you are a sneaky freak like me, you wipe down their computer, when they're not looking-boom.

2. Pack old clunker shoes-mine are hideous gardening clogs-thank you mom and dad never thought I'd put those suckers to work. While in the war, wear your army gear- First night, mine slid in shit. 

3. Introduce yourself to whoever that charge nurse on THAT shift for the day/night.  

4. Question meds.  Question dispensing of those meds. 

5. Always ask for fresh iced water.  And if they are busy trying to save a life down the hall, totally understandable, you get your butt down to the nurses station with your kindness hat pulled firmly on, and you ask for some. 

6.  Ask for 4 buckets for puke, if you have a puker.  No one wants to rinse and re-use.  

7. Ask for 8 towels. 3 washclothes.  If you are like your friend Lisa, you'll line the bathroom floor with 3, and 3 more for a path back to his bed.  Trust me.

8. Honor a good nurse and show them you care.  Smiles, thank you's, and respect.

9. Take note of the assholes.

10. Wipe down food trays, and food items.  Dirty hands are everywhere....even a hospital kitchen.

11. If you need quiet time, ask them for less entries once your baby is stable. 

12. Never hestitate to question ANYTHING.  EVER.

13. Don't question your gut.  Especially if you've been in the war for a while. YOU know what's best. They are just working.  And it's not their loved one.

14. Always expect food to take one hour.

15. Ask for 2 trashcans.  One for bathroom, and one bedside.  Trust me.

16. Rotate your blankets, washing any from home daily. 

17. Therapeutic pads are necessary for anything over a couple of days.  If they fight you, fight back.  Call the charge of the charge whomever.  

18. The iv cart has one orange button to silence that sucker.  But never hesitate to get the ball rolling if you see that bag is close to empty and it's before shift change.  Or you will wait, sucker. 

19. Food sucks in the hospital, but there's usually a few items that are "doable"-

20. Kindness.

This last visit was my most challenging.  Deciding as a mom to have him transferred to the area of specialists, yet learning the care wasn't so top-notch.  Hearing his side, my side and both sides just sucked. 

I belong to a support group for Stem Cell, and GVHD.  It's become a reality that infections and hospitalization is common, and most likely very possible again.  

For today I cherish each hour, each day that we are all okay.  The dust settled.  

I'll always be on guard.  

It's truly what I am made of.  

This weekend I plan to exhale and hopefully not inhale wine.  Or cocktails.  Maybe I can take long walks on the beach, and add extra gratefulness to God for standing us back up. 

Prayer works, and even though at times I feel like He's not listening.  He is.  

There's just a plan. 

Even if that plan takes me down by the hair and holds me under water for a little while....

I can get through it. 

Have a super weekend you guys....I hear the temperature guage is getting turned UP!

Love, and lots of KINDNESS-

This Mama Lisa Warrior

Hi  Otis!

ps- Spoke to Dr. Farol yesterday.  His exact words....Kris' counts doubled.  His healthy marrow recovered. Med sheets are correct.  They met on Wednesday regarding Kris.  He'll return Monday for labs and doc visit.  Most likely starting back up on Gleevek (chemo)-
Holla' for good counts!

pss- And if you're a family/friend member and you send him or me a reminder that he "needs to take it easy" and all your kind advice...- S.T.O.P. Because you're preaching to the choir here at Lisa Lynn Church.  And if there's one thing that rattles my cage, is when something is said, that I already know.
Unless you want to put my shoes on....
I'm quite sure you don't. 
bam.

Yes, Yes I Did.

It's kinda funny to read this, because when I received this cute sign from my cousin we were in the thick of shit.  Dab smack in the middle of the shit bowl.  I texted her my thankfulness, she replied..."sorry leese, sent this and didn't realize he was back in"-  

No worry there, because as I sat it on my desk, I stared at it and thought.  We're in shit creek, been in shit creek, been out of shit creek, in shit creek, and most likely based on all the stories I read on my support group, will be back in shit creek.  It's just part of the gig.  

Shit.

After spending exactly 7 days with him, and crawling pretty deep under eachothers skin.  Because hello, and 20X20 room with beeping noises and lines and poles that are no where near "ocean like" can become easily a disaster. Navigating through what I would call a nightmare there in Hollywood, I was glad to hear the words from him yesterday "gall bladder is better, and I'm getting discharged"-

That was one shit-fest.  

Looking at the bright side of things, he's home.  I can't dwell on counts. I can't and won't nag at the impossible about germs.  His transplant doctor making a visit yesterday with Kali present.  Stating in true fashion like no.big.deal....that this stuff just happens. Kinda pushing me down and making me scrape my knee's in true bullshit fashion, because if you ask me, why do they tell him to get on with life, yet don't go over the fucking facts of what can happen in "getting on with life"- WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! That his gall bladder became inflamed from the GVHD, causing infection of the body.  So for the last 2 weeks of diarrhea and feeling absolutely horrible, at least a known cause is noted.  The pneumonia alone causing an eye opener, to him. And to this journey.  

Arriving at ER in Septic form.  Which within days could of cost him his life. 

Again, it's the realization I live with that every day is a gift.  It's not an easy gift.  It's like that gift you receive that you really don't LOVE, but you like because you need it.  You know?

Going through post-transplant has been the hardest part.  The healing will take months, and months, and years and years.

And there's not a single day, especially early morning that I don't fret the next hour.  Or moment. Or the sight of his number and name coming up on my phone.  

I can give him the tools, and help him navigate through these rough waters.  Truth is, he's tired.  He's tired of feeling like shit.  Like laying in bed all day long. Or often times lately, crying. 

He's tired of looking skinny and frail.  

The most traumatic hospital stays on this past visit.  Especially when you see that your mom is starting to lose it. 

Everything breaking down.  Bodies. Spirits.  Emotions. Gatherings.  

Support systems.  People finding ways to steer far away from something that is inevitable. Because the whole thing is inconvenient.  The whole process is one big shit fest.  And yet, your mom....she just keeps pushing and loving.  Even when at times she loses her temper and tells you off.

I'm tired.  He's more tired. 

I can't love any harder.  And I can't protect him any further.

I can tell him where to go. What numbers to call. What meds to take.  How to handle this person or that. 

But I can't make this pain and feeling go away. 

For now, I can put down that shit paddle.  Stand back from the shit river.  

Smile at him, and listen to his side.  Love everyone right back.  Especially to my family.  My sister that spent the night with him.  My aunts that would show up with food. And for a quick hug.

The many friends that reached out to me.  Offering help, even though they know I navigate better alone.  Because I am a freak.  

I walked the streets of Hollywood.  Offering homeless people clothes, bedding and love. 

I know no other way. But to just love.  Even when my heart is breaking. 

He's home.  He slept pretty good last night.  

I laid my head down last night next to my rock.  Kali in one room, Kris in the other.  

Life isn't that warm and perfect.  It won't stay that way for long. 

But last night I was able to put down my warrior stick.  My shit paddle. 

And sleep. 

And sleep I did. 

I have plenty of pictures to share.  Some of Kris, some of Kali and Bill and my rock of a friend Shelly. 

I have pictures of so many things. 

For now, just know we are doing okay.

I can't look at counts today.  Something I've been obsessed with since August 19, 2015.

Today, I still monitor meds.  I'll start honking horns at doctors and pharmacies tomorrow. 

I'll try to clear my desk and work, sharing love and hardwork with those around me that watch, witness and love me right back.  

I hope you all have a great rest of the week.

Remember, even when you're in the shit creek and your paddle has hundreds of holes in it, don't stop.

Keep paddling.  

Because, you just might get to the side for a break.

Or breather. 

And you can finally have a tall glass of red wine.  

Love to you all, 

This Mama Lisa- Warrior for Life I guess..

-KINDNESS MATTERS-

  Happy June 1st you guys!  Lots of birthdays this month.....And the first official day of summer!

So Many Reminders...

This morning as I turned to "sleep in" a little, I was easily reminded of how precious life is as they read each fallen soldier. At one local cemetery in Long Beach, their spokeswoman clarified just how important that is. How taking six, or eight or ten hours to read each name, is meaningful. It's someone's son, brother, daughter, sister, cousin, mom, or dad. It's something so simple as your stare at the engraved wall, and yet each name, first, middle and last is someone's love. And they are gone.

This morning the meaning of it all grabbed me harder. Eyes wide open.

I've had a pity party the last couple of days. Truly, and honestly I have. My reasoning is pure exhaustion. When you are a parent, the worry isn't so much all about today. Because today I will wake, as I do, pull my warrior boots on and move. I will pack all I need for comfort. For him. I will introduce myself to nurses. I will do my ninja wipe down. I will double check my parking slip. (Racket here at Kaiser 10.00 a day). I will organize his blankets and negotiate food. I will double check his heart rate, and probe a little more about doc reports.

For me, it's tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. It's all the what if's, brought on by the traumatic results of our past. It's the hurry up to wait. And the small easily found mistakes. By nurses. By aides. Or like yesterday when the visitors bathroom looked as though someone took an actual bath in the sink. Took a shit, and pulled all the papers, from where all paper could come from and scattered on the ground. Myself, along with another RN (why she had to use that bathroom..?) could do nothing but stare at eachother. My one and only concern, is trappling my way back into my sons room. A room that only I clean with WIPIES the way it should be cleaned. 

I'm exhausted from doing this for a week, as I'm sure he's exhausted of hearing me. We've discussed germs. Viruses. People. Cleanliness. Hand washing. It still blows me away at how many people I see that don't wash their hands. Lick their fingers. EW. 

My game is changing. My soul hardened. My love will never fade. But my mind, body and spirit is exhausted.  

I'm sure plenty of my words are just filled with frustrations, because I am truly a mama warrior for life. I still grapple with the sadness of why he was chosen for this. Or as he said yesterday through tears, "I guess I picked the short straw".  And anyway you look at it, it's unfair. 

Looking at the bright side is my new found ability to commute to and from this place. I've got exits, potholes, familiar transient crossing areas, long red lights, versus short, on ramps, off ramps, good eateries, good wifi on the weekend, not so good on the weekdays, areas on the 91, 710, 5 and 101 that clog for only a short time, and elevator jams.

If there's one thing I've learned on this particular visit is the etiquette of using an elevator. 

Listen here kids.....When you push the button to go up or down, and that door slides open....

WAIT. People are most likely getting OFF. And so, when the door opens and you charge forward....

Guess what happens? A cluster fuck! That's what. 

Stop for a second and wait. As people get out, you get in! Magic. Pure magic. I promise. 

I was almost ran down by a fine elder last night in a scooter....a SCOOTER.....a man well into his 70's....charging in when 4 of us are trying to get out.

After a long long day here it was everything in my respectful body to not tip that feller over. LOL

Simple science. 

You're welcome.

Today his docs say infection seems under control. We've waited through this long weekend for a cat scan tomrw. Along with antibiotics every six hours. 

All counts are still wonky and low but hoping they'll recover with changes of meds soon.

His tacrolimus levels were high and so they've managed to decrease those too. His poor hands so shaky it seems hard to even use a fork. 

I hope this week brings good vibes, positive answers, and lots of patience.

Something I need to check in at the door.

Big love, and many reminders to cherish those we have with is, and those we've lost.

This Mama Lisa 

PS. If I seem disgruntled, I am. Boom 

The Only Little Girl Who Stole My WHOLE Heart....

When they put her on my chest I can so vaguely remember thinking a hundred thoughts about the gift of having a little girl. During my pregnancy I had no less than 10 ultrasounds to confirm the anatomy. Each time, I'd walk to my car...or rather float to my car gleaming with the thought of dressing up a girl. What I didn't understand was the lifetime relationship I'd build with that little girl.  She was a whiny cry baby, and one that was sensitive to noise. She rattled my cage those first few months. I can remember staring at her at 3am with explosive bright yellow shit all over her belly, legs, feet, and sometimes all over me...as I whispered to her screaming red face going as fast as I could to put her little kicking feet back into her pj's. I always loved those sack style sleepers. Shoving feet in, tying the string in the bottom, scooping them up to feed.
The early days of breast feeding offering us a whole different experience. Shoving a red hot, over filled mess of a boob job LOOKING boob into her mouth, talking as calm as I could to just get her calm enough to not rip off my nipple.

A true mess.

We survived.

Something I've always been proud of, was actually getting through it.
Pretty much alone.

A year later, I'd toss in the nursing towel, and watch this little baby turn into a toddler.

Soon, we'd get through nanny transportation, preschool, Kindergarten, elementary, middle and soon high school. All of which I'd do my best to guide her. Through sports, and friendships. I'd push through with her.
As she went away to school, I felt as though my job went well, yet I missed the moments we'd always shared. The good and the bad. We never had anything bad, bad. But you know, the arguments, the attitudes. The speeding tickets. Ten parking tickets. The frantic issues when our printer wouldn't work, and she roll her eyes at me, telling me we have NOTHING that works, and our "everything" sucks. And how we should have bigger and betters and I'd just stare at her with the hopes that one day she'd become an adult and realize I work my tail off to provide.  That all I did for both of them was my commitment to them. Breakfasts, lunches and dinners made from my heart. And sometimes from tired hands each morning. Sleepless nights waiting for them to return from dances, and parties. Driving to pick her up from wherever she didn't feel comfortable. Most always, a sleepover. They weren't her gig. Not til later years when she'd find her favorite home, and of course the high school years when they had an "agenda".

I wasn't able to partake in her twentieth celebration this year. First time in twenty years I'm not able to hug her and present her a cake. We have some making up to do. That's for sure...
I'm proud of you Kali. You've paved the road you want. I have Faith that you will move the mountains to take life by the horns and do what it takes to survive. Remember to put love first. Humanity and friendships are the main ingredients in the recipe.  You have two parents that stand behind you, and talk proudly behind your back. We sit and share a cocktail some nights and comment on just how far you've come. How your navigations in things are so far in control.

I hope these next chapters are good to you, and likewise to them. Leaving your teens is a big deal. One you really won't comprehend until you're in the next chapter book. Thirties. You'll look back on the silly antics that your twenties gave you and what you gave it.

God willing, I hope you stay safe. And healthy.

I hope you choose to dance. Wherever the time is rights and if it's not, I hope you know to laugh. And smile. Storms will come and storms will pass.

Remember, Love Never Fails.

Kindness matters.

Happy Twentieth Birthday, Kailyn Mae.


I love you more than I do myself.

Have a good rest of your time away...

You have an awesome Dad, and some rock solid friends..

Remember to thank Shelly for her love, her giving hands for food, decorating and guidance.
Like when you couldn't back down the boat trailer.
You know........sideways?

Love,
Your Mom

Ps. Just spoke with Kris' doctor. She said all blood cultures are coming back negative. Meaning, the antibiotics are working. Trying to get spit culture today *ew*, for labs. Firm poop is a good sign *double ew*, and he can finally walk the halls today. He's been confined to a 12X12 room again for a week. It's time to get things going. Platelets are rising at the slowest rate ever, so he has to wait for those.  One more scan of his gall bladder (thoughts are, it is swollen and sore meaning that because of GVHD in the gut, it can filter through that, causing havoc and lots of pain and diarrhea, something we don't need with soo much weight loss as it is)

So....a few more days. Waiting on answers.
So far, our doctor this weekend Dr. Wong (female) is compassionate, firm, detailed and calm. She reassuring and thorough. Can't ask for anything better....right?

Today's highlight for ME is a place called Sidewalk Cafe down the street in the concrete jungle. Middle Eastern food.....HOLLA!

Peace to you all, and remember why we celebrate Memorial Day. Some gave all.

XO

In A Concrete Jungle

Well, we've made it to the day marked Thursday. Results this morning from last nights Cat Scan show some sort of marks, or issues with his gall bladder. Something that can't easily be explained by the doctor this morning *shocker*, but that he'd have to discuss with surgeons. Surgeons? Kris was here alone as he navigated with both doctors. Second one coming in to say they're still trying to figure out where the infection came from, but with strong predictions of the pneumonia being the culprit. Gall bladders are a filter, and with whatever went on there, it also most likely spread the infection through his body like a monster mash.

He's depressed today. We've shared words back and forth that are becoming more heated without reason. I have my opinions, he has his. It's probably not the best place to negotiate opinions. But..he is sassy and so am I. He's impatient with nurses, speaking his mind like a mad man, enough so that I leave the room. Rightfully so, he has every right at times. There's the typical ordeal of hunting down nurses, assistants, housekeeping, cups, ice, straws, bed pans, etc. They play dumb, or most often disappear just after we request something.
He's schooled a nurse here on how to lower the volume on the IV cart. How to also put the urinal and shit measuring cup together.  I've had to step away because I want to laugh. It's not a laughing matter but when you notice a staff that should be equipped or schooled who doesn't know the gig...you step away and laugh. Or you cry.
Or you become a B word. Or D word. Or all of it.  The phones in his room aren't reachable and are the old square tan push button box of a thing phone. Need to call food in? G.O.O.D.L.U.CK.

His platelets rose some over night. We can hope that with these infections, and adjusting of meds, time will sooner than later put his body back into place.
He's eating well, and building back up an appetite.
It feels very foreign here. It feels so far, and so odd.
But it's only miles away really...and when I step out of my car, loading bags into my shoulder, I remind myself that being a warrior and a mama is worth fighting on.

I pray when I wake, I pray when I drive. I pray when I'm scared. I listen, and yet I vent.
I read aloud to him the things I need him to hear. And I fold em when I know I need to.
His words to me this morning as he cried, we're exactly how he feels, and what I've said.
He never wanted cancer, and to feel this bad after transplant. He super scared and super bummed. For him, and for all of us. One of the hardest things for him is spending nights alone. Something I've had to allow him to deal with.

It's a beautiful day today. It's not easy, but it's worth the fight!

For now, I laugh through tears. I hear IV beeps down the hall. I continue to deal with language barriers and the "she's" are most often times NOT "he"- (because I have to correct them with my sometimes sharp tongue.
I'm waiting to get his bed changed, and food ordered.
Last night while driving home and talking to Bill, I tried to sort my tears, and fears. And this little epiphany hit me. For years and years I've put together parties for my babes. I've had yearly themes.
I've dwelled over their birthday dinners, and when to lay it out.
Her dad put it all together. Sending me pictures of his final layout.
He did awesome! She's a lucky little birdie...
Thank you Shelley. Thank you friends and family that come together in these circumstance.
Scott his big brother as he calls him staying the night.

One more day to better hopefully.

For now, we pray for counts to rise, no fever and no GVHD with these new med changes.

Happy Memorial Day!

This Mama Lisa

Sunset And Vermont

Well, as per my request Kris was transferred last night. Kaiser Sunset as it's called is a place that houses specialists. Not just specialists, but the transplant team. At 8:30 last night the ambulance drivers made their way to his room. Scooping him up and strapping him onto the gurney. As much as I wanted to snap a shot for keepsake purpose, a part of me said no. It's hard to look back on the days of past. It's hard to look at where we were and where we've come.

He arrived here at Kaiser Sunset, tucked away on the famous Sunset Blvd and Vermont. The beautifulness was arriving here at 10pm last night to find both of my aunts standing next to him in his room. My Auntie Nettie works here in Labor and Delivery. My other Auntie Lyn lives down the street. It felt like that warm blanket I talk about in life. That firm hug that isn't assumed, just felt.

He has lots of labs. Lots of blood work. Lots of antibiotics. And lots of concern. Infection and interaction with meds continue to knock his platelets down. A cat scan tonight at 9. And more results to confirm.
The road isn't ways and most likely won't be for a little while. His spirit is broken at times. He doesn't like to be alone. Something he's battled since childhood. His mom now leaving him at night.
I'm a warrior. I push. I plead and I help. I challenge nurses who challenge me. I have language barrier issues, with the he's and she's. I go toe to toe with assistants who tell me a bed therapeutic pad can't be used. They stand up to me, and learn quickly i won't back down. It's a fucking pad.
I win. I love, and yet I fight.

I'm tired. I'm not proud of my demeanor, nor am I proud of my sharp tongue.

He's navigating through the fears of what he was told could happen. We have Faith in our doctors and transplant team. I come and go. The commute is no joke. The parking just the same.
It's never been easy, and yet I still move on. He's trying to be strong when he is so weak.
Bill went on like a super Dad and set up Kali's birthday weekend with the help of my friend Shelley.
It's because of love, friendship, medicine, science and strength that I will get through.
And when I speak of "Me", I mean "ME".

I've said it a million times before, I'm tired. And I will never understand this chapter handed to us.

For now,

I will try to keep my chin up and my cheeks dry.

Have a safe Memorial Weekend!

My sweet baby will be 20!

This Mama Warrior

Rattling Cages

One of the things that has seemed to blossom (back) out of me because (in my younger years I was a tiger type person with fire that would flood through me in a quick instance) and through the years I softened. I learned that "Kindness Is Power" and it most certainly gets you farther than the opposite.

When you go through a crisis, whether it be medical or death, I believe it changes you forever. As much Faith, prayer and spiritual guideness you have, it just does. I've been fighting back to be the old Lisa. To smile when at times I want to cry. Or tell people off. I try to love harder even when at times I want to crawl away from it all. And from being the over bearing worry mom that nags. And walks in circles or paces around frantically because she wants to protect her only son.

We are here at Kaiser. Yesterday I started rocking boats. This morning I rattled cages. Today I do both. Truth is, I'm scared. He's scared. He has pneumonia. Along with that fearful word, the infection has spread to his blood. Fever gone. But he asks honest questions to doctors. Questions that some times he really doesn't want to hear. His body is delicate. It's at a level that microisms of tiny bugs in the air can attack him.

His white counts have rose. His platelets dropped even more. My request this morning was to have him transferred back to where his transplant team can closely monitor him. Along with that, a request to have a port put in. Labs are at an all time high. They're running out of places to draw, along with two different IV's that have "come out" and when they "come out" blood is everywhere. Blood is everywhere because platelets are at 41. Fluid filled his upper hand area.

These days are worth fighting, praying and doing what I can.
They know who we are here. This place doesn't specialize in post transplant patients.
He's frustrated with me today. As much as he wants to be thankful and loving, he scared.
And so he's blasting reggae. He's defiant about God. About praying.
Right now, he adjusts his sails for me to navigate the waters. He knows I still have the fight in me to get the best if the best.
I'm tired. And worn down.
When you fall into the life of cancer. It's all the risk. Of it all.
As much as we want to just be better, and healed....it's all part of it.
Can he be a boy in a bubble? No.
Can I suggest and love, and do what I can to help him help himself? Ya.
Suggestions, arguments, protection and navigations. It's the deal we are handed.

For today, we wait. For labs. Changes of medicine. Doctors who are working on finding the best path for a guy they don't know.  Letting me talk or vent because it's my job here in a place where a nurse
Asks what liver transplant meds he's on. While I rub my forehead and clarify otherwise.

It's not their speciality. They're here to work. Just like you and me. Work.
Their days are long. Nights are even longer.
So there's the update.
Most likely a transfer. To Sunset Kaiser. A port/picc line once infection is under control.
Medicine(anti-rejection) drug is eliminated.
The science of medicine is no joke. One fights with the other. Graft versus host disease is the player in the game. Steroids. Infection.


I most certainly appreciate the prayers. I'm working on Kris. He has Faith, but wants to have signs from God. He's angry and he's confused.

All my love, and peace to you.

I'll try to keep the peace around here. Lately, I've been losing my shit.

This mama lisa

Update

Wow, it feels like forever ago that I typed that word out.
For some of you that follow along on Kris' path, and or mine, for that matter probably get a feel for when things are good. When things are bad. And when things are silly. As you all know he's been trying to get back in the game of life. In good times, and bad, he tries hard. He wants to feel normal. He wants to eat normal. He wants to love normal. He wants to hang out normal. He wants normal.
For the last month or so (more) I've grappled hard with letting him go. Not clipping his wings. Letting him be him.

Over the weekend he had a great times with friends. He began to feel yucky on Friday. Something I so wickedly felt would happen with the decreasing dose of Prednisone. The Devils drug. I worked myself up enough to fill extra trays for him filled with all the meds he needed. To unlatch from my hovering.

Yesterday I had an early morning down to San Marcos with Kali along with a meeting down there. Driving home I mentioned that Kris was extra quiet. How, like the other hundreds of days, I walk around on egg shells. Of worry. Of "what next"....

He called me at 4:30pm as we arrived home settling her in from her school year. Unpacking. Washing. Sorting. Nesting.
His words..."Mom, I think I have a fever".
Jen would drive him here to Kaiser, where I, WE experienced the absolute worst night ever in ER.
Things weren't like this last year. Here. I can tell you that.
The simple mistake made, he thought arriving at an urgent care would mean, antibiotics, and on the road you go.

Wrong.

By midnight I dropped down to the lowest point yet. I stood up for our hours being avoided. Nurses with attitudes. Charge nurse,with an even bigger attitude.
They'd take a cat scan of his lungs. We'd finally get into our room at 12:30am. 5th floor.
Tucked somewhere that is foreign. NOT City Of Hope.
I discussed with the Internal Med doctor (whom was actually awesome) how to get him transferred. How to get with our transplant team. How to help him. And now.
I'm over being nice. To it all. I vented to him. I cried myself silly AGAIN last night. Laying in a recliner next to him as he puked and shit all over the bed. Twice.
Cleaning it up. Talking him through it. Wondering why the fuck he is going through this. Why.
Why our family.
Jen spent every single night with him here. And City Of Hope. Months ago her family made plans to visit her brother, sister in law and their new baby in Michigan. A trip that Kris offered to stay at home with all 5 dogs. He can't do planes.
This weekend we also had plans for Kali's 20th. Havasu a place where we seek comfort. And laughter. And good times. And friends, mixed with family.
His guilt fielded out like weeds. He continued on to me about how bad he feels. For everyone. For Jens family. The dogs. Us.
As I lay here in this recliner with one of my most serious sleepless nights, I wish I could relay to him that none of that matters. We want him feeling better. The old Kris.
Viruses tackle him from the back. He can't do public. He can't do hand shakes, and the major mistake of not washing his hands. And then poking into his nose.
It. Takes. Him. Down. (But my world of nagging, poking, pushing, arguing, texting...is beaten down)

And so here we are.

Room with NOT ocean view but the top of air conditioner units.
Waiting. I'm praying. I'm angry. And I'm sad. I'm hurt and I'm grateful.
One day at a time...in this life. With my birdie.
Fighting to get back in the game.
Whatever that is.


Safe travels to Jeff, Renee and Jen. May you cuddle up that new baby girl, and soak up Michigan during the change if seasons.
To my sweet Kali. May you pray with me for answers. For your brother.
For my fellow transplant warrior moms. You see us? You feel this? You've been here. You know the walk. Keep on warrior mode. Because for me, it just doesn't seem to be the easiest to put my warrior stick down.

Til my last breath.

Today....Today, I pushed for more answers.

Love hard,

This Mama Warrior Lisa typing on her ipad with no spell check and grammar check.

Strength. Wings. Borders. Happiness. Friends. Fish.

Kris explained to me this week that a trip to Baja was in order.  He moved along with his plans while he also received and shipped out a new batch of his Current Crew goods (new designs not on site quite yet but on Instagram---super cute!).  Something he pondered in January in the hospital.  Asking us if we thought it was a good idea to just stop everything and step back for a while.  My first opinion was, yes.  Take a break.  Get better. Heal and learn to live and work again. But on your time. On what Kris feels best doing.  His final decision was to move forward.  To not give up something he worked so hard to build up. (Even when his mom thought our ocean water got him sick from radiation thanks to the leak in Japan.) Depleting my wicked thoughts and learning to move through my fears.

Fretting at times of how he'd get the energy during his hardest days to navigate through orders, production, banks, shipping departments.  All of it. 

This week after his appointment on Tuesday, his first shipments would arrive.  He grabbed the monster by the balls and ran with it.  

Shipping orders.  Emailing customers.  Promoting on social media.  Moving little mountains.  Something he wondered if he'd have the strength to do. 

He did it. 

In the mix, he'd continue on with plans to San Quintin, Baja Mexico.  A place that holds a very special corner of his heart. It's a place where his friend Kelly resides, along with his father.  Both Americans.  One retiring down there after a gnarly divorce. He lost everything. Instead of fighting the fight here. With minimal items left.....he left.  

He's happy in a place where minimal is maximum.  Maximum in the happiness department. Where dirt roads meet the ocean, and the ocean area greets you with, as Kris says..."some of the nicest people he's ever met, and hung out with"-

People that live with minimum necessity.  They live with what they can afford, but most importantly, they live with what simple living offers.  It's not lavish by any means.  But they are happy.  

The first time he went down there, a culture shock woke him up.  Mostly because of the stray dogs. 

He'd fall in love with Kelly's dad, and his love Maria.  A concrete floored home.  

Leaving behind the life in Southern California and all its greed.  

Living simple, by home grown, naturally organic foods.  An ice box with ice. Not a commercial refrigerator.  

Smiles on their faces as Kris and friends come and go.  Because the simple life there isn't about who's to impress who.  

It's simple living.  

Kris went on to explain the roads.  How he travels about 5 hours in past Tijuana.  To land another hours worth on a dirt road.  To a place that hugs my son tight. 

A place that offers real people.  

A place that most likely envy's Kris' luxury car, yet you'd just wish life wasn't about that. You'd wish and hope he doesn't get the wrong kind of attention because of a metal, with rubber car. It's a place where people live off the land.  And ocean.

A place that shares food like its water.  Always offering a place at their table.  In their homes. A place that will teach you a thing or two about patience.  And about kindness.  How a smile will move humans even farther. 

To meet you.  To greet you.  To thank you for driving that far.  Kris brings goodies every time he goes. 

As he said last year...."If I didn't get sick, or know I would fight this battle, I could easily live there Mom"-

I can see the purity in that thought.  I can see how getting away from the greedy hustle and bustle here makes it worth that thought. 

I've viewed his early morning pictures.  In the marina, where just the ripple on the water top makes for a tearful eyed mama.  To know he's deep down in a culture where simple people give love. And he gives love right back.  To know his surroundings are of a natural environment that isn't laced with fancy material expectations.  But yet, the complete opposite.

It's hard to argue about safety when you see where he lands.  Sure, there's danger. Sure, there's passing through the notorious TJ and all it's shenanigans.  But....isn't it true for LA?  When you see guys traveling through with fishing gear hanging out the side window.  They just know. 

So there's the new fear of all things germs for him now.  There's this extra little list of "suggestions" from his mom and his dad.  Reminding him to take it easy, and remember to be cautious.  

I sent a box of wipies.  Wipies in all forms. Hands.  Ass. Soothing ones for the disastrous outcome of "the shits"- Extra day's worth of meds, if by chance he gets stuck there.  Water, gum, toothpaste, Ensure's....

You know that mama box just to help you help yourself to finally start to live this life. 

Your body is just 4 months old on the inside.  Yet, you're trying to get back in the game.

Weak at times, and most certainly beaten down by the fight you went through.  

I hope he has a meaningful trip.  A trip that is full of love.  Full of good fishing.  Good smiles, and most important, great hugs and chuckles from his friends that live down there.  They've been yearning to hug his sweet neck since the last time. 

Enjoy my boy----- you Baja dudes!

That very marina that holds lots of good memories and great food, according to Kris.

Have fun this weekend everyone.  Whatever you do.  Just try to have fun.   

Or sleep.  

Or read. 

But always pray. 

And if you want to pray for him. And his friends down there in that beautiful place filled with natural goodness...please do.  

Go get em Kris!

This Mama Lisa

  And pray for Seal Beach- Friday morning lost a landmark.  A place once filled with laughter. Love. Relatives in from out of town, walking to that special place.  At the end of the pier.  

Good bye for now Ruby's.