I almost slammed on the brakes. She knows he is gone. Then I realized we were passing Fort Logan. He was supposed to be buried in Fort Logan.

When he was sick and all hope was lost, my dad told me he wanted to be buried in Fort Logan with full military honors. I had sobbed through all of it as we talked about his two tours in the Colorado National Guard. He told me about being sent up Mount Evans to fight a fire and how he trained and was placed on 24 hour notice to be shipped to Germany during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He served his country between the Korean and Vietnam wars. He gave several years of his life to training in the National Guard and even achieved officer status before being honorably discharged, fortunately before the Vietnam War.

I researched his eligibility to be buried in Fort Logan. First research brought an answer of no. Additional research and a call to Fort Logan brought an answer of yes, as long as he had certain discharge papers. He did. And Fort Logan said he was eligible.

I promised him a full military burial at Fort Logan, just as he wanted. His eyes lit up at the thought of taps being played, the flag folded and the gun-salute.

After he passed away, Fort Logan sent his papers through the national offices for final approval. We made plans for the burial he wanted. Then the national office came back and regretfully told us he didn’t see active duty, and was therefore not eligible for military honors. It didn’t matter that he had served, the military rejected him. I was heartbroken.

I highly respect the members of our military and the sacrifices they and their families give to our country and our freedom. But I am so saddened that military recognition comes with limitations. I understand that active duty personnel are in dangerous situations and risk their very lives, but our troops at home and overseas at times of war and at times of peace are not eligible for military recognition based on the duties they perform. If you serve our country and make the commitment to see active duty if necessary, you should receive recognition for your sacrifice and time. All military troops should receive the same recognition. My opinion.

We re-focused and planned a new service. It was explained to my daughters, but somehow they didn’t remember today.

Laurel began innocently asking me questions about where he was if he wasn’t buried at Fort Logan. I teared up and tried to explain the back-up plan. She became uncomfortable and whispered to her sister “quick, change the subject.”

She’s perceptive. We’ve since talked about it being okay to talk about grandpa. It’s okay to get teary or sad. We are all still grieving. But that car ride was tough this morning. It froze me. I couldn’t think fast enough to explain what happened without falling apart or becoming unable to drive.

Two of the weeks were spent in the hospital. One week in palliative care spent hoping there would be a cure. A stall. Something. Then a final week with hospice. I can’t say enough about The Denver Hospice. Amazing, caring, unbelievable people. I don’t know what we would have done without all of the support 24 hours a day.

Then a fast decline and suddenly we were sitting in a mortuary making final arrangements. More on this later.

I really had no idea what had happened and didn’t have time to process. After making calls and settling his affairs things began to slow down. For about a day. Then my mom landed in the hospital with a herniated disc. She has been living and healing at my house the past three weeks.

A vacation and another loss. The loss of a person whom I’ve known for two years. A fighter. A bright spirit. Someone taken too too soon. Her children left behind to grow up without her. Makes me wonder how such a strong, courageous, caring human being could be taken when the person who flips me off while passing and cutting me off on the highway is still here.

For those of you keeping score, that’s three losses in six months.

My chin is up, I’m enjoying the warmth and freedom that summer brings and trying to pull my life together. I’m changing my perspective and feelings on a lot of things. I’m looking at things differently. I’m concentrating on the silver linings. On the happiness and being thankful for everything and everyone I have in my life.

Hug those who you care about. Be thankful and love the life you have.

Here’s an update on my dad…

His jaundice had gotten much worse on Thursday and his legs were swelling. He had finally gotten an appointment to get the biopsy a week from Thursday. It felt so far away, especially as I watched him look and feel worse. I made an appointment for him on Friday morning. During that appointment, the doctor decided he needed to go into the hospital for additional care. The doctor said if he continued the way he was, he wouldn’t be able to handle the biopsy by Thursday. All I could think was “DUH People! He needs medical attention and you aren’t moving.”

At the same time, I felt like I was living a nightmare. I never thought I’d ever see my dad so helpless and so sick. This is a guy who has seen a doctor about six times in the past 30 years. He’s tough. He’s invincible. He’s my dad.

We took him to the hospital on Friday and a whirlwind of tests and doctors started flying. He had three MRI’s, a bone scan and the biopsy. He was really exhausted from all the tests but at least he was getting attention and they were looking at all angles.

On Friday we also met a doctor whom I’ve dubbed “Doctor Death.” Doctor Death has no hope, not a lot of tact and gets emotional when she talks to us. Her only real answer to all our questions is a tearful “just remember, every day is a gift.” She gives no hope and just tells us to focus on today. She has also told us that treatment isn’t always the best option. Sometimes, it shortens or decreases quality of life for the patient. Even my dad has said, he feels like she has given him less than a week to live every time she talks to him.

My dad’s nurse mentioned to us that she overheard Doctor Death telling us prognosis and she felt Doctor Death didn’t handle it well.

In walks Doctor Hope. Doctor Hope is/was my dad’s oncologist for the weekend. Unfortunately he is only filling in for the weekend and we start over with a different oncologist tomorrow.

Doctor Hope does not paint a rosy picture of rainbows and happiness for us. But he does something that puts a crack in the clouds and helps us feel stronger…he gives us just a tiny bit of hope. There’s a small chance my dad will be able to try treatment. The treatment won’t cure the cancer, but it may slow the growth or even shrink it. There is a chance it won’t help at all and there is a chance that my dad won’t be able to tolerate it. But it sits out there waiting for him. It’s something to look forward to. It’s something that makes me focus on hope for my dad, rather than just focusing on losing him.

Yes, I will lose him. I just hope to keep him around as long as I can. Every day is a blessing. At this point, even hearing he has 6 months or 3 months gives me hope.

This can’t be happening.

We are all still in shock, including my dad. None of us can make sense of someone who ate healthy, exercised regularly and was seemingly fine about a month ago being so sick and in so much pain so fast.

Here’s what we know so far (I will try to keep my blog updated).

He has Stage Four cancer. They believe it began in his kidney and has spread to his liver, his lymph nodes and bones. It’s aggressive. They are going to try to put in a stent in his kidney on Monday to help it drain to help the jaundice. If he can get rid of the jaundice, they will look at some treatment options. Chemo doesn’t seem to work on kidney cancer. It’s too wide spread for radiation so they are hoping to do a treatment that involves a pill that will hopefully shrink or slow down the cancer.

He had a fever tonight when we left so we are hoping there isn’t an infection or something else brewing.

My dad has been complaining about injuring his shoulder and then his back since early March. He didn’t know what he had done to hurt himself, but the pain was immense. He reached a point two weeks ago that the pain was more than he could tolerate anymore and went to Urgent Care. They x-rayed him, told him he has the joints of a 45-year-old and told him to rest. A few days later on a Saturday, he was back, because the pain was not lessening.

They gave him some Vicadin, said he had back strain and sent him home. On Monday, he returned, explaining that he had run through his prescription. At this point, an alert trauma nurse practioner noticed he was also yellow. Back strain doesn’t make you yellow. The doctor thought he may have hepatitis. I quickly did research. Two bad kinds, one kind that is fully recoverable. Scary but I’d go with Hep A. If he had that, the description said it takes about three months to recover. I thought, three months…that’s a long time to have him not feeling good. It would take him into the summer until he was up and running again.

He went back in on Tuesday for an ultrasound and lab work. Then he was scheduled for a CT scan on Wednesday. Now, the doctors suspected a blocked bile duct in his liver. Not Hepatitis, good, but would he have to have surgery to get it unplugged? What would this entail for recovery? At least it was curable and fixable.

I met my parents at the medical office for the CT scan. I had seen my dad the previous Saturday. He looked pained,  yellow and very weak. He had gone down a lot in five days. It was scary. I wanted them to find the blockage and get him feeling better and fast. I had just lost a friend to liver failure and I could tell he was going septic.

I made arrangements with my mom to babysit my dad the next day. I didn’t think he should be alone in case he didn’t feel well or if he needed emergency attention. He was not well.

Thursday.

My mom and my dad both called me independent of each other to tell me a miracle had happened over night. The pain had stopped. My dad told me I didn’t need to come over anymore. He was feeling better and on the mend. I decided to come visit anyway. I wanted to make sure he was still going to go back for follow up to make sure what had blocked would stay unblocked. Again, research online the night before had taught me about a liver disease where bile ducts plug and unplug until the liver becomes very damaged and requires a transplant. I was ready to put my name on the transplant list if it was needed.

Then the doctor’s office called. They would see him over the lunch hour. When we got there, I learned he didn’t have an actual appointment. We were told it isn’t hepatitis or a blockage.

It is cancer.

Cancer of the kidney. And it looks like it is metastasizing and moving outside of his kidneys. The rest of the conversation revolved around getting a biopsy to then work on prognosis and treatment. They also told my dad he needed to gather his family and discuss next steps. He needed to make sure all of his affairs were in order. He needed to name a medical power of attorney. A prognosis plan. Would he want hospice? There wasn’t anything about positive outlooks or treatment. It was all about making decisions on how he wanted it all to end.

I felt cold. I wanted to throw up, run out of the room, hug him, cry, deny and crawl under the covers and hide. I had to be strong for my dad. For the first time in my life, he wasn’t stronger than me. I was the strong one.

I asked questions, listened to everything that was said, tried to retain as much as I could while trying to find my way back to the beginning of the day when the miracle had occurred and he was better.

We walked out of the doctor’s office in shock. He turned to me and said “I guess my mother will outlive me. I never thought I would get cancer.”

He’s right. Cancer does not run in my family. Most everyone I know on my dad’s side has died from old age. My grandmother is 93 and just graduated from hospice.

I drove him home. I walked him to the door, but it was obvious we both needed some time alone to absorb and try and make sense of what had just happened.

I called my husband and brother and worked to lure my mom home so we could tell her. The rest of that day was full of tears. Full of family. Full of realizations.

I didn’t eat dinner. I had skipped lunch. I went home and finally threw up. I have had a series of challenges and stressful events occur this year. This just blew everything away. It’s amazing how something like this makes everything else that seems so big so small.

I tried to imagine life without my dad. Tried to imagine what the next few months hold. I crawled inside myself. I did my best to ignore and deny but it wouldn’t go away. It was there when I woke up in the middle of the night. It was there when I stared out the window. When I drove my car. It was always there. I couldn’t make this go away.

I felt a little better Saturday as I prepped for the Easter Bunny’s visit. I felt like I briefly stepped out of the nightmare and back into life. But just as quickly as I had rejoined my life, I ran from it again. I couldn’t research anything online. I began sobbing inconsolably at the mention of “my dad.” I couldn’t eat. I just couldn’t function. I would shake and feel sick. I felt like I was watching my life instead of participating. I didn’t know how to deal with this.

When something happens in my life, I talk. Ask my husband. I talk and talk and dissect and analyze every piece. I couldn’t talk about this. I couldn’t call friends. Couldn’t talk to family. The only thing that kept me out of bed was my parents and my girls. I had to keep going for them.

I had no idea I would lose my ability to cope with this type of news. I’m not completely naive. My parents are getting up there in age. I have thought about what would happen when they are gone. Somehow, I never thought I’d actually get to that point.

Everyday I’ve made a little progress towards acceptance.

Yesterday I felt a little better. I ate a little bit. I did a little bit of research while tears streamed from my eyes. I learned there is some hope.

Today I was back at my job. Back at shuttling my girls to and from school. Back to responding to emails and working on projects. My dad is also a bit stronger. Pain and jaundice have eased a bit.

Today I rejoined my life. I found myself again.

Now, I’m ready for the fight.

A friend of mine, one of the mom’s from my daughter’s school, passed away in January. She and I weren’t terribly close but I did love her and miss her every day.

Last December, she showed me that her eyes were yellow and made a comment that it was just so weird and the doctor didn’t know what was causing it. I’m not well versed in diagnosis and disease, thought it was odd, and didn’t think much of it. We were also at school at the time, helping in the classroom. It was busy and I barely had a chance to say hi let alone chat.

Dee and I met when her son and my daughter began kindergarten 2 1/2 years ago. They were instant friends and we chatted a lot while waiting for school to get out. Last year, we were room moms together.

Dee wasn’t real open with her life, but then again, neither am I. I keep a lot private and don’t show many people what’s truly inside. She would give hints that maybe her life wasn’t perfect, but the rest of the time, she worked hard to make it appear to be.

When we all came back from Christmas break, I didn’t see her. Not totally unusual and I was busy and distracted and I figured she was too. About three weeks into the new year, I really missed Dee. I decided I would call her and catch up when I had a chance. We were also supposed to get together over the holidays, but it just didn’t happen.

The next night, I received a call from a mutual friend of ours asking me if I knew if Dee was ok, because her had been mom picking up her son since the break. I wasn’t worried, and said we would have to corner Dee’s mom the next day at school to see what was up. Tori had a bad feeling and called over to Dee’s house. She called me right back saying Dee had been very sick the past few weeks and was in hospice with less than 48 hours to live.

Shock. Cold chills. Disbelief.

How? When? Why? Not possible.

We jumped in the car and drove to the hospice at 9:30 that night to say goodbye. I was living a nightmare. I felt like throwing up. I couldn’t deal. I wanted to run. But I knew I would never forgive myself for not saying goodbye to Dee. I was given the chance and I had to take it no matter how difficult. For her and for me.

The next two days were whirlwind. I was in a fog. I focused on the kids. All the kids who knew Dee, were touched by her as a preschool teacher and a very active mom at school. I tried to work with the school to get grief counselors in for the kids. Made calls to friends that I knew would want to say goodbye.

Then the call came and Dee was gone. Other than tearing up a few times, I hadn’t cried at all. I wasn’t going to allow myself to grieve, because it simply wasn’t happening. I went to her funeral feeling afraid to cry and afraid not to. During the service, I teared up. I felt incredibly sad. I watched as her son, husband and mother sat there and survived.

Her son. He was the love of her life. He was everything to her. How could she leave him to fend in this world without her. How would he fend in this world without her?

The service ended and we stood in line to give our condolences to her family. I wasn’t sure I could do it. I’m shy and I had barely met her husband and mother. When it was my turn, instead of comforting them, I could barely breathe. I fell apart. Telling them through gasps, tears and short breaths that I would miss her smile, her energy and her amazing loving spirit.

Everyday since, I think about her. I miss her. As I park my car at school and walk up to the classroom door, I miss her so much. I see her son and want to cry. I want to hug him and tell him I’m here for him. I want to tell him that he will make it through and that his mother loved him so much. I don’t, because he’d probably think I was a crazy person.

I miss her. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about her. It sounds silly, but I want to write on her Facebook page and tell her I miss her. Damn Facebook continues to ask me if I want to catch up with her, share the latest news, find her some friends. She is constantly in my friend reminder window.

Yes Facebook, I would like to share the latest news. Do you have a way to do that or do you just enjoy torturing me?

I wish I could talk to her just one more time. Take in her smile and the twinkle in her eye. Tell her that no matter what, I’m here for her and her family.

And give her a hug.

I will continue with more about her passing and how I’m working through it in another post later this week.

I had to watch her guest co-host on The View today.

The ladies were discussing Barbara Walter’s final pre-Oscar celebrity special. On it she interviews Mo’Nique and Sandra Bullock. Both said their husbands were very important forces in their lives. Mo’Nique said she believed in open marriage. I can strongly state that I don’t believe in open marriage for myself. I can’t see how allowing others into your bond, your partnership, your family could possibly strengthen it over weaken it. But hey, if it works for Mo’Nique, I’m not judging.

As for having a supportive, life changing husband, I agree with. Mine is my rock. He is my best friend, my shoulder to cry on, a partner to laugh with. He above all, supports me in everything I do, even if he doesn’t agree with it. He will tell me the pants I have on make me look fat or if I have a booger. This is all good. I’d rather look ridiculous in front of him, because I know he loves me, even with a booger in my nose, instead of in front of the harsh public. I definitely don’t need people laughing at my atomic wedgie behind me in the mall.

I only hope I come close to being as strong for him as he is for me. I’m not sure I will ever attain that status. I will, however, always let him know he has a booger. Snickering included.

Thanks D for being my wonderful, dear husband. You have brightened my life in countless ways since we met and I don’t know what I would do without you.

If you missed my BFF Valerie on The View, you can watch the episode on ABC.Go.com.

I am a participant in a Mom Central campaign for ABC Daytime and will receive a tote bag or other The View branded items to facilitate my review.

1. I am thankful for my beautiful daughters and husband. They are my rock and the motivation behind almost everything I do. I feel so very lucky and thankful for having them in my life. I’m not sure I deserve them.

2. My parents and my husband’s parents. All four are amazing and my pillars.  I am blessed to have them all in my life.

3. Health. I had a horrendous flu this fall that I believe to be the H1N1 although not confirmed. It has felt like one out of the four of us has been sick continually since August. If there is a bug out there, one of us will find it and bring it home. But I am thankful that all of our illnesses have been minor. Members of our extended family have other health challenges but we are all going strong. As a child, I never understood why someone would be thankful for their health. Now, I realize how thankful I am for my health and the health of everyone that I care about, because I have been so blindly fortunate.

4. My friends and family. I love you all and am so blessed to have you in my life. I am thankful for all we share.

5. Material items. Seems so superficial, but I am very thankful we have a roof over our heads, cars to get us to and from and everything else that brings us comfort, entertainment and joy.

6. Employment. It’s been rough out there the past few years. My husband suffered a layoff several years ago so I know how scary and hard that is. We have both stayed employed through the downturns and my job is prospering. I am so thankful to have a job that gives me balance between work and home.

7. A good school. Both of my daughters attend amazing schools. How lucky is that?

8. My kitties. Although both present their own challenges, I don’t know what I would do without my furry companions.

9. My iPhone. I only ended up with one because my husband received his as a gift. Holy cow! What an amazing device. A life changer. My life is now with me everywhere I go.

10. Twitter. Another life changer for me in 2009. Who would have thought it?

It was very important that we connected this week – she is moving to New York City on Sunday for an amazing job opportunity. She informed me a few weeks ago that she had gotten a job offer and was moving from Colorado to New York. I was at the least shocked. Not shocked that she had received a job offer, but shocked that she was moving to New York.

Without her family.

Her husband and four girls are going to stay in Colorado for now and potentially move out to NY next summer. Her oldest is in 8th grade, her youngest is in 3rd. Yes, she will travel back occasionally to visit them and sure she has Skype set up to chat every evening with them. But this move, this change made me stop and think.

Would I take a job across the country and leave my husband and children behind? I answered almost an immediate no. I have a hard time leaving them for an afternoon out. I desperately seek time for myself but I miss them when we are separated. I couldn’t imagine missing them in their Halloween costumes, hugging and kissing them every night before bed, volunteering in their classrooms. Holidays, outings, playtime, anytime. I couldn’t do it.

I was really curious to hear about the new job, the move and how their family was handling it all. I really wanted to hear how she planned to forge on ahead. Take on a new adventure without the family in tow.

We had a wonderful visit (too short of course) and caught up this afternoon.

She talked about how karma seemed to have stepped in and everything was fitting in place. How she was excited to take on this new adventure and role. She told me about her interviews and how it had all fit into place. The job holds a lot of great benefits and challenges. And New York City – I’ve never been, but the thought of living in the midst of diverse food, culture, people and music is so exciting.

I was envious. My chosen path seemed to pale in comparison.

Not envious in the hateful kind of way. I was excited. I yearned for a new experience to lay ahead of me. An adventure and new places to explore. I grew up in Colorado. I’ve never lived anyplace else. I tried to go out of state for college, but somehow fate and the path that lie before me kept pulling me back.

My friend is excited and feeling good about her decision. But of course, she is a mother and is worried she is being selfish. I think she is being strong and following her path in life. I think she is teaching her girls that is important to follow your heart and follow your mind. Her career is taking center stage in her life right now, but it doesn’t mean the girls take the back seat.

Technology will help bridge the distance. Tools such as Skype, email and scanners will help her see and chat with the girls every night, they can scan homework and email it for homework help.

Finding the calling. Finding the balance. Settling on a path while keeping a strong sense of yourself and balancing that with your families’ needs. It is an almost impossible task. The most important thing we can do is support each other as women and mothers. We must make decisions based on our own lives and beliefs and support the women in our lives when they do the same.

Along with my big-time New York friend, I also have a friend who just opened a dance studio, a friend who is following her dream of being an artist and another friend who is happy as a stay at home mom. I am so proud of all of them for figuring out what they need and want in life and following their path.

I feel I’m still finding my path. I still ask myself what I want to be when I grow up. I am envious of the New York job, but I think I’m more envious of the discovered path.

I love being a mom. I love being a professional. I feel like I spend more time and energy balancing motherhood with my professional life and my life vs actually finding which direction I want to take. My path, like others, has had many twists and turns. Even though I don’t feel like I’m on a clear path, I am on the path that I chose to follow.

New York is not for me, at least not now. Colorado is the place for me, for now. Motherhood and my career path are going where I want them to head. I’m willing to wait for the adventure. Or maybe just live vicariously through my friend.

Good luck in New York, D. I love you and will miss you being just up the hill. Go knock ‘em dead in New York.