Dream Date

Monday morning, coffee in hand on a seemingly gloomy, overcast morning, I walked from my car into my office. Just before placing my hand on the door, it hit me.

Two weeks ago today, this moment, I heard "I love you, bud" for the last time. 

I told myself to get it together. You say all the time to not dwell on sadness, listen to yourself.

My day moved on like any Monday. I blinked and the day was over and I was laying in my bed with my husband. The room was quiet, except for the thoughts that were knocking around in my head.

"I miss him," I said, telling my husband about my realization earlier in the day of the two-week marker.

"I know you do," he said, hugging me tighter.

We drifted off to sleep. 

My dreams have been vivid and colorful the last few weeks- but they haven't made any sense at all...until last night.

I was walking Little Miss into school, hand in hand, Mom by our side. As we opened the door, there he was- my daddy. He looked like he did when he would walk me into school when I was Little Miss's age- big broad shoulders, red beard, huge smile. He took my hand and squeezed it three times. {i love you}

"I love you, bud!" he said, smiling into my eyes.

"I love you, too!!" I said, as we walked on.

I woke up for the first time in weeks with a happy heart. He knew just what my heart needed to hear- and I'm so thankful!

Our Last Ride

"Go home and be with your family...enjoy your time with them," Daddy's doctor told him.

So that is what we did. 11 days after we were told the initial news about the cancer, we brought Daddy home.

Time stood still that Thursday evening. We soaked up each moment with each other. We overused I love you because we meant it, every time. We stared at each other. We hugged. We cried. We ate a lot...of any kind of food he wanted. We held each other tight. 

"Do you know what means the most in this world to me?" he asked me, as I was walking out of his bedroom.

"What, Daddy?"

"You," he said pointing at me.

I fought back the tears as I walked back over to hug him one more time. As I walked towards him, my mind traveled to when I was little- he would back into the driveway and I would run up to his dumptruck for a hug.

"You know what means the most to me?" I asked him, as he wiped my tears.

Neither of us could speak. We didn't have to. 

Friday night was restless. His breathing was progressively getting weaker and weaker. His pain levels were untouched by the pain medication- but he was still fighting to be himself.

"I want to take a shower...and then I want to go for a ride," he said.

My determination kicked into high gear. It was the first thing he had said he wanted to do, besides eat, since we got home. Come hell or high water we were going for a ride.

A friend was washing his truck- and all I could think about was how Daddy was going to rip me a new one, cancer or not, if that truck got scratched during the washing. I was as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof.

"Looks good, where are my keys?" he asked me, as we walked towards his truck.

My heart sunk. I knew I couldn't let him drive with all the medication he was on...but the thought of disappointing him tied my stomach into knots.

"I ain't stupid...I want to sit in my seat...start my truck," he said.

I passed him the keys. He sat down and started his truck. He laid his head back and closed his eyes as the motor purred and the radio played a song that fit way to well. {I Drive Your Truck, Lee Brice}

The moment flew by. He got up and moved to the passenger seat.

"Let's go somewhere, Bud," he said to me.

I was honored. No one has ever driven that truck but him. No one.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Doesn't matter...your house," he replied.

As we drove, just the two of us, I noticed he was drifting in and out of sleep. I held his hand tight and enjoyed our daddy-daughter time. I thought of all the times he would take me to ride- we would ride by every house that had horses in Dare County until we found someone who would let me pet them. Then, when we got our horse- we spent Sundays, just me and him, on our horse together. 

As we drove by Midway, his eyes popped open.

"You missed it- turn around," he snapped.

"What?" I asked.

"Midway...I want to see James. Turn around," he said.

James has been a friend of our family for as long as I can remember. When Daddy taught me how to change my oil, he told me the only other person who was allowed to touch my car was James Cahoon. 

"Daddy, I don't think James is there now...but we can go find him," I said.

"Let's go see your horses," he said, drifting back to sleep.

We pulled up to the front of my house and the horses were out front. 

"Hey Tristan!" Daddy hollered.

Tristan knickered back to him, the biggest, proudest knicker I have ever heard.

"Go feed him, I'll watch you from here," he told me.

In the moment, as special as it felt then, I never imagined how close I would hold that truck ride in my heart.

When we got back home, he slept for 5 hours. As I peeped into his bedroom, he motioned for me to come lay with him.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you soon," he said, staring into my eyes.

"It's going to be okay, Daddy. We will take care of Mom...it's going to be okay," I said.

"I know you will...I know."

"Will you promise me something?" I asked, squeezing his hand.

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"Promise me you'll visit me...us...in our dreams?"

He smiled.

"I promise. That sounds like fun," he said, and he drifted back to sleep.

Monday morning at 6:55am my mom called. Daddy had a really bad night. 

"He wants to go on a truck ride- he said something about James," she said.

I called James and he was on the way over immediately.

I dropped Little Miss off at school and went straight to my parents. James was sitting with Daddy, telling stories about wrecks they'd hauled together and races they'd attended.

Daddy's voice was weak. I hugged and kissed him.

"Do you want me to stay?" I asked.

"I'm okay, go on to work," he told me. 

So I did. He didn't ever want for me to see him in pain and I could see how much he was hurting.

"I love you, Daddy...don't forget about our dream-dates," I said.

Just a few short hours later, Mom called me at work to tell me to come back.

"This is it...hurry."

Those words rang in my head as I sat frozen at my desk. My body started shaking. I grabbed my purse and wondered how I would get the words out of my mouth to tell my boss where I was going.

I don't remember what I said or the drive to my parent's house. I walked into the front door and could see through the back door to the porch. My daddy was sitting down with his head resting on my mom's chest. The stress-lines on his forehead were relaxed- his body was no longer tense. He was gone. 

A wave of calmness washed over me as I kissed his forehead. I could feel his spirit holding me tight. 

As difficult as the last few days were, I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. We got to say goodbye- so many people never get that moment. I will cherish those last few days and I know I will see him again.

I'll see you in my dreams, Daddy.

The Post I Never Thought I'd Write

Something happened.

In the blink of an eye, I was partially transformed into a little girl again- but part of me remained a grown woman. Part of me was standing in a hospital room, hearing a stranger doctor tell me that they found spots on my daddy's liver and a mass in his pancreas that was cancerous- but the rest of me was 7 years old, pulling on Daddy's arm to climb onto the back of my horse. Part of me was holding his hand, trying to be strong...and the rest of me was crumbling.

The moment the words came out of the stranger's doctor's mouth- everything changed. Our entire world changed. I wanted to tell stories- and ask to hear everything he's ever told me over again. I wanted to make new memories without thinking this might be the last time we get to do this. I wanted to study my daddy's face and memorize every tiny wrinkle- and remember where it came from...this one from the sun on his face when he used to plow fields when he was a farmer, long before I was even thought of- this one from the sunburn he got when we stayed in the ocean all day, laughing and swimming together...the color of his red beard...and how it never matched the hair on his head- the way his hands always looked when I was little- stained with grease from the tractor or oil from the dump truck.

My body went numb. I couldn't show my heartbreak. I had to show strength. I had to show that I had faith that he was going to be okay. I tried to shut out the doctors words but they echoed over and over again as memories flashed through my mind like a slideshow of happier times.

Immediately I wanted to know why. I wanted to know why God chose us- why our family. I wanted to know why there isn't a cure- with all the technology and knowledge in the world. Our government can hack into a terrorist's locked iPhone but can't find even a hint of a cure for cancer. I was Sally Field in Steel Magnolias, yelling in the graveyard as she buried her daughter. My numbness was replaced with anger. I wouldn't accept this diagnosis. It has to be a nightmare. I just want to wake up, I thought over and over. I got angry when people asked me how I was doing or how I was handling the diagnosis in the first few hours and days of finding out. How am I?! How ridiculous- my health is fine, my heart is broken and a huge part of me wants to rip your face off. No, I'm not fine.

Pray about it...God will get you through this.

The first few days of trying to process that my daddy has cancer- hearing that God would help me made me angry too. When I get upset with someone, I have to take some time to myself before I can talk it out. God's plan had really upset me. I didn't understand, and still don't, why he chose this plan for our family. I couldn't pray. I tried to talk to him but I couldn't find the words. We just simply weren't on speaking terms. I knew He was there- I knew He probably understood my silence- but I wasn't ready to talk.

They transferred my daddy to a larger hospital in Virginia due to a blood clot in his heart. {Because cancer wasn't enough to worry about.} Sometime in the first few days of him settling in at the new hospital, mom and I both realized that we were mourning something that hadn't happened yet. The anger began to fade a little- and we were able to focus on the moments we were in with Daddy.

So...what's next? God and I are talking again...and I'm hoping his plan for my daddy has an extended edition. For now, we are thankful for each day we are given. We are praying for the doctors caring for my dad, that they may be blessed with the knowledge they need to treat him. We are praying for ourselves, that we have the strength to be helpful through this process- and to not get too ahead of ourselves and be able to focus on the day we are in and not so much on the future. We are praying that we are able to keep our faith strong- it is so easy to lose faith when faced with tough journeys, such as this one.

Thank you to those of you who have held me as I cried, listened to me as I was angry, and prayed for our family. Words can't describe our gratefulness.

Say 'I love you'

We live in a small, tight-knit community and I've said before, when one of us goes through something, we all do.

Recently, two special people were battling cancer. They were both diagnosed around the same time- and both ended their battle this week, but in two very different ways. One rang the bell, ending her last radiation treatment...and one went home to be with the Lord.

Our horse community lost a very special cowgirl last week, as well. With social media, news travels fast and kind words and photos get posted almost instantly for the world to see. Upon reading the many testimonies about how much this cowgirl meant to so many people, I wondered...did she realize she was this loved? I hope so. She was the kind of person who told you when she loved you- partly, I believe, because she knew tragedy all too well. She lost two children in a tragic accident 11 years ago. She knew that life was fragile. 

When tragic events strike close to home, it reminds us to tell each other how we feel. We say I love you. We make time for each other. We put other's needs in front of our own...but unfortunately, as quickly as we are reminded, life gets in the way and we forget.

I may tap-dance on the borderline of over-using I love you because it is my personal belief that you can't overuse I love you if you mean it every time you say it. Life is too short to not say it when you feel it. Life is too short to not make time for our loved ones. Life is too short to not stop and have that conversation in the grocery store with someone you don't see that often- because who is to say that it may not be the last time you have a conversation with that person?

Say I love you. Thank your friends for being good to you. Remind your loved ones that you're grateful they were put in your life. Life is a fragile gift that we all-to-often take for granted.

We Got Your Back, Shack!

I remember hearing the words for the first time and not knowing whether to scream or cry.

Ginger has Hodgkin's Lymphoma.

In that moment, that first few seconds of hearing the news- I knew if I couldn't take it away from her...heal her, fix her...then I had to do something to help- something to take her mind off of the scary and onto the happy.

I messaged my cowgirl sister and Dignified Cowgirls partner immediately.

"OMG Our Ginger?! Yes, let's make shirts, do a ride, whatever we can," Danielle replied.

Within two weeks, our shirt design was complete and we had the ball rolling for a fun show or trail ride, or both. It wasn't a question of how we were going to do it- it wasn't a question at all, we were doing it.

That's the thing about cowgirls. There is nothing we can't do. We can manhandle 1200lb animals, move 500lb round bales, mend fences and haul trailers. We can fight with the best of them. When told we can't, we will prove we can. We don't ask for help often- but always know when it needs to be given. 

As the weeks progressed, we found out how incredible our little island really is as we planned the We Got Your Back, Shack! fun show. There was no "We can't donate this time..." it was always "Whatever you need...just tell us what you need and we will get it for you. This family is too special to not be 100% behind them through this."

We had everything from silent auction items to cash donations. Sponsors were coming out of the woodwork to help us- but it had nothing to do with us and everything to do with the Shackelfords. When I think of the kind of family God would look down and say "They get it...they're doing my work everyday, they look out for others, they're kind and genuine..." I think of the Shackelfords. {My husband and I say all the time that there are two people in this world that you can talk to and feel like you just spoke to Jesus himself- Omie Tillet and Britton Shackelford.}

Friday afternoon we got the keys to the indoor arena and began setting up. In the quiet dark arena, moments flashed through my mind. 

 -The first time I met Ginger- Christmas morning, when she got her first horse. 

 -Bareback horse rides around Wanchese with her, laughing and telling stories about her future career as a professional barrel racer. 

 -Doing her senior pictures- and making her smile her smile while she controlled her horses who weren't so sure about the waves in the sound. 

 -Hearing her stories from the NBHA Youth World trips...because she took a young cowgirl's dream and made it a reality. 

"Tomorrow is going to be a wonderful day. I want Ginger to have so much fun that she looks back on the day & forgets that she had Hodgkin's Lymphoma..."

The morning of the show began early. Donned in our pink Dignified Cowgirls hoodies and our sparkley zebra boots- Danielle and I were like kids on Christmas morning! As the trailers started rolling in and registrations began getting filled out- one thing was for certain...our dreams of it being a great day were going to come true. Cowboys and cowgirls were in attendance from all over North Carolina and Virginia. My heart was already overwhelmed- then in walked our cowgirl...smiling from ear to ear.

"Booey!!"

If you've ever seen a genuine Ginger smile, you know it is contagious. It is the kind of smile you see with your eyes and feel instantly in your heart. It's impossible to be in a bad mood around that kind of smile. That smile is what we worked for- that made all the work we put into the show worth it. 

Throughout the day we laughed and smiled so much my face was sore. We had some tearful {squeaky} moments- but they weren't tears of sadness...they were proud tears. They were WE will beat this tears- because we were all in agreeance that our cowgirl isn't fighting this battle alone.

We have all been thanked over and over for putting together this show. The best thank you came to us from Ginger's family...they thanked us for everything- but mostly for restoring Ginger's smile and glow. I want to thank our community, our sponsors, every single person who attended on Saturday- with your help...our community raised over to $5000 for Ginger!! And in MORE good news- Ginger had her last chemo treatment yesterday!! We are so proud of you, Booey...round that barrel, sit back & bring it on home, baby!!