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.

Monday, April 2, 2012


This life we've been living for the past 20 months now is in part one of nonexistence. Lest anyone should protest prematurely, I'll explain.

When we first found out that Logan was sick, a lot of people I'd considered to be good friends disappeared on me. I don't judge them for that decision now. It was painful to feel so alone; to feel abandoned by people I thought I could count on. But I acknowledge that it's hard to know what to do; it's impossible to know how to help or what to say unless you've been me or someone very much like me. So in a sense, I can understand why simply walking away --vanishing-- was an easy out. And in some minds, an acceptable one.

We replaced a lot of those missing links with people we met at CHO. We spent hour after hour with those people, and some of them I considered friends. I learned about their families, their pasts, their hopes and dreams, and in some cases, their biggest fears. I laughed with some of them, held back shared tears with others. I felt like we mattered, like Logan was an important person. Like I was an important person. Because let me tell you something: There's nothing like being hit with a serious illness to make you feel like you don't matter at all.

And then we lost Logan and nonexistence set in once again. Just as we lost friends after Logan was diagnosed --the people who'd always been there who suddenly didn't know how to relate to us-- we lost the new friends we'd made after he went home to Heaven. He suddenly didn't require care anyone and... poof. They were gone, almost all of them. I'm guessing we'll never hear from most of them again. I'm guessing that we'll be forgotten soon, as new patients move in and others move on. We'll fade into the obscurity that I'd wanted so desperately to avoid. I can understand it, in a way. It must be hard to think of the kids who don't make it. It must be easier --no, necessary-- to forget about them and focus on the next one in line. The one who might beat his personal odds and grow up. I guess that's how you survive that kind of job. I don't know because I could never do it myself.

I used to joke with the hospital staff that they were my social life. I don't think they realized that I was serious. Now, as a result, I mourn the loss of not only my son, but of the friends I thought I'd made there.

I guess it was naive of me to assume that they'd continue to be part of our lives into the future. Every life goes through phases; friends come and go and come again. I'm grateful for those who stuck with me throughout the duration of Logan's illness. I'm grateful for those who've come back to support me now. But I'm sad over the people who aren't my friends anymore.

I suppose this is all rather silly, but it's what I feel. So there it is. Have a good Monday.


  1. wonderfully written, sadly through all circumstances in life... people come and go. and somehow it dents our hearts with sadness when this happens. thank you for sharing your feelings.

  2. Not silly at all.

    Sometimes I don't think people realize how they affect others. Your world and perspective has changed. Theirs hasn't and they are just going on about their daily lives with no clue.

    Wishing I could hop a plane and give you big hugs.

  3. 90% of friendship in life is circumstantial, I've found to my infinite sadness. I consider myself lucky to have those few friends who've stood with me through singledom, married life, school, kids, illnesses, moving around, differences of opinion, etc. Usually, they are the ones I speak to the least, but they are there in the background, enriching me and warming my heart every day. Those are the ones that count. Everyone else is social life.

  4. How sad we live in a world where friendship can be so fleeting. I know for most of my life, I had what I now call "throw-away friends." My excuse was being shy and moving around in the military, both while growing up, then 20 years of my adult life.
    Now I have retired and lived in the same place for 18 years. I have girlfriends and best friends. We may not see each other or talk for periods of time, but we know each of us is there for the other, through good times and bad.
    I have learned a lot about friendship over the years and even consider some of my online acquaintances to be my friend.
    Laughing, crying, praying, and being there for each other is what it's all about. Even when I bug a friend til she starts calling me mom. That's when it means the world!

  5. :(
    I never really even thought about the fact that you'd be "losing" your newly made friends and support team, the folks at CHO.
    I'm so sorry Sherry.
    I've read it so many places, that people come and go in your lifetime and that God has them there for certain reasons and not all of them are there long-term....but that can be such a painful reality. Especially if you've gone through major life-changing realities with them by your side. On a much-lesser scale, I know an ounce of what you feel...less than an ounce really.
    But I was kind of hurt when we moved away from a place that had become our home and away from people who became our family since we had no blood-family close by. They saw us through first career moves, the births of 2 babies, my dad's death, the start of a business and the loss of a business...lots of things that change your life. And I do not hear from most of them nowadays. You tend to feel like, "did I even matter in THEIR life? Because they mattered in mine!" BUT, I try to stop that thought because I know it's the enemy working his way in.
    I'm praying for your sense of loss, in all these different areas :(
    Love and Hugs, Sherry.

  6. oh i can't imagine how hard that must be. i know in the short time i was in the hospital just having babies it felt strange to leave and not stay in contact with the nurses who were there for my labor and who checked in after delivery. to imagine going through the most impossible year and a half of your life with these people, people who were absolutely crucial to you and logan and the rest of your family... it's not silly at all to feel devastated by that loss. or even just pissed off about it (excuse my language). you have every right. but from what i know about you and logan... you are in their brains and hearts all the time, even if they aren't reaching out. can't help but love you guys.