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, October 29, 2011

A Heavy Coat

On days like today, the pain and heartache of all we've endured over the past 14.5 months rips and tears into my personhood, into the very essence of who I am on this earth. I suppose that sounds dramatic, but unless you've been me, I can't make you understand the depth of my frustration and disappointment and honestly speaking, hopelessness. Sometimes it feels as if there's a heavy winter coat weighing me down.

There was nothing particularly monumental or unusual about today. In fact, it was 'just another Saturday', and included a few of our normal ho-hum weekend activities, including lunch at Sweet Tomatoes (Logan's favorite haunt) and a trip to Walmart.

So I guess it was something about the conflation of what normal used to be -- 15 months ago -- with what it is now. There's something so intensely painful about comparing those two realities that I can scarcely breathe when I think about the contrast. It's like comparing fresh, untouched, purely alabaster skin with sun-scorched, blistered flesh. It's days like today that have a way of reminding me of what we've lost, of how our innocence has been torn away. To put it simply, my heart hurts.

I get upset whenever someone says 'well, you should just be glad Logan is alive'. Yes. Of course I am. I've seen amazing things happen. But at the same time, I don't think it's realistic to expect me to just be thankful for those things without feeling sad sometimes. After all, it's MY son who's barely recognizable thanks to steroids. It's MY son who can't dance because his legs are too weak or because of spinal issues -- not sure which; the MRI this coming week will tell us what's going on. It's MY son who's become a whining ball of complaints. He's not the same child he was 15 months ago. Cancer --evil-- took that away from us. I mourn the loss of that sweet boy, and I wonder if he'll ever be back. I don't know if God will restore him or not. And that breaks my heart, but the Logan I once knew was truly one of the best kids on this planet. He's still here, but his spirit is wounded. He's more cautious, less outgoing, more worried of what others think and less silly and carefree. It's true that he may have naturally evolved into the person he is now even without the scourge of disease, but I don't know. All I DO know is that the past year has changed him, and I'm sad over it. And I'm allowed to feel sad over it without anyone telling me otherwise.

I guess this isn't saying much. I have no pretty words to share nor any great observations, and certainly no grand proclamations of faith or hope. I feel tired and defeated and alone. And I write because long ago, I promised to be honest with you. So here I am.


  1. Sherry, every parent deserves more than to 'just have their child alive.' I hope that one day Logan will back to his normal self.
    I know its of little consolation but when i ran my race today I dedicated each mile to someone who is fighting this stupid cancer battle. Mile 10 to 11 which, during a Half, is my most difficult, to Logan. I focused on him and all that he has been through, I asked God over and over to touch and heal him. And every time something hurt - I know that it is much worse for Logan. No one should have to go through this, especially your sweet, silly, beautiful boy. ALL of you are in my prayers.

  2. Your blogs are the best way for me to feel like I am sitting beside you listening and sharing in your pain. I am a fix it girl by nature and always have a tendency to want to make things okay. There is always a fix, right? Wrong. Sometimes all we can do is just be there for each other through the good and the bad. I am sorry I can't fix anything for you Sherry. Believe me I would if I could, but I do appreciate your honesty. I hope it helps you to at least be able to vent out your feelings somewhere and to people who care about you and your family. You all are deeply loved. I am sorry you are mourning the loss of the Logan you once new. I am holding onto the promise that God can bring good out of any situation, even this one. I don't know how, but I am believing He will and is. Continuing to hold you up in my prayers.

  3. Praying for you Sherry. As a fellow mom, I wholeheartedly agree that you are, without any reservations, able to mourn over the loss of how Logan used to be. That's a nearly impossible thing for any of us who haven't been through it to imagine. My heart hurts for you when I read certain comments that, although undoubtedly meant well, come off as "you should be/feel ______" statements. If I can't ignore it, I'm sure it's hard for you to ignore it.
    Praying for sensitivity from family and friends (and strangers for that matter!). Praying for FULL healing for Logan. I know that as it stands he's considered a "survivor" ~ and not to take anything away from that, but praying that he will be restored as much as possible to the little boy with a big spirit he once used to be, day in and day out.
    love and hugs to your whole family,Sherry.

  4. P.S. Ben and I both donated blood at the blood mobile today and told Logan's story there to the people who were working. Derek and ZZ came along with us to see the process and they both kept telling the people in the mobile that the blood was going to go to the hospital that Logan goes to so that all the people that need blood can have some.
    Logan was on our mind our entire trip, and hoping that sharing his story there brought about some more prayers as well.

  5. Oh, how I hate the "Well, at leasts......" No parent should have to settle for "Well, at least" and it's beyond crappy that you've had to hear that even once.

    Love, hope, prayers and more love.

  6. Hugs, Sherry. You're allowed to feel whatever you are feeling.