No new photos this week as we don't have our camera, but we have been taking some video. Video is just such a HUGE pain to edit becuase it's a million years long of mundane with a few great clips scattered throughout. We do have some fun clips of Miles in his jumper and I captured him laughing hysterically a couple nights ago. I'm not sure you'll see these anytime soon on the blog as John is swamped with a ton of projects and no time to get on his computer. (That's a good thing, but just hard to fit in our own fun stuff.)
Things are going well here for us. Miles has been going to sleep at a new time, 7 PM and I couldn't be happier. I thought it was just a fluke from when he got vaccinated, but it has stuck. So that's been good, though I still stay up SUPER late playing when I should be in bed.
New subject:
A week or so ago, I read in the news about a young man named Miles Levin. He got cancer at the age of 16 and kept a blog. He wrote so well that his blog became very famous and people all over the world started to read it. He passed away last week at the age of 18 and the world has lost a very beautiful person. I have started to read his journal and his writing is so expressive and descriptive that it brings me back to the "cancer world" I once lived in instantly.
Cancer ages you. It definitly adds years to your skin, robs you of your hair and of course puts years of wear and tear on your body. However, it also puts years on your soul. The people I have known that have had cancer became so wise beyond their years. It's like they have just been granted an endless amount of grace and perspective. There is nothing more humbleing to see someone sit in a hospital bed, a mere shadow of themselves, and look at you with complete peace and wisdom and know with 100% certianity what is really important in this world. It's really an amazing thing. When I think about it, it's not just cancer that does this. I'm sure my friend Lindsay, who is in the hospital working hard to keep her baby alive and growing, knows a new understanding of what is truly important in this world. Once you get back into regular life though, us "mere mortals" lose that sense of perspective pretty quickly. I always appreciate being reminded of how fragile and precious our time here really is.
So I have been reading that through the writings of Miles Levin. Of course, it sure does a number on my brain to have gone through cancer with Andy and to remember that through his writings and then on top of that, to hear my son's name referred to in this instance is quite jarring. It's worth it though, because this young man was amazing. It's such a cliche to say that cancer seems to take the best, but if you ask Dr. Rushing, Andy's oncologist, he'll agree and tell you that his patients are some of the most amazing people he has known.
I could go on forever talking about the courage of people with cancer, but I want to share with you an excerpt from Miles' blog and what will probably soon be a book or a movie as I have heard his family has had many offers.
This excerpt is from one of the early entries from Miles' journal, sorry, I don't have the date it was written. Remember though that he was only 16 or 17 when he wrote it, which amazes me.
"I went to the driving range the other day and I was thinking...
I was thinking how you start out with a big bucket full of golf balls, and you just start hitting away carelessly. You have dozens of them, each individual ball means nothing so you just hit, hit, hit. One ball gone is practically inconsequential when subtracted from your bottomless bucket. There are no practice swings or technique re-evaluations after a bad shot, because so many more tries remain. Yet eventually you start to have to reach down towards the bottom of the bucket to scavenge for another shot and you realize that tries are running out. Now with just a handful left, each swing becomes more meaningful. The right technique becomes more crucial, so between each shot you take a couple practice swings and a few deep breaths. There is a very strong need to end on a good note, even if every preceeding shot was horrible, getting it right at the end means a lot. You know as you tee up your last ball, "This is my final shot, I want to crush this with perfection; I must make this count." Limited quantities or limited time brings a new, precious value and signficance to anything you do. Live every day shooting as if its your last shot, I know I have to.
I found out today 5 year survival rates are just 20%."
If you would like to read more of Miles' journal, go to www.carepages.com and enter "levinstory." Hopefully this little clip will give you fresh insight on life as we enter a long weekend to spend with our family.
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