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.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

June 2

Today was a long one for me. I spent a little more than eight hours at CHO with both Logan and Brady. The latter refused to nap save a 20-minute stretch that gave me little respite, while the former was mostly tired and weak, content to lie in bed and watch TV all day long. The lack of downtime left me exhausted by the time Adam's dad arrived to take over at a little after 6, and the strain of watching my sunshine struggle to do the simplest tasks was painful. It's utterly draining to watch Logan suffer, to watch his little hands quiver while playing Memory and his bird-like legs quake as he stands to relieve himself.

I've spent plenty of time in recent days quite literally yelling at God over it all; over the horror that is cancer, over my frustrations, over my fears, over the excruciating pain of watching someone as precious and innocent as my son suffer through something so completely and egregiously un-Godlike. I have moments when it feels as if every bit of rage, every ounce of frustration every felt by anyone in this world are balled up inside my head and around my heart, threatening to blow at any moment. The unjustness of it all is simply too much to bear. But when I finish screaming and shouting and yes, spewing profanities, once I get it out, I feel better. Like I can once again handle tomorrow and all of the uncertainty that it'll undoubtedly bring. So that's what I do: In those private moments, I scream and yell and cry and get it out, because it's all I can do.

Thank you for continuing to pray for Logan's healing and our family's well-being. You are a blessing to us.


  1. Just want you to know I have continued to pray for you all - I tried posting a couple of days ago and for some reason the system was not letting me post. But I am here, always reading and praying for you and Logan and your entire family everyday.

    Also, that video you posted of Logan the other day warmed my heart. What a special boy you have there.

  2. My prayers, good thoughts and constant well wishes are still yours Sherry. Please give Logan a big squeeze for me.

  3. My heart hurts for Logan. For you. For Adam. For all the kids. Everything aspect about this is just horrifying and sad.
    We are lifting you up.

    Thank you for being so transparent with us and allowing us into this awful journey, to be able to cry out to God on your family's behalf.
    And thank you for posting the video of Logan the other day. I cannot lie. I bawled. It's not the Logan we remember. But still such a sweet, sweet being that should be being tortured like this. It hurts, even through a computer, to see how fragile he is and what this evil has done to his once vibrant little body. It was nice to hear his laugh though and see that his little smile is still there and hasn't faded, even after the hell he has been through in the past almost year. I thank God for that.
    Praying. Praying. Praying.

  4. Sherry,
    You are right to get it out. I found the shower to be the spot for me... no one can hear you over the water, you can take as long as you need to and you are always pink when you come out anyway!
    Talk to God, Sherry. You know He is listening. You cannot control any of this. Trust in God who loves you (and your beautiful boy, Logan).

  5. Sherry, I can't imagine NOT screaming and yelling at the injustice.

    Continuing to pray for you all.