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.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Always my baby you'll be

June 26, 2016. Brady is 5 years, 6 months, and 12 days old, which means that he has officially lived longer than his biggest brother, whose earthly hours numbered 5 years, 6 months, and 11 days. In a way, from here on out, Logan will be my forever baby.

I've had my eye on this date for quite some time. Although we never discussed it, I know Adam had it in mind too; how could he not? How could you not be aware of the date that your youngest child is suddenly older than one of your older children?

And as it turns out, so did Abby. She brought it up to me yesterday as we meandered around the fair. "Mom... do you know... do you know what tomorrow is? What it means?" I just looked at her and nodded and she nodded back and kicked at the dirt with the toe of her sneaker. We didn't say much, but she knew, and she knew that I knew. And we were together in that moment of comfortably awkward silence, remembering who he was and still is and wishing with everything in us that he could still be here.

We're still getting by, as my dad used to say when I was a kid. I try to do more than go through the motions and for the most part, I think we're faring okay. It's hard to come to the realization that you're no longer the person you were and that there's a big part of you that will be jaded and broken and injured until all is made right in Heaven. But I'm still working to find joy in hidden places and to be a better person. And for now, at this point in my life, that has to be good enough.

Saturday, January 16, 2016


I know it's been ages, but I'm still here. Still breathing. Still driving the mom-taxi and writing and missing my boy. And though life may continue to change and evolve, that third item will remain constant.

Abby started middle school in the fall. It's stunning to realize that she's on the verge of becoming a teenager. I worry about her; I listen carefully when she talks about new kids at school and then stealthily stalk their parents' Facebook pages to be sure they're nice girls. I'd be embarrassed to admit that, but I'm sure I'm not the only one. Middle school is hard, after all.

We had a conversation the other day, she and I. I asked if she'd told any of her new friends about Logan and she shrugged.

I'm not sure. I don't really remember.

I paused. Then I asked if she talked about family, and if she mentioned having two brothers or three.

Three, she said. Always three.

Then I paused and revisited my original question. Did they know? Had she told them that he'd passed away?

She shifted uncomfortably. I don't know. I don't remember.

I paused again, trying to choose my words with care. I wasn't entirely sure what she'd say, but I had an inkling and I cringed internally when I asked: Why didn't she want them to know when he was such an important person?

She sighed. Because I don't want them to just be my friend because they feel sorry for me.

It broke my heart to hear her say it. I figured that would be the explanation, but it still stung to her the words as they escaped her lips. She deserves better than that. So much better. She deserves to be able to speak freely about her best friend, just like her friends can speak freely about the special people in their lives. But at 11, she knows she can't. She sees where that kind of honesty can lead, and she doesn't want to venture down that road.

It's one of the heartbreaking lessons with which I've had to wrestle during Logan's saga and its aftermath: people are fickle and weird and unpredictable. Some long-time friends abandoned me when I needed them. Others came alongside me and held me up when I could no longer stand on my own. Some have gone on to become great friends and confidantes. Others have completely vanished from my life; it was as if the ambulance pulled away and they were gone, in search of another to chase.

I'm sorry. I know this is harsh and some won't like my words, but if you take anything away from this entry take this: be careful with others' hearts. If you're not ready to be a genuine friend, keep your distance. If you are, then dive on in, but realize that the ocean floor is lined with jagged rocks and that the waves can be fierce and overwhelming. But if you navigate the storms, you'll wind up seeing some pretty amazing things in the end.