Moments

I'm a big fan of Mitch Albom. His books are profound, short reads that all relate to life experiences. For One More Day is my personal favorite. Albom explores the idea of what you would do if you had one more day with someone you've lost. What would that last day look like? What would I do? How would I do it differently? Hindsight is 20/20...or at least that's what they say.

My perspective of life has undergone tremendous change in the past few years as a result of great pain and loss. I have a stronger sense of what is important and work diligently to filter out the crap that is not. Cherishing every experience with my kids. Embracing a deeper love for my philanthropic efforts - specifically as they relate to people and the hardships they endure. Surrounding myself with family + friends who positively impact my life. Living life to the fullest and not taking a single thing for granted. Treasuring each moment that merits a click of the replay button. Creating moments so I am not left wondering what I would do if I had one more day.

“Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.” 

- Hilary Cooper

The Face of Homeless

Ever wonder what "homeless" looks like? Tonight, I found myself studying faces in between serving up burgers. What I found was there are many at the Haven who "look homeless." Unkempt. Disheveled. Torn and tattered. ...the have-nots if you will. It's the folks who don't fit that mold that make you question how they got there. A young man who has the face that could grace a cover of a magazine. A teenager who I hope has not dropped out of school. Women who bring young children for a meal. These anomalies are startling. However, the one man who stuck out to me more than any other was a young man - maybe late twenties, early thirties.

The resident kitchen aide made a call for those who would like more food to take what they would like on the trays that were not touched. I listened to this young man ask if he could take something additional off a tray. His face was red and he stuttered when he asked, "Can I take something off a tray?" When asked what he wanted he responded, "soup." There were plenty of folks who ravaged the cookies, dessert and pop. This man wanted soup. By the looks of him he needed soup. He had two extra bowls and I watched him retrieve them both. He was hungry. Truly hungry.

So, what does homeless look like? ...I would argue it looks empty.

The Best Kind of Zit

I've made it my personal mission to sit on the couch with the kids at least a couple nights a week. Nights that Sidney doesn't have practice or 2 hours of homework make ideal nights. It's truly rewarding to hunker down with the kids, watch TV and not focus on anything other than being in the moment - with them. It's priceless.

I had the most interesting experience with Ashton this week. We were watching Billy the Exterminator (that's right, I said it...don't judge me!) with Sidney attached to my hip and Ashton on my lap. Without warning, he pulled my face right next to his and held it there. He held it there for about 15 minutes. Physically connected - cheek to cheek. I tried to assure him that if he let go I wouldn't move. I would stay firmly in place. Just where he intended for me to be. It was as if he didn't even hear me. His hand remained on my face pressing my face to his. I have no idea what his motivation was, but neither one of us seemed to mind it much.

Where does the zit come in, you ask? Well, little boys aren't exactly hygiene conscious 100% of the time. His dirty little paw on my face for that period of time certainly sprouted an awesome zit. I suppose if I have to have one this is the best way to get it!

Another Day in Paradise

I may have been off the grid for a while, but I have not lost my edge. Especially as it relates to sarcasm.

Everyday I am cautiously optimistic that the next day will be the day where I see the light at the end of the tunnel. The insanity will become more tolerable. This ridiculous pace of life I keep will slow. And then I sit down at 9pm and wonder where the day went and question if I have signed everyone's agenda book and planted a snack in their bag. ...another day, some other way.

I was in my flurry of dropping Sidney off at basketball and taking Ashton for a hair cut when he interrupted my cluttered thought process of evaluating the next item on the list and the time allotted to complete said task. As we were standing in the hall waiting for the varsity players to vacate the gym, my blonde beauty is hitting my leg. "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." I snapped out of the trance and responded to his plea. "What Buddy?" He's blatantly pointing at someone, although I dare not look and states in a very matter-of-fact tone "Mommy, that guy is 'all tatted up.'"After I pushed my eyes back into my head, set his arm and index finger at ease I erupted with laughter. Of course, this is a Lisa-ism that he picked up and applied in proper context.

Kudos to Ashton for listening, comprehension and proper execution. Makes the day a little brighter.

Hiatus

The hiatus is over. I'm back on the wagon. I've missed my storytelling outlet. In the past few months it's been traded for half-marathon training, kids' athletics, vacations, Wishes Can Happen, 4th grade homework, work insanity and quite frankly - sheer exhaustion.

A former colleague and good friend of mine, Brett, illustrated this picture of me - as Wonder Woman. I've always loved Wonder Woman...even as a child. Now I have become her.

Marisa's Wish

I met with my wish family tonight for dinner. This was the first face-to-face meeting after multiple electronic communications. I assure you there were some nerves on both sides of the table.

This wish is for a 21 year old college junior whose life was interrupted by leukemia. After four non-diagnosis visits finally the news came that she had leukemia. Less than a hour after a doctor visit the phone call came instructing her to go to the hospital immediately. Within hours she was being treated with chemo and subsequently was informed that had she gone undiagnosed and untreated she would have had a maximum of 2 weeks to live. Two weeks.

As she was telling me her story I fought back tears. I listened intently. I admired her strength. I empathized with her mother. Beyond the story of this young woman's battle with leukemia, was her underlying story - her will to live.

There was never a moment that she uttered disgust with her illness going undiagnosed. Never a word about how disappointing it was to lose over a year of her college career. No focus on the 2 years of ongoing treatment that she endured. Rather, she told me how blessed she was. She had the support of her family, her medical team, her friends and her school. She spent the majority of the time talking to me about all of the fantastic people who she met along this journey. How they have inspired her. How she became stronger as a result of it all. She shared information about survivor retreats that she found to be encouraging and how that may benefit future wish recipients that I work with. She talked about the triathlon she is participating in and raising money for to send another cancer survivor to a survivor retreat. Her focus was not on her illness. She as clearly fueled with the passion of helping others who have and are going through the same thing.

Throughout this conversation her mom would pop in and join for a few moments. She had to work and was waiting our table so she could be a part of this trip unveiling. As I revealed the details of the trip, the tears were welling in Marisa's mother's eyes. You see, Marisa just had her port removed last week after 2 years of chemo. This along with a trip to the Florida Keys signified a new beginning. New memories. A bright future. Mom kept telling me that this was "too much." "It's too much. That is so much money. It's too much. You have no idea what it means to us." By this point the tears had erupted from everyone at the table. It's not too much. In fact, it's not enough. Nothing can erase the time that this illness took away from this family. The damage it did to Marisa's body. The emotional wreckage that was incurred. It's simply a way to celebrate her life and create new memories.

Marisa walked away with a relaxing family vacation this evening. I walked away in awe and admiration.

Expectations

Expectations are a hell of a thing to live up to. Your own. Others'. They can make you feel like you are on top of the world when you meet or exceed them. Or, they can suck you into a self-loathing abyss when you don't quit hit the mark.

On my run Saturday with Jill I had the expectation to run 8 miles. This is always established up-front so you push toward a goal. I can tell you, I did not meet the 8 mile mark. I came up short. The reality of that run was that either allergies or recycled airplane air wreaked havoc on my sinuses - hence making breathing difficult. I just couldn't get enough air. I was completely frustrated as I had to walk throughout the course of that run and with each walk-break becoming more annoyed with myself. I kept apologizing to Jill as she stayed next to me throughout what would become a 10k. Her response was always that it was fine. Not a big deal. Just happy to be spending time together.

Jill's expectation was a bit different than mine - her focus was spending time together. Mine was completing an eight-mile run. Despite the utter frustration associated with my lack of performance, I walked away from that experience thinking that I really just need to set the expectation that I'm spending time with my friends and getting a decent work-out as a fringe benefit. Maybe, just maybe, setting a lighter expectation will yield a more impressive result.