Tag: childhood cancer awareness

Thanks for nothing, White House.

Maya always tells it like it is. This is no exception.

Rockstarronan's avatarRockstar Ronan

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Ronan. When I’m not writing to you on the blog, I feel like a bad mom to you. I’m hard on myself and, fuck, I just plain miss this. I cannot keep up with everything that is going on, and life seems to be running at an outrageous speed. So much has happened and so much is going on that I don’t even know what to address first.

First things first, Ronan. I am so overwhelmed with every aspect of my life right now that I feel like a breakdown might be in order, just because I fucking deserve one. I keep telling myself I have to get through September first, but I truly don’t know if I can wait that long.

So where to start? The most important thing, of course — the thing that has been consuming me. It started with that phone call from your Mr. Sparkly…

View original post 1,040 more words

Dear Mr. President

I made the mistake of opening this email while I was sitting in a restaurant with my two boys. On vacation. For the last weekend of the summer before they both go to school. I should have waited. I should not have opened this email. Because, Mr. President, the anger, disgust, and disappointment that I feel at this moment are beyond words.

I guess on some level I should be thrilled that you took the time to direct someone in your office to draft a standard kiss off email to all us childhood cancer parents. The grammar is correct and the language is very…political. And, hey, I got a message from the White House! But, unfortunately for me and my son and the THOUSANDS of children like him, the message that we got LOUD and CLEAR from you and your administration is that YOU. DON’T. CARE.

To add insult to injury, your message uses the very statistics that we are railing against. Mr. President, the NCI is no friend to childhood cancer. And, if “progress” means that one in five kids won’t live five years past diagnosis and 85% of those who do will have at least one chronic health condition as a result of their treatment, well then, I think we need to redefine “progress.” And had YOU, not your staff, taken some TIME to read our petition and really listen to the parents who are pleading with you, you would have known better.

And the icing on the cake… you throw in your Affordable Care Act agenda. I fully support that initiative because it helps people with pre-existing conditions, like my son. And, I am paying quite heavily for the health insurance and medical care that saved his life. However, that is not the point. This was NOT the time nor the place to advance your politics. This was your chance to listen. To be a true supporter of children with cancer, rather than a football signing figurehead who smiles for photos.

What is also disheartening to me is that I am sure you already have the pink light bulbs that you need to illuminate your tax payer supported home in October. Because, you know, boobs matter more than kids. I have boobs. Nice ones. I will most likely get breast cancer. There is a link between my son’s diagnosis and my chances of getting diagnosed. And guess what. I would gladly go under the knife and lose them both if it meant that more money would go to the kids.

I think what upsets me most is that you are a parent. Your girls are smart, funny, beautiful, and well cared for. You would do anything for them. So, why not stand up and speak out for them and their friends? That is what we are asking. That you make a statement, that you take a stand.

Mr. President, I am disappointed to the point of tears. Good thing your time in office is almost over. Not only did you lose my respect, but you lost my vote as well.

And, no, I won’t be “staying connected” with you.

The White House

Fighting Pediatric Cancer

By Paulette Aniskoff, Deputy Assistant to the President and Director of the Office of Public Engagement

Thank you for your petition and for your ongoing effort to raise awareness about the important issue of pediatric cancer.

President Obama shares your commitment and, although we cannot light the building gold for the month of September, we’re issuing a Presidential Proclamation to help amplify your important cause, as we have in past years to commemorate National Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. And the President has continued to meet with cancer fighters — including 7 year old Jack Hoffman, a brain cancer patient and cancer research advocate.

President Obama with Jack Hoffman

President Barack Obama greets Jack Hoffman, 7, of Atkinson, Neb., in the Oval Office, April 29, 2013. Hoffman, who is battling pediatric brain cancer, gained national attention after he ran for a 69-yard touchdown during a Nebraska Cornhuskers spring football game. Hoffman holds a football that the President signed for him. (Official White House Photo by Pete Souza)

But we think it’s not good enough to simply make more people aware of the issue: The Obama Administration is committed to continued support for outstanding pediatric cancer research. Because this issue is incredibly important — too many children and their families face the devastating effects of cancer. And as you point out, it remains the leading cause of death by disease for American children under the age of 15.

That’s why the National Cancer Institute continues to support long-term research efforts to help us better understand and treat pediatric cancer. You can learn more about our scientific efforts here.

We are making progress: Success in treating pediatric cancers has led to large numbers of long-term pediatric cancer survivors with long life expectancies.

In addition, the Affordable Care Act offers a number of important benefits for children fighting cancer. For example, eliminating lifetime caps on care means insurance companies can’t set a dollar limit on what they spend on a child’s care. And insurance companies can no longer deny families coverage because their child has a pre-existing condition like cancer. And the law will help millions of Americans, including children, get health insurance so if an accident or illness like cancer happens, they can get the care they need and deserve and are protected from high, unexpected costs. You can learn more about these benefits and more at HealthCare.gov.

So along with the proclamation, we’re also committed to supporting families battling cancer through the Affordable Care Act, and funding pediatric cancer research to find more effective, safer treatments.

Tell us what you think about this response and We the People.

Presidential Proclamation: National Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, 2013

Every September, America renews our commitment to curing childhood cancer and offers our support to the brave young people who are fighting this disease. Thousands are diagnosed with pediatric cancer each year, and it remains the leading cause of death by disease for American children under 15. For those children and their families, and in memory of every young person lost to cancer, we unite behind improved treatment, advanced research, and brighter futures for young people everywhere.

Over the past few decades, we have made great strides in the fight against pediatric cancer. Thanks to significant advances in treatment over the last 30 years, the combined 5-year survival rate for children with cancer increased by more than 20 percentage points. Today, a substantial proportion of children diagnosed with cancer can anticipate a time when their illness will be in long-term remission or cured altogether.

My Administration is dedicated to carrying this progress forward. We are funding extensive research into the causes of childhood cancer and its safest and most effective treatments. We also remain committed to easing financial burdens on families supporting a loved one with cancer. Under the Affordable Care Act, insurance companies can no longer deny coverage to children with pre-existing conditions or set lifetime caps on essential health benefits. As of January 2014, insurers will be prohibited from dropping coverage for patients who choose to participate in a clinical trial, including clinical trials that treat childhood cancer.

All children deserve the chance to dream, discover, and realize their full potential. This month, we extend our support to young people fighting for that opportunity, and we recognize all who commit themselves to advancing the journey toward a cancer-free world.

NOW, THEREFORE, I, BARACK OBAMA, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim September 2013 as National Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. I encourage all Americans to join me in reaffirming our commitment to fighting childhood cancer.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this thirtieth day of August, in the year of our Lord two thousand thirteen, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and thirty-eighth.

BARACK OBAMA

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Seeing gold

I follow Glennon Melton on Twitter. A dear friend of mine introduced me to her blog, Momastery. For the most part, I like her stuff. She is funny, honest, and like the rest of us working to be the best mom she can and doing it in a positive way. I like that. I am also trying to do those things and spend less time in the negative judgey place that leads nowhere good. Today is not one of those days.

A guest blogger on the Momastery site wrote about her son’s autism diagnosis and how it has impacted their family. http://momastery.com/blog/2013/06/20/not-your-typical-mom/

There are many parts of this post that resonate with me. The devastation of a diagnosis that seemed to come from nowhere; the challenge of learning a new language of medical terms and treatments; long-term prognosis; impact on her marriage; caring for a younger sibling. The list goes on and on. I get it. I have been there.

And then, I read this: “I had irrational thoughts. I remember thinking- I wish Greyson had cancer, then there would at least be the possibility that it could go away.” Emphasis hers. And now I am seeing red. I am absolutely seething right now. The Momma bear is out in full force.

My post is not about this woman in particular. I don’t know her or her family. And this post is not about Momastery. I admire Glennon and her work.

My anger stems from the complete lack of awareness and understanding about cancer in children and how far we still have to go. Clearly this blogger knows nothing about childhood cancer. How prevalent it is- It could have been either of her sons or one of their buddies. How dangerous it is- 80% of our kids are STAGE 3 or 4 at diagnosis, thus greatly reducing their long-term chances of survival. How long and draining treatments are- YEARS. How OLD the medicine is and how lacking the technology really is for kids- developed over 30 years ago, for use in adult patients. How much money really goes to the kids- 4% of the NCI’s total budget. Mere pennies when compared to adult cancers. RAWR.

And, that’s the rub. This woman is doing all that she can to get her son all that he needs. She is coping. She has irrational thoughts. I get it. Been there. I remember at the very beginning wishing that our son had been diagnosed with leukemia because I thought (at the time), that that was the “good cancer” to get. Talk about irrational thoughts.

What is dangerous about this woman’s post is the complete ignorance it displays and the number of people it will reach who will blindly gloss over her words about childhood cancer and focus on the part about “the possibility that it could go away.” Some people will read her words and not even see that part. For most people, cancer is treatable. It is something that adults get as a result of their unhealthy lifestyle choices, smoking, or genetic risks. And as a result of the pervasive pink-washing (and soon to be public service announcements about men & their prostates) most people also believe that we are making progress against cancer.

Unfortunately families who have been devastated by a childhood cancer diagnosis know different. We rarely have “the possibility that it could go away.” Instead, we live with the reality that it could come back. It could come back worse than before. If it does, the chances of survival are even less than they were the first time. Instead, we live with the possibility of a secondary, new cancer which could have been caused by the very treatments that were used to save our babies the first time. And for some families, their child’s cancer never went away. It stole their children and they died.

I am frustrated because there are people out there, there are mothers out there, who still believe that their children are untouchable. And even worse, there are still mothers out there who believe that even if it did happen to their child, that it could just go away. Like they can take a pill, or cut off boobs (kids don’t even have boobs), or remove moles that look suspicious and then your kid will be cancer-free.

Mostly, I am frustrated with the childhood cancer community. Yes, good things are happening and there is awareness out there that didn’t exist before. I am thrilled for that. I was part of making it happen. But, I am realizing just how far we really have to go. And, that within the childhood cancer community, we need a stronger, more pervasive message that isn’t about anger or fear (ironic given the anger of this post!). We need to find a way to speak with words that will be heard. I am still searching for them. I won’t stop. I hope, I pray, I wish, I dream that others will be touched by our experiences and join us.

Going to re-focus the rest of today and see GOLD (not red ;))

Gold Ribbon
Kids get cancer, too!

Sick of all this cancer?

Sick of all this cancer?

Nicole Scobie blogs about her adventures in “Cancerland and Switzerland.” This most recent post is spot on. Please take a few moments to watch Erin (who is battling DIPG) and then read Nicole’s post about Erin’s mom Amanda and the reaction of her “friends.”

Kids with cancer need your financial support. They need research for them. They need all of us to teach our children about friendship, love, caring for those who are injured or sick, and loyalty.

Parents of children with cancer need your compassion, empathy, and listening ear, not your pity.

Blank Pages

It is always surprising to me how the various areas of my life converge. Not surprised in a “Oh my gosh, how did THAT ever happen?” way but, more of a sheepish, “I shouldn’t be surprised, because of course that is how life is!” way. Lately, I have been wanting to write more. Professionally about my dissertation research and my own journey as a mid-career mom. I have also been wanting to write about our journey through childhood cancer and how it is has impacted our marriage, our family, our faith, and our future.

Yet, excuses always stop me.

I don’t have time (not true).

Who am I to pretend to know about these things (well, I am someone who has lived them).

No one wants to hear what I have to say (if true, who cares?)

Two things recently happened within weeks of each other that have finally pushed me to sit here and write.

First, I was invited (thank you godesses!) to a meeting about how to write for publication. In that meeting, the Dean of my college asked me, “so Monica, when are you going to publish your dissertation?” Later in that meeting a colleague whom I deeply respect and admire said about her own research, “well, it’s not research if it’s not disseminated. I owe it to my participants.”

Gut check.

Isn’t this why I landed on my own topic as well? To learn something from my amazing participants and then, have the profession learn from their experiences as well?

Second, a young cancer warrior named Zach Sobiech died on Monday morning. Many people the world over know Zach because of his beautiful, soulful song, “Clouds.” We “know” Zach because he is a student in my sister-in-law’s youth group in Stillwater, MN. I am friends with his mom on Facebook and have occasionally written to each other as the moms of cancer warrior sons. Laura has documented Zach’s journey on his Caringbridge site. Her words, Zach’s life are awe-some, in the truest sense of that word. Laura recently wrote:

“Blank pages can be very frustrating and intimidating.  Where do I start? What words do I settle on this blank page when there are so many words clattering around in my head?  Sometimes it’s just easier to walk away and leave it blank. But, it’s our story.  It’s Zach’s story.  And I need to reign in these words and lay them out for today and for tomorrow.”

Gut check 2.

So, with that, no more blank pages on this blog that I started almost 2 years ago. I now have 2 goals for Summer 2013:

1. End the summer with a submittable journal article about my dissertation research. Submit to peer reviewed journal by August 31, 2013.

2. Blog, about whatever I want/feel, once a week.

The ten amazing women who were participants in my dissertation research have a story. I should help them tell it. I have a story. My son has a story. Maybe he will want to have these words to go back to someday. Maybe not. That’s okay. Either way, I have a voice. I want to write. I am going to try harder to do more of it. I appreciate your cheering along the way. Thank you.

Tarantulas, Sharks, Monkeys, and….Relapse

#ReverbBroads2012 Prompt for Day 2: What gives you nightmares?

In general, I am not afraid of spiders. I don’t like them, but I am also not the type to stand on top of the toilet seat or dining room table while some man comes in to rescue me from a daddy long legs. I just wad up a bunch of TP and attack it. Then, flush it away and moving on. However, tarantulas are in an entirely different category. Just the thought of one gives me goosebumps and makes me feel nauseous (nauseated?). I lived in the desert in AZ for a year and the entire time I was there I was irrationally afraid that a tarantula would make its way into our house. I think most of this fear stems from that episode of The Brady Bunch, when they all go to Hawaii, and a tarantula ends up on Peter’s face. Anyone who grew up in the late 70s/early 80s knows exactly what I am talking about. Creepy! I think it’s the hair. On the tarantula, not Peter 😉

I grew up in NJ. Our vacation every summer was two weeks at “the shore.” (For those uninformed, this is the real Jersey Shore, not that trashy MTV show that ruined it for all of us Jerseyans and forever tainted the rest of the world.) I have also seen the movie Jaws. So, there you go. Pretty natural fear of sharks. Although I am an excellent swimmer, I never ventured too far out into the ocean. Why risk it? Interesting side note, my husband is obsessed with the Discovery Channel’s “Shark Week.” Stays up until 2 or 3am because he.cannot.turn.away. Then he has nightmares for a week and I get to hear all about them. And then I have nightmares.

I think monkeys are creepy. I love chimpanzees and find gorillas fascinating. But monkeys creep me out. I think it is the annoying oooohhhh-ahhhhhh sound they make. Ugh. Cannot stand it. You know that scene in Toy Story 3 when they tape up the monkey so they can escape from day care? Sets my teeth on edge. Blah! I have to cover my ears when we watch it.

I hesitate to write this next part. I am trying hard to have less cancer and more hope in my life. I am trying not to make every single post about our family’s journey with childhood cancer. But, me being the rule-follower that I am, I feel I must really answer the question.

What gives me nightmares?

That my son’s cancer will relapse and he will die.

Our older son is a cancer survivor. This is a miracle. He is a miracle. He is a fighter. He is a survivor. He was stage 4, with a very aggressive diagnosis (Rhabdomyosarcoma).

It is hard to release these words to the universe. As if somehow saying them out loud might make them true. Silly. Irrational. Even saying that makes me sound crazy. I know this. But once your life has been touched by cancer, everything takes on new meaning, both good and bad. And, you don’t go back to your old life or your old self, because neither of them exist. While my son is two years off treatment and has been cancer free since October 2009, the fear of relapse is an absolute terror that I keep at bay every day. It is a dark shadow that creeps into my room and my dreams at night. When I kiss him goodnight, my heart stops. I bury my face deep into his neck and I inhale. I am trying to memorize his smell. I rub my hand all over his head, which thankfully now has hair. I put my hand over his heart and try to match its rhythm to my own. I kiss his cheek, rub his back. And I thank God that I have been given another day with him.

At night, I have dreams of him running across fields of sunflowers, flying kites on the beach with his brother and grandpa, swimming in the ocean with my mom, going to college, getting married. I have nightmares that all of this will be stolen from us.

I am not sure what to say next. There is no Hollywood ending to this movie. There is no bow to wrap this package. It is my life. I choose to fully live it. Nightmares and all.

Diagnos-a-versary

Three years ago today, December 12, 2008, the foundation of my world crumbled and all that I thought I knew was stolen from us. At approximately 5pm, in a very sterile, standard-looking patient room at University of Michigan CS Mott Children’s hospital, two oncologists and one pediatric surgeon told us that our three-year old son had cancer. That it had already spread to his lungs; “multiple nodules in each one.” That it was “treatable.” I asked one of them (whom became our son’s lead doctor and whom we now like and respect) if my son would die. And he told me, “With cancer, that is always a risk.” They shoved paperwork in my face (I think it was agreeing to treatment and that they could take a sample of my son’s tumor. But, honestly, I am still not sure what I signed that day.) Somehow, we made it out to our car in the parking garage. I have no memory of that. The next thing I remember is holding my husband’s hand while he drove us home in the dark.

My sister-in-law works as a youth minister. She loves God and does His work every day. She has tremendous faith and a gift for living in reality as well. Just this morning, she sent me a message saying that she was thinking of us today. I told her how angry I am, how cranky I feel. She told me that just because we are angry and sad doesn’t mean we aren’t grateful, too. Whew! That is exactly how I feel. She also told me once that God wants our honesty, not our piety. Well, then, here it is. Here it is in all its gut-wrenching reality!

Today, I feel conflicted, disjointed, off-kilter. I am angry, almost blindly so. As I write this, I am literally shaking with rage. My son was diagnosed with stage four cancer. The chemotherapy that was used to treat him is 25 years old and was created for adults. The list of long-term/latent side-effects is endless and devastating.

But, I also feel humbled, grateful, and hopeful. My son is still here with us. Every day, I work to be worthy of that gift. To be the best mother I can, to advocate for more funding and research for the children, to learn something from all of this, and to pay it forward.

Hope

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.” ~ Emily Dickinson

The further out from treatment Luke gets, and the more clean scans he has, the better his chances are for long-term survival and no recurrence. If Rhabdo kids relapse, it usually happens within the first year off-treatment. Luke is already 21 months OT and has had clear scans since October of 2009. He eats and sleeps well. He is doing well in school. He makes friends easily. He is kind and funny and smart.

Yes, I have hope; this is ironic, given that I was never a person who tended toward optimism. I have always been a “glass half-empty, but I am going to work really hard to make it full” type person. I have tended towards sarcasm and melancholy as covers for my fears and inadequacies.

Yet, in spite of myself, I have hope. My son is still here with us.

But, my son also had stage four cancer. So while I have hope, I also have perspective. And that is the rub.

Perspective

I so desperately want to “move on.” To let my guard down, to exhale. To believe that my son has been healed forever, that the cancer will never come back, or that he won’t get a different cancer later in life. (The statistics are grim and the chances of secondary cancer-as result of the very treatment that saved his life- are just as high. See: http://www.curesearch.org/ArticleView2.aspx?id=9268&l=9240)

I could choose to believe this. I want to choose to believe this. Some days, I do. But, the truth is..the raw, naked, awful truth is that this is not our reality. And this is certainly not my reality today. Anyone who has experienced any kind of trauma or loss knows that your old life no longer exists. And this is what cancer steals from families like ours: the blissful ignorance of every day normal life. The belief that the world is right and true, that bad things only happy to bad people, that parents outlive their children, and that if you are a good person, love your family, work hard, etc., etc., that you will remain unscathed.

As I write this, wallowing in my self-indulgent rage, there is a family in Massachusetts, who is burying their five year old daughter today. She fought neuroblastoma for almost three years. http://www.patriotledger.com/features/x890738774/Funeral-Monday-for-Charlotte-Kelly-5-who-died-from-rare-form-of-cancer

She died on my son’s birthday. She is being buried today, the three year anniversary of my son’s diagnosis. I am thinking of Charlotte Rose and her family. How by now, the funeral Mass is over and they might be on their way to the cemetery. How her parents might be holding each other to keep from falling. How someone, perhaps a grandmother or trusted aunt is holding her brothers’ hands and walking slowly, slowly to the spot where they will bury their sister, forever. How they are bracing against the wind, trying not to let it take their breath away. How that priest might be struggling to say something profound, to say anything that might provide comfort. Knowing, really that nothing will because so much of this day is wrong. Very, very wrong.

There is another mother in Minnesota who today grieves for her daughter. December 12th is her daughter’s birthday and the anniversary of her death. And still, I know another mother in Miami who’s daughter turns nine today. She is fighting rhabdo (the same diagnosis as my son) for the third time.

So, what I am supposed to do? Which path will I choose- hope or perspective? Is it an either/or decision? Can I actively live into both of these choices? I could live every day in fear, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Some days, I do just that. I let myself fall down the rabbit hole into the darkness of pity, doubt, anger, and fear. Diagnos-a-versary  might be one of those days.

Even as I write these words, I am embarrassed by how petty they sound, how self-absorbed and silly. My son is still here with me. I get to kiss both my boys every night and every morning; and I do, every chance I get. I get to have breakfast and dinner with them. I get to inhale their smell and hold them whenever I choose. I know too many mothers (and fathers) who cannot say the same. I know too many mothers who would give anything and everything to have what I have.

People from all over the world prayed for my son and for our family while he was in treatment. Thank you. The time you devoted to this, and the faith with which you put those prayers before God are a gift to us. Please do not ever stop. And, if I may ask another thing of you. Please pray for me as well. Pray that I have the courage to choose hope. Pray that I am strong enough to get out of my own way. Pray that I can acknowledge my anger and my fear. That I can name them, look them in the eye, and choose to not let them win.

Right before our son began six weeks of daily radiation treatment, our radiation oncologist told me, “Your hopes and dreams for him are not gone. They are just different.” Truer words were never spoken. The hopes and dreams I have for myself are not gone either. They are just different.

(The term diagnos-a-versary is borrowed from another 46 Mommas momcologist I know and love.)

My old green sweater: remembrance & rebellion

While the rest of the world remembers and honors the 70th anniversary of Pearl Harbor, today I celebrate two different events. They are equally significant and, for me, are occasions to remember and reflect. Today is my son’s sixth birthday. Today I am wearing a green sweater.

My son is six. This is a blessing in and of itself.

My son is six. This is a blessing because he is a cancer survivor. He was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer on December 12, 2008, just five days after his third birthday.

I was wearing this green sweater when he was diagnosed.

The five year survival rate for my son’s diagnosis is 35%. So you see, I was given my son twice. The first time was on December 7th, 2005, in the early morning hours after a very long labor (48+ hours) and delivery (he was sunny-side up and wouldn’t drop). The second time was October 26, 2009, when we got the news that he was cancer-free. Thankfully, we continue to get good news. He is almost two-years off-treatment (OT) and thriving in kindergarten. He loves art, math, and music. He is an avid lego-builder. He is kind and sensitive. He knows how to love and expresses it freely.

Today, I am wearing this green sweater as remembrance. I am reminded of the cold, dark, and devastating day in 2008 when we learned that our just-turned-three-year-old-son had cancer. Today, I am reminded of that long drive back to Lansing from Ann Arbor to pick up our youngest son from day-care (at 7pm!). I still do not know how my husband was able to steer our car home, how we did not end up in a snowbank on the side of the highway and just stay there forever. Today, I am reminded of the absolute terror we experienced. The world as I knew it, and my role in it, were irrevocably changed. All while I was wearing this green sweater.

After my son was diagnosed, I wore this sweater a few more times. One of my all-time favorite pictures of me and my younger son was taken while wearing this sweater. But as we got further and further into the childhood cancer world (chemo, bacterial infections, radiation, scans), I just couldn’t wear it again. It held too many painful memories, too many reminders of that gut-wrenching day. I put it away in the bottom of a plastic bin and shoved it to the back of my closet.

Too many other cancer families do not get the good news that we got in 2009 and continue to receive. Too many other cancer mommas hold their children as they die. Too many other cancer mommas must wake-up and face another day without their babies (http://www.46mommas.com/). Cancer almost stole that from me, too. I do not know why my son survived and others do not. There is no reason. There is no lesson to be learned. But, my son is still here with me. And, because of that truth, I must choose to live into this new life. I must choose to learn a lesson from our experience.

Today, I choose to wear this green sweater as rebellion. I choose to wear this green sweater so that I can create new memories. Tonight, we will go out to dinner (Cracker Barrel is his choice) and I will wear this green sweater. I will smile and laugh and thank God for my blessings. I will take a picture of me and my sons, while I am wearing this green sweater.