Saturday was your birthday. I thought about you all day in between cutting dead branches off of the twisted dogwood tree behind our garage. It felt good to break sticks and tear off limbs; it even seemed right when I broke the saw blade. I did a lot of sweating, burning wood, raking and…living. I breathed big and deep and thought of you.

I can’t believe it’s been 21 years since I walked off the elevator at the hospital and those same lungs had the air sucked from them like the hallway was an enormous vacuum; my vision and the air swirling around me and wooshing down the corridor past the rooms with beeping machines and nurses going about their business. And, you were gone.

There was death before that, but there was no death like that until that moment. I don’t know what I was thinking. That a grown man with Muscular Dystrophy would live forever? Yes, I think that’s what I believed. You were bigger than any disease. In this universe, among billions of people and planets and stars, you were a giant and as strong as any force I had ever known.

I think of you so often; when the house is quiet except for the buzz of a Reds game on TV, when I look at the closed end of Ohio Stadium and spy the spot where you used to sit behind the scoreboard and watch the Buckeyes, when I see someone in a wheelchair and know there is a human being – not a disabled person – sitting in the seat.

A couple of months ago I asked your sister if I could borrow a pen and she handed me this…

I remember this pen cradled in your hand as you wrote. I wish I had saved every scrap of paper that touched it and that I still had your words to read. You and I were kindred spirits with our writing, though as with everything, you were better at it. You would have been a great sports blogger, what with your knowledge and snark. I’ll do my best to post enough of the latter for both of us.

It didn’t really surprise me to know that this pen has never run out of ink; that your sister has carried it in her purse for more than two decades and it’s still working without ever having been refilled. You have ways of making sure we remember you.

Though, I can assure you, we wouldn’t ever forget.

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Tomorrow morning, my mother-in-law is having breast cancer surgery. This is one of those times when I ask people to storm heaven with prayers. Thank you in advance.

I know that in-laws are often the butt of jokes, but not mine. They have never treated me with anything but kindness and love. It’s probably because I put up with their son, but that’s another blog post. *hi, honey* *blows kisses*

Unfortunately my in-laws live a couple of hours away which means that we don’t see them as often as we would like. Though, that hasn’t stopped my father-in-law from helping us build a swingset (then rebuilding the swingset after Hurricane Ike tore it down), helping us put up a shed, changing light fixtures so that I wouldn’t shock myself, repairing plumbing, and assisting with the development of a simple machine (kindergarten homework is, like, HARD).

My mother-in-law has made deviled eggs for my parties more times than I can count, shown incredible patience when teaching my daughter card games, kindly let my son run his hands all over her arms, and shown me that it’s possible to spend your life with a stubborn man. *waves* *puts husband’s favorite dinner in crock pot*

And, they both taught us how to make homemade wine. That’s what you call an in-law WIN!

Their living so far away makes it extra special when they visit. But, eventually you have to watch them pull out of the driveway.

And, the boy in that picture really hates that part.

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The first time it happened, I had to tackle her. I was pregnant, with bulbous belly, tromping around the back yard with a spoon in one hand and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the other. I took her down on the small hill next to our house.

Once I had her trapped underneath me I didn’t really know what to do. How would I remove the bottle cap, pour peroxide into the spoon and shove it into the mouth of a 65 pound, squirming Labrador? I did it, but it wasn’t pretty; nor was what came out of her stomach about 10 minutes later. Have you seen The Exorcist? Yeah, that.

Thirteen years ago this was a frequent occurrence around our house. Our dog, Blue, eating something she shouldn’t (breast pads, underwear, chicken bones, a 25 lb. frozen turkey, etc.) and me, sometimes, having to make her throw it back up before it did any damage.

Like the time my in-laws were coming to town to celebrate their 50th anniversary. About two hours before their arrival, I felt the need to go to the mall and buy a new piece of furniture. I’m rational like that. While I was gone, Blue snatched an enormous, solid-chocolate bunny off the far-reaches of the kitchen counter and ate the entire thing. Happy Easter!

When I discovered this, I did what I was used to doing; I put a piece of cheese in the bottom of a bowl and covered it with peroxide. DO NOT DO THIS! Using a spoon had never worked well, so this had become my altered method. Usually, by getting to the cheese, she would ingest just enough peroxide to make her vomit. It was an extremely scientific measurement, exactly not at all.

Now, we don’t go buying fancy schmancy furniture around here. Oh, no! None of that solid wood stuff for us. If you can’t put it together with an Allen wrench or a Phillips-head screwdriver, well you can just forget it. With, roughly 30 minutes until our family would be here, I left Blue outside with her bowl while I sweat and struggled with a particleboard end table. At the very least, I have my priorities in order.

I went back out 15 minutes later to find Blue had eaten the cheese and finished every last drop of peroxide. Every. Last. Drop.

Remember Willy Wonka’s chocolate river? Yeah, that. Except that after the chocolate stopped, Blue kept retching. I’m not even kidding; I thought I had killed my dog and that she was going to throw up her own stomach. If you ever see one of your neighbors running around her back yard chasing after her dog saying, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Also, please hurry, because company will be here soon!” then you’ll know just what I looked like.

And, last week, when our young Lab, Daisy, found 1/2 a sheet of chocolate cake in a neighbor’s yard, and ate to her heart’s desire, we got to relive the experience.

Lucky for her, I’ve learned how to use a syringe.

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She is always smiling.

I last saw her on Christmas Day, standing in my mom’s driveway in her down coat. The sun was shining, which it rarely does here in December and that made me happy because she loves the sun, as I do. She was smiling. She is always smiling.

The news came a few days before Christmas. Cancer. The lab report from her biopsy saying it had spread to surrounding tissue, then an MRI that showed the involvement of three lymph nodes. It had been over a year since her symptoms caused her to start seeing doctors. Numerous doctors. They all misdiagnosed it. None of them did a biopsy.

Apparently, it’s an easy cancer to miss, but that doesn’t make the news easier to bear. On January 9th, she starts five weeks of radiation (with two full weeks of in-patient chemo thrown in). I think there are a lot of days ahead when I won’t see her smiling. That’s okay. I don’t want her to. I want her to get mad and tough and put up the fight of her life.

I just talked to her and told her that it’s a good thing she’s scrappy. I once saw her and another one of my sisters having a fistfight that was a lot like Rocky, but with more hair-pulling and face scratching. I know she will get through this, because she is amazing. The only problem is that she is the one who always lifts our spirits. We have really big shoes to fill.

On this, the eve of her birthday, I didn’t end the call by saying, “Happy birthday!” or “Happy New Year!” Instead I said, “We are praying.”

I hope that made her smile.

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