FOUR Years....

I missed my proper HAPPY NEW BIRTHDAY to my birdie this week.

  

Lots goin' on roun' here....

Another Motherhood failure moment where I woke the NEXT day realizing it was January 14-

Kris celebrates a new birthday every year on January 13th.  The day those miraculous Stem Cells dripped into my guy.  

It was a very interesting day.  A day of excitement, yet fear.  A day of waiting for them to arrive from Germany.  A day family surrounded us.  A day we pulled out tape, and stuck a "Happy Birthday" banner above his head next to his "Tree" of IV's.  I can remember getting updates from the nurses about those stem cells landing in LA. Right down to them arriving at COH to be "counted"-

Then the moment they arrived to the little counter outside his room.  In an ice-chest. 

My heart was pounding. 

A day of him staring at me right in the eye asking everyone to leave the room. 

As someone said to me prior to his BMT, it's kind of uneventful...

Part of that is true.  The other part was messy.  And hard.  VERY hard.  Not one patient reacts the same.  Some enjoy the tunes of singing that birthday song.  Some want to roll into a ball with who they love in a dark room with no one around. 

That was him. 

My aunt, sister, daughter and Bill stood by as we watched the first drips. 

I silently cried.  Scared to death.  Scared of death.

And here we are FOUR years later. 

The odds leaning more in our favor just a tiny bit more.  

The mom still wakes every single fucking night all night with that nightmare in my rear view mirror. 

I'm quite sure it haunts him daily.

And yet here we are. 

He's alive.  I hug him. He hugs me.  We text love words often.  We make each other laugh harder than we should over silly things only he and I get. 

I wear the T-shirts my friends and family bought me.  I have Mom Of A Warrior that my aunt Nettie bought me that still has a stain from the hospital stay.  It's a reminder of my strength. Most importantly it's a reminder of just how strong a human can be.  Like Kris. 

Little by little you toss out the bandaids that helped us get through.  You mentor those going through the fight.  You tell them only the positive pages.  Because who really needs to know just how turbulent that plane ride would get. 

At times I felt like we were on a crazy train without brakes. 

And yet here we are. 

I stare at his beautiful hair now in complete awe.  He was down to just a few lashes.  Maybe 3. 

My car recently died.  Like fluid spewing out the minute you filled it up.  The part of Lisa you guys might all know is I don't like change.  I like my cars.  I like my broken DORKY phone (as the kids call it).  I attach myself to things that still work FOR ME...

The day I had to walk away from it, I mourned the days of driving with my warrior hat on to City Of Hope in the CarPool lane BY MYSELF because I was just needing to get to my boy.  Didn't give three shits of getting pulled over.

The days of filling his front seat with blankets and pillows headed for Chemo. 

What a journey. 

FOUR years. 

A new chance.  

A new life.

Not always easy.  As a matter of fact, you'll hear him tell people he's tired of feeling sick and tired.

But he gets up every day. 

He pushes through on his roughest days.

Kris, you are one strong human. 

You, along with the many others who've put up a fight against that beast, are incredible humans. 

May you live a long happy life. 

I love you.  Happy belated birthday handsome. 

Mama will always be your warrior partner. 

All my love,

Mama