About Us

Our family of 6 (dad Adam, mom Sherry, big sister Abby and little brothers Isaac and Brady -- who was born on December 14, 2010) joined the ranks of pediatric cancer fighters when our 4-year old son Logan was diagnosed with a dangerous and highly malignant form of brain cancer in mid-August 2010. Logan's cancer journey began abruptly on Sunday, August 15, when his right eye suddenly turned inward during dinner. Twenty-four hours later, we were checking into Children's Hospital Oakland and finding out that life sometimes takes you places you'd never, ever imagine yourself going.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Stuck in the Mud

It may not be particularly eloquent, but that's how I feel lately: Stuck in the mud. I can't plan a vacation even though we all need one really, really badly. Every time I hear someone say 'man, I need to get away from it all!' I have to bite my tongue and resist the temptation to scream 'NO! You have NO frickin' idea what it means to need to get away!' I can't go back home, even though I've not been for nearly 2 years and am craving the sight of familiar faces and places and an audience with people who care about me; with people I've known since birth. I can't make plans of any kind, really, because everything could change in 5 minutes. People keep asking me what Logan will do with respect to school this Fall. Had none of this happened, he'd be headed to kindergarten. Now I don't know. Probably another year of preschool. But regardless, I don't even have the freedom to mull it over because I still don't know what will happen between now and then. It's maddening. I feel like a dog tied to a pole in someone's backyard: I can run a little in a circle, but when I go to far, the chain yanks on my jugular and I find myself back where I began. It's not a fun place to be.

Anyway, Logan is still home, but I'm not sure how long we'll be able to keep him here. He's definitely not feeling well today. When I took his temperature a little while ago, it registered at 99.2, so he's skirting the limit and it's only noon. The only real positive I can think of it that it's day 12, so hopefully -- prayerfully -- he'll start to recover his WBC in 3 or 4 days. But you never know. There's nothing normal or standard about any of this so I never really know what to expect.

I continue feeling exhausted. I can't begin to describe the kind of strain this kind of thing puts on a family. When I recall last summer, I wish with everything in me that I could go back and that the perfect family that I had but rarely appreciated or recognized as such could be restored. That somehow, we could be divinely rerouted onto a better, less painful path. Sometimes I wish I could just take a break from being me, even if just for a few minutes so I can remember what it's like to live a normal, mundane sort of life.

To quote a Carrie Underwood song, please "don't forget to remember me". Or more accurately, us.


  1. I have nothing eloquent to say in response, but I'm here listening and praying.

  2. (((Sherry))) all I can say, is I do understand the feelings; even if situations were different. All my prayers that Logan's WIC will come up sooner. I also am praying you get a good night's sleep soon. Sleep deprivation just adds to it all.

  3. Sherry, I know that it doesn't give the comfort I desire, but I certainly don't 'forget to remember you' the collective YOU, the Wight Family. I wear my blue prayers for Logan bracelet daily and pray each time I look at it, when I wash my hands, do dishes, put a coat on or take one off, take a shower, change my clothes, etc. I wish you could feel a physical hug each time we utter a prayer. All I can say is that I will continue to pray, and pray, and pray!

  4. Thinking of you guys and if anyone deserves a vacation you know I think it's you. You will get it one day I promise. All 6 of you. xoxo

  5. We are thinking of you and praying for your family everyday.

  6. I don't comment every day but you guys are constantly on my mind and in my heart...