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Hate when people say "I'm not afraid of anything" cuz, like, have you seen things? They're terrifying. � MehGyver (@AndrewNadeau0) August 23, 2017 Several months ago, one of my old high school teachers emailed me to ask if I�d consider sharing my story with her moms' church group. (And by old I mean �former.� That woman hasn�t aged a minute. She�s lovely.) Her group had been focusing on the topic of �fearlessness in the face of adversity,� and she thought I might have, I don�t know, some insight on the subject. Which bwahahahaha omgggg nooooo. I am the opposite of fearless. I�m scared of at least 23 bajillion things. Also, I don�t do public-speaking. Not voluntarily. When I feel compelled to share something, I perch myself behind the comfortable security of a computer screen. I could hear the fraud police sounding their sirens. In a momentary lapse of judgement I wrote back, "Why yes, of course. I�d be happy to speak to your group." It took maybe four se...

I'm pretty careful about what I listen to these days because I'm a great jumble of unchecked emotions and just about anything can (and will ) set off waterworks. And when I say "anything" I mean that in the most literal sense. Like yesterday I cried watching a dad tow his kids behind his bike down the street. And then I laughed because that is 100% insane. Anyway, Pandora Radio sometimes thinks it's a fun time to casually throw a tune into my queue that will completely destroy me. This is my attempt at paying it forward. Enjoy the cathartic cry! Each Coming Night by Iron & Wine   Will you say when I'm gone away: "My lover came to me and we'd lay In rooms unfamiliar but until now" Will you say to them when I'm gone away: "I loved your son for his sturdy arms We both learned to cradle then live without" Will you say when I'm gone away: "Your father's body was judgement day We both dove and rose to the riverside"...

"Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go.    Acceptance is a small, quiet room."   - Cheryl Strayed, Author of  Wild At this point, most of you have probably seen the latest update on Paul circulating through your Facebook news feeds. For everyone else, here's the scoop: In my last post, I mentioned that we were spending Easter with Paul's family in Wisconsin. But as our two-week visit approached its end, it became more and more evident that Paul wouldn't be making our return flight back to Buffalo. So the three of us are staying in Paul�s parents' home in Oshkosh, Wisconsin where he has entered Hospice care. We had always considered making Paul�s childhood home in Oshkosh his final resting place on this Earth. After witnessing his almost immediate "release" when the decision was final, I ca...

A few weeks ago, Paul wiped out on our front walkway. We had just gotten home after spending 8+ hours in the hospital. I was holding Ingrid who was asleep in my arms, and I didn�t react fast enough to grab him before he fell. Which is weird because every time I replay this scene in my head, Paul is falling in excruciating slow motion. He didn�t even slip on ice or uneven pavement or one of the three small steps that lead up to our house. He is just that weak . Weak to the point where he can hardly walk without assistance anymore. He just fell backwards, like a thin broomstick unable to hold itself upright without a prop. When I heard his head thwack the sidewalk, I winced and (gently) tossed a now-awake Ingrid onto the lawn to rush to his side. Thankfully, there was a gentleman walking past our house at that exact moment. He secured his dog to a nearby lamppost and helped me hoist Paul to his feet. Angels among us. By now, the scrapes on his scalp have healed, but my nerves have not ye...

Not to brag, but when I married Paul I totally cashed in on the familial lottery. I gained seven delightful siblings (and their equally wonderful spouses and kids). Paul's parents aren't too shabby, either (joking! They're incredible and I love them.) My mother and father-in-law are so lovely and so generous, in fact, that they organized a Coleman vacation in Florida a few weeks ago. Most of us live in places with rough winters (Buffalo, Philly, Wisconsin...), so wearing a bathing suit in February felt like an absolute TRIUMPH. Paul's family is scattered across the map. It's a big deal when they get together. I love being a part of that. I love that Ingrid will grow up being a part of that. Family is where it's at.  Rockin' the pineapple print with plaid. Paul - you, sir, are a legend. "Smile for the camera, Ingrid!" "What mastectomy?" - Inordinately pleased to have found a bathing suit that works!  

�Without the dark there isn�t light. Without the pain there is no relief. And I remind myself that I�m lucky to be able to feel such great sorrow, and also such great happiness. I can grab on to each moment of joy and live in those moments because I have seen the bright contrast from dark to light and back again. I am privileged to be able to recognize that the sound of laughter is a blessing and a song, and to realize that the bright hours spent with my family and friends are extraordinary treasures to be saved, because those same moments are a medicine, a balm. Those moments are a promise that life is worth fighting for, and that promise is what pulls me through when depression distorts reality and tries to convince me otherwise.�    - Jenny Lawson : author, blogger, mental illness sufferer, lovable oddball *** A year ago today I got probably the least fun phone call ever from my Ob/Gyn . I knew what was coming, and I thought I was prepared to hear it. But like who�s ok with...