On August 11, 2010, it should have been me.  It should have been my headache, my MRI, my cancer. I was almost 35-years-old and, up until that point, I had lived life to the fullest. I was as carefree as I was careless. Money burned a hole in my pocket, I traveled often, I loved concerts, I beached it in the summer and snowboarded in the winter, I ate whatever I wanted, I smoked cigarettes (and weed), and aside from pregnancy, I probably hadn't gone one weekend without drinking since I turned 21.  I loved life and I enjoyed the shit out of it.   Well, there's some honesty I haven't yet shared on this blog! Sorry to those I offend, but this was never a place where I downplay the truth. I was married to my best friend, I was a new mom to two healthy boys, and I had seen very little loss in my life thus far. My heart was the fullest it will ever be because no matter how much new love may enter my life, the part of my heart that left with Ty can never be replenished....

On this day eight years ago, Ty told me he wanted to play in the sprinklers.  He hadn't stood on his feet independently in two years, and he was losing his motor skills at an increasing rate with each passing day.  I wrote: "I swear, sometimes I think he forgets his limitations and what he has been robbed of.  It is a child’s right to run through sprinklers in the summertime.  To sit in circle time at Kindergarten.  To hit a baseball.  To have a best friend.  A girlfriend or boyfriend!  To go to college.  To get married.  To have kids of their own. We need to do everything we can to help save these little cancer warriors and to protect them from a lifetime of chronic illnesses or handicaps." On September 17, I would sit in the backseat of our car with him sleeping in my lap as we pulled away from the hospital, knowing it was for the very last time.   I still can't believe it sometimes. This wasn't supposed to happen to him. He ...