Thoughts and Things

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Our Bike Ride and My Sister’s Cancer Journey

This was in the email my husband, our team captain, sent to our bike team 36 hours before our bike ride:

Riding for a day in the rain will not be the most comfortable thing to do. It may be a good way for us to remember why we are doing this. I witnessed my sister-in-law’s fight, and most of you have witnessed family, friends and loved ones fighting cancer. That sucks. Riding a day in the rain would be a cakewalk in comparison to fighting cancer.

June 12, 2022 was the date of the 50th Annual American Cancer Society’s Bridge to the Beach Bike-A-Thon. It was my 2nd year riding 67 miles in honor of my sister, mom and many others who have had and do have cancer.

Our first-time riding was in September of 2021. We had a perfect weather day and a slight tailwind most of the way. We made record time and actually had to wait at the last rest stop so that our family and friends would have time to make it to the finish line.

This year was different. The forecast was not great. Actually, they were calling for strong storms: rain, thunder, lightning and heavy wind. But there is no rain date for the ride. So, each person on the team made their own personal decision on whether or not to ride. And ride we did.

Our team consisted of 14 riders, two dedicated friends who provided support along the route, financial support to our fundraising efforts, and family and friends who waited for us at the finish line.

To be honest, after the ride was done, I went in to a funk for a couple of days. I think it is normal after you look forward to a big event for so long and then it comes and is over. We put so much time into planning the logistics of the day, I spent a lot of time in the “saddle” as the bikers say, and then it’s all over.

As I spent the next few days reflecting on our bike ride, I realized how many similarities there were to our day of riding and my sister’s cancer journey. And I want to share that with you.

Diagnosis and Signing Up

When Amy was diagnosed with cancer in 2010, she and her family made the decision to follow an aggressive treatment plan that was presented by her oncologist. They were all in from day one. When you decide to ride 67-miles on a bike, and you are not an experienced bike rider, it’s like going all in. You’re not starting with a 10- or 25-mile commitment. You are going right to a challenging goal.

Starting Treatment and Our Start

Having cancer means appointments, calls, paperwork, explanations, discussions with family and friends, insurance claims, arrangements to be made. There is uncertainty and stress. You are entering into the unknown. You are putting your trust, and life, into other’s hands.
As we were waiting in a parking garage to start the ride, the official start time came and went. But it was pouring. I mean POURING. Everyone kept looking at the radar on their phones. If we just wait ten more minutes, this red cell should be past. But we didn’t have a choice. They were going to close the bridge soon. So we set off into the unknown, and were soaked through by the time we made it to the start at the Ben Franklin Bridge. Just like with cancer – you are clouded with uncertainty and the unknown, but you must move forward.

Places of Rest

As we made our way over the bridge and into New Jersey, it started to thunder. And perhaps a flash or two of lightning. We found refuge under an overpass. Many times Amy found refuge during her journey. She found places of rest to recharge, reframe and seek shelter. She loved going to the beach, even when it wasn’t so easy to get there. She loved being in the midst of whatever was going on, getting strength, love and encouragement from others.

Staying in the Gap

As we continued through New Jersey on our bikes, we kept trying to stay “in the gap”, as we called it. There were two lines of storms coming through and if we were lucky, we could stay in the gap between the lines. Anyone in treatment for cancer is looking to stay in the gap of active disease. That’s basically the goal of most treatments – to remove cancer from the body and keep it from returning.

Health and Mechanical Difficulties

Many times during Amy’s treatment, she would have to deal with other health problems, in addition to cancer. She developed neuropathy from her medications, which meant her feet were often tingly or had no feeling. She developed shingles once, as her immune system was so compromised. She had a procedure that required anesthesia, and when she got home, she experienced a seizure – which can be a side effect from coming out of the anesthesia. Many times I thought my gosh, can she just deal with cancer alone?
On our bike ride, we had lots of “mechanicals”, which are problems with your bike. We had 4 flat tires and 3 chains dropped. This required a lot of time to fix, and so many times our group was split and we were waiting to regroup at the next rest stop. This also affected our ability to stay in the “gap”.

Encouraging Times of Support

Our friends, Jen and Chad, helped get us to the start and then were driving two cars to New Jersey for us. Instead of heading on down and waiting at the finish line, unbeknownst to us, they decided to stay with the route and find places to see us. They would just appear at random times and places, cheering, ringing bells, and offering support. They also had my husband’s bike tool box in the back of their truck, which was helpful for our many “mechanicals”. It was so life-giving to have these unexpected times of support.
Amy had so many people on her side. Her support community was wide and far. I want to recognize one time in particular when she was met with encouragement and support. In July of 2018, our father died. Amy was receiving treatment when Becky called to tell her the news. We went to Nevada and buried our dad. Amy had to leave the evening after Dad’s service and take a red-eye back to DC and go straight to her chemo appointment from the airport. Amy had made a friend, Leah, who was receiving treatment at the same times Amy did. They developed a friendship. That morning, when Amy arrived to the treatment center, Leah had cut up watermelon and snacks for Amy to eat. She knew that Amy was coming straight from the airport from her dad’s funeral, and wanted to provide support. Leah was a beautiful support to Amy in many ways.

Hospice and the Finish Line

In December of 2019, after being in ICU for two weeks with no improvement, Amy was sent home on hospice. Therapists come to the house to help with her mobility, but after a couple of weeks, her oncologist told her there was nothing else they could do to treat Amy. Having a plan was Amy’s purpose and charge. She did whatever the treatment called for and was always so positive. Being told there was no more treatment available was not something she wanted to hear.

As I shared in the beginning, I went into a funk after the finish. Everyone went back to their normal routines, and I was once again in a world without my sister. Doing something in her honor gave me purpose and power.

This isn’t the end of the story. Even after coming home on hospice, we had a beautiful Christmas with Amy, and it was a time none of us will forget. She also helped design our jerseys for this bike ride, and every time I look at her on the back of the jersey as we are riding, I know she is with us.

She was definitely with us on our ride this year. After we finished, when our team, family and friends gathered together that evening, we commented that Amy was our angel that day. She kept our team of 14 people, 5 of whom are inexperienced riders, riding in those conditions, safe. Thanks, Amastella.

I will continue to do everything in my power to keep her memory alive. Whether that’s a 67-mile bike ride, or writing a blog about how she is still such a part of my life, I will always talk about, and remember you, Amy. I miss you more than words can say.

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Dad and Coach

Note: These thoughts were written in June. I waited to publish, as I wanted to receive permission from the family to share my thoughts. Permission was received.

It’s June of 2021. My son is graduating from high school next week. He’s the baby. I am definitely feeling all of the “feels” that come along with the beginning of the end.

My son played lacrosse all 4 years of high school. Well, not for one year, as there was no season in 2020 due to COVID. The Friday before the week of their first scrimmage, our state and schools were shut down.

So senior year season was special. A season! YAY! He was chosen as one of the captains by his peers. They had a lot of emotion going into the season as one of his closest friends and fellow lacrosse player had lost his dad in 2020. There was a game on the night of the 1-year anniversary of his death, and a game against the team that their former varsity coach was now coaching. They had 2 BIG wins!

The team was more like a family. Our son spent much of his free time with his teammates. There were COVID exposures that caused players to miss time on the field, and the team flexed and played on. They made it to the playoffs. The season ended after the first round of playoffs, but they had a great season together.

Four days after the final playoff game, we received the heartbreaking news that the varsity head coach had died. It was unbelievable, and quite honestly, as I’m writing this, still is. Our lacrosse family was in shock. Another devastating loss for this team.

Last night was the celebration of life for Coach. It was held in our high school stadium. Kids of all ages were playing lacrosse on the turf. Memories were shared. Tears were shed. Two words were repeated about Coach and his wife: passion and tenacity.

If you’ve experienced loss before, you know that loss/death can trigger feelings from previous losses. I’ve lost my mom, my dad and my sister.

Losing Coach made me miss my dad. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve fully processed losing my dad yet. It will be 3 years this summer, but I’ve kept it at bay. Why was Coach’s death making me miss my dad so much?

My dad was a quiet, introverted man. Soft-spoken. Actually, didn’t really speak a lot. He was a great listener. And above all else, I knew he was there if I needed him. That was the kind of guy he was. We wouldn’t talk on a regular basis, but I knew if I needed him, he’d be there.

I realized I wanted to talk to him about Coach. We don’t know why Coach died and my black and white mind is having a hard time letting that go. I know that Dad would have just listened. I don’t think he would have had any answers, or offered any inspirational quotes or sayings (quite honestly, he was better at profanity). But he would have listened and empathized. I miss having that person to go to when all else fails.

I miss you, Dad.

Rest in peace, Coach.

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38 Years Without Mom

My mom died of pancreatic cancer in 1983.

I’ve always felt like losing my mom when I was 13 was a punishment. I didn’t understand why something like that would happen. And to be honest, at 13 years old, I didn’t know how to grieve losing my mom.

Then complicated grief arises as I experience different seasons of life without her, or milestones that make me miss her in a new way. Like when I became a mom. That made me realize how much I really missed having that relationship for myself. I didn’t fully understand how much my mom loved me until I became a mom.

With that came putting myself in mom’s shoes, and how she knew she was dying from cancer. How horrific that must have been for her. To know that she was leaving 2 teenage daughters behind. I can’t begin to understand the anguish she must have experienced. Not only did she have to contemplate her own life ending, but she also experienced anticipatory grief – thinking about the effect of her absence on her girls. That’s a heavy burden.

Mother’s Day is bittersweet for me. I am so grateful for my own family and they do an amazing job of honoring me. But I miss my mom. I have a mom-sized hole, which changes in size as life ebbs and flows, but is always there.  I have prolonged grief. It will be 38 years in June. Many people don’t understand how you can still be mourning after 38 years, but I can. And I am.

I briefly mentioned 3 different types of grief in this blog. Complicated, anticipatory and prolonged. There are other types of grief as well. My point in doing this is to bring attention to the many sides of grief. There is no right way to grieve. I don’t believe you get over grief. But we can learn to live with it, and if it’s going to last forever, finding ways to share your journey and stories with others can offer support and validation to what you are feeling.

With Mother’s Day approaching, I’m pleased to share 2 ways that may help:

  1. A free, personalized Mother’s Day postcard. Sign up here by the end of April, and (hopefully) the card will reach you by Mother’s Day.

  2. Virtual Daughters Without Moms Mother’s Day Circle
    Join us to spend an hour together in anticipation of Mother’s Day. We will share stories, pictures and find meaning together as Daughters Without Moms.

Each of the 4 hosts will share on their own personal aspect of being a DWOM. We will then have a short breakout session to foster a time of personal connection.

We will be sharing photos of our moms, creating a DWOM Recipe Book and a DWOM Mother’s Day playlist!

Follow this link to register. It’s free!

If you have any questions or cannot access the registration form, please email me at daughterswithoutmoms@gmail.com.

As I often say, I’m sorry that you are a part of the DWOM Club. But you are not alone.

With love, Beth

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Just a Spoonful of Sugar

Note: This blog is portions of a blog I wrote in 2014. It’s interesting to look back at my thoughts on grief and pain. My beliefs haven’t changed! But I sure do miss having Amy here to share the journey with.

I have a soft spot for girly movies. OK, you’re right, I am a girl! And while I also do love a movie that makes me laugh out loud, every once in a while I like to snuggle up with some tissues and a good tear-jerker!

Surprisingly, Saving Mr. Banks, Disney’s movie about the production of the movie Mary Poppins, turned out to be one of these tear-jerker’s for me. My motivation to watch the movie was my interest in learning more about Walt Disney himself, and I wasn’t expecting to become emotionally involved.

P.L. Travers is the author of Mary Poppins. As Walt Disney attempts to gain the movie rights to the book, you learn of the heart-wrenching loss and trauma Travers experienced as a child. Her father is a fun-loving alcoholic who has a hard time dealing with the real world, and eventually, he dies. This sends Travers’ mother, who already suffered from depression, into a suicidal state. Along the way, Travers’ saves her mother from a suicide attempt.

These experiences resonated with me personally. As a child I experienced the fall-out of my parents’ relationship, resulting in separation and divorce. Then my mom died of pancreatic cancer when I was 13. The similar portrayal of a parent suffering and the experience for the child brought back so many memories.

As an adult, I often reflect back on the grief and pain, and how its impact on my life has changed over the years. I find great comfort in my only sibling, my sister, as my companion in grief. Even though we are only 3 years apart in age, our memories and experiences are so different! I also feel a strong bond with other women who lost their moms at a young age. The loss of a loved one results in a myriad of other emotions tied to the loss – regret, guilt, anger, fear, sadness. They create a sense of loneliness that can only be shared and understood by others who have experienced the same pain.

How your family chooses to grieve loss depends on individual personalities and your family’s culture. Being open, honest, and vulnerable about your feelings can help alleviate the loneliness experienced during these times. Being with others who have experienced the same kind of feelings can also help. They can provide a safe environment for sharing, learning, and growing.

As Mary Poppins says, “A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down”, but you may need more than that. Please send me an email if there is a way I can be your grief advocate, offering support on your grief journey. You are not alone!

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The Grief and Shame of 2020


2020 was a year for the books. I don’t think anyone could have predicted the extent of the damage from the pandemic and the political and social unrest.

In Pennsylvania, it began with a 2-week shutdown in mid-March, to flatten the curve. As a family, we prepared for a disruption through May, just to be on the cautious side, with the hopes of being pleasantly surprised if things went back to normal before then.

As it continued, students were not allowed to return to in person classes. Graduations and weddings were cancelled. Businesses were forced to adjust the way they ran their business, or close. Teachers (and parents) had to learn Zoom. The news was terrifying. Persons were hospitalized and unable to have loved ones by their side.

The list of changes and sacrifices goes on, and on, and on. And on.

Every single person in our country experienced loss in 2020. And then, social unrest and political polarization. On top of the mandated stay-at-home orders, we were disconnected physically, emotionally and mentally. Judgment, condemnation and disrespect were rampant. On all sides, all around, in many arenas.

Have we considered the ramifications on 2020 on our culture? On the health of our population?

People are experiencing loss and grief. They don’t have many places to share. When they do, they experience the challenge of comparing their grief and story to the story of others. Because others have stories. Everyone does. And many are hard. Denying the extent of your grief based on your perception of someone else’s grief is unhealthy. We tell ourselves, “Well, I don’t have it as bad as they do, so I should just be thankful/grateful/happy.”

When we deny ourselves the experience of acknowledging our loss, we deny the emotion. When we deny the emotion, we deny the ability to process our reality with compassion and understanding. “I should just be grateful. At least I still have a job. Why am I so ungrateful?” Susan David, PhD and author of Emotional Agility says that “Social comparison is one of the worst toxic psychological experiences we can have as a human being.”

So not only have we suppressed our emotions, we’ve invalidated the situation and are now beating ourselves up. Over and over and over again. Because in 2020, not only are we doing it in our personal lives, with our jobs, our kids and their education, we are doing it over politics. And social issues. Over masks and six feet. Again, and on and on and on. When we deny the process of grieving, we open the door to shame.

This will have a huge impact on our health, and mindset. Because in addition to the shame of the events of 2020, individually, shame is devastating. According to Brenè Brown, “When we experience shame, we feel disconnected and desperate for worthiness. Full of shame or the fear of shame, we are more likely to engage in self-destructive behaviors and to attack or shame others. In fact, shame is related to violence, aggression, depression, addiction, eating disorders and bullying.”

Read that quote again. Perhaps we are already experiencing the ramifications of the grief and shame of 2020.

So what can we do? Again, Brenè Brown, author and shame researcher says “If you put shame in a petri dish, it needs 3 ingredients to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence and judgment. If you put the same amount of shame in the petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can’t survive.”

Empathy, compassion, grace – let’s douse each other with these ingredients in 2021.

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Hard to be Happy

In honor of Martin Luther King Jr. day this week, I’m sharing a blog written in 2018. For the past 7 years, I’ve gone to Mexico in January for a week of service. Not this year. I’m missing that special place and the people there, and when I read the blog, it makes me think about what we use to define “success” in the US. Enjoy!

Again, one of my goals for Personal Development in 2018 is to do some kind of service work. It has been a goal for several years now. I firmly believe there is no better way to keep yourself grounded than by giving to others. As Martin Luther King, Jr. said: “Somewhere along the way, we must learn that there is nothing greater than to do something for others.”

For the first week of 2018, I was privileged to spend the week with 20 other people, including my 16-year-old daughter Anna, on a service trip to Refuge Ranch in Mexico.

This was my fifth year going to Refuge Ranch. I was excited to share the experience with Anna, and knew it would have a profound effect on her as well. She received a writing assignment, and she chose to include thoughts from her trip to Mexico in her paper about happiness. With her permission, I’d like to share a few sections with you.

What is Happiness?

What is happiness? To me, happiness is being content with life in general. It is not about how much money you have, or if you have the most clothes, or if you travel far and wide.

Happiness can also be manipulated. People can choose to be happy with what they have and where they are in life, or they can complain and be upset. Happiness is a personal mindset that every human experiences. There are many things that mean happiness to me. There is happiness in helping other people. Helping other people can cure the soul because the joy it brings to others fills the heart.

I recently spent a week in Tepetlixpa, Mexico. During my week in Mexico, I volunteered at a ranch where we spent our time constructing cement columns for a new house and plastering walls. My week in this place showed me again just how blessed I was and how people who had so much less than me seemed more content.

One of the people I met in Mexico was Cirino. He works for the ranch and is part of the three-man crew that is building the new house. Although we could not communicate very well with him because of language barriers, you could tell Cirino was a content and happy man. He was always smiling and laughed with us when we attempted to talk in Spanish.

Cirino lived in a house down the road from the ranch that was constructed of tarps and walls with dirt floors. Cirino easily could have fixed the dirt floors of his house but he was fulfilled with what he had.

The people in Mexico live a life much different from ours. They do not materialize their lives, they do not base their happiness in money. They do not compare their lives to their neighbor’s. Instead, they live their lives happily. They go to work and do their jobs and go home and see their family and the next day they do it all over again.

My trip to Mexico showed me how simplicity can create happiness. When humans live simply and do not overthink, we can live a happier life. Our society has warped happiness into an unreachable goal. There are people in this world who do not know where their next meal is coming from, or who their real family is.

I challenge whoever is reading this to take a step back and evaluate your life. Do not compare your life to someone else’s. Do not think that materialistic items will bring you joy. Instead, start every day with a smile because every day is a chance to love the life you live, and live the life you love.

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All My Love

In January of 2020, as my sister’s battle with cancer was near the end, love was the family theme. We showed love, we spoke love, we shared love.  When life is coming to an end, love is all you need. We used a closing from a letter written by Amy as the tag on the bags of kisses at her celebration of life: “With all my love, Aims”. My niece also had a necklace made for me out of my sister’s handwriting that says All My Love. Amy left us with love, and now, we still have love for her, and nowhere to go with it. 

In August, my husband and I took our daughter back to South Carolina for her second year of college. Since we were going to have to quarantine upon return, we figured we’d stay a couple of extra days and went to Myrtle Beach to visit friends from high school. While I was there, I realized how much I miss that feeling of someone really just caring about me, for me. I had several families that provided a lot of care for me at a time when my parents weren’t physically around. Since I’m now a mom, my perspective has changed, and going back to places of comfort from when I was a teenager gives me an even greater appreciation for the people who have given me unconditional love over the years. People who didn’t have to, but still did.

In September, I was sitting outside, and I looked over to my left. And there was a perfectly little shaped heart leaf, on a plant in a basket that I have. It dawned on me that all of us want to give and receive all of our love. Not just love of one part of our life, but the love from our physical life, the love from our emotional being, the love from our spiritual being, and from our own mental health. We can’t pick and choose which part of love to share. We need to share and receive all our love.

With the loss of my sister, and since my parents have already passed, it made me realize that I’m the keeper of my love. I have a lot of love to give. I realized that there are holes in the ways that I used to receive love. Holes from persons who gave me love that are no longer here. Holes that I’ll have to allow to be open to receiving from other areas of love. If I allow those areas to stay open but unfilled, it will affect my ability to be able to receive love from others. To be able to feel to be able to feel fulfilled, accepted, heard and seen. 

Let’s work together to figure out how we can give “all my love” because I believe when you open yourself up to giving all your love, you’ll receive more love as well.

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Left Behind

The problem with opening your heart is that you are then also open to hurt.

When we were little, our family was the typical family. Dad, Mom and 2 kids -sisters.

We played, ate, slept, worked – all normal activities.

We moved from New York to Maine when I was 2, and then to Illinois when I was 7. That was hard, but at 7, you adapt.

Then, dad left the next year. Where are you going? Florida? WITHOUT US?

The family unit was broken. Mom and Amy were mad at Dad. There were rumors. But I was 8. He was my dad. I loved him.

Our relationships changed. Mom confided in Amy too much. Amy was her daughter, not her friend. And it made Amy’s relationship with Dad strange. All he wanted to do was talk to her, but she was keeping him at a distance.

After 4 years, another break. Amy and I decided to go live with Dad in Key West. Who wouldn’t? We tried to change our minds at the last minute. Panic and fear set in. No luck, as plans were already made and school registrations were complete. Another move. I would start 7th grade in Key West.

In March, Mom was sick. To see what was going on they performed exploratory surgery. Pancreatic cancer. 6 months to live.

Mom died in June. A big, big break in the family. I was 13. Amy was 16. We were devastated.

Dad remarried and life went on.

In 2010, married and with 2 children, Amy was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. Cancer? Again? Are you kidding me? Turns out, as a secondary cancer, pancreatic cancer is a hereditary cancer. Amy tests positive for the BRCA-2 gene. I do not have it.

In July of 2018, Dad died unexpectedly. They’d been out the day before, and Becky found him in the bathroom in the morning.

Now, it’s just Amy and I. Strange to technically be an orphan at 48.

Amy’s cancer spread aggressively. 2 brain surgeries, CyberKnife on her spine, chemo, lung extractions. After 2 weeks in ICU, she was sent home on hospice in December, 2019. We had an amazing Christmas together. I was with Amy when she took her last breath in the early morning of January 20, 2020.

Now, I’m alone. I’m broken. Love to give and nowhere to go. Why do I keep getting left behind?

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Grace

I had my own notion of grief.

I thought it was the sad time

That followed the death of someone you love.

And you had to push through it

To get to the other side.

But I’m learning there is no other side.

There is no pushing through.

But rather,

There is absorption.

Adjustment.

Acceptance.

And grief is not something you complete

But rather, you endure.

Grief is not a task to finish

And move on,

But an element of yourself –

An alteration of your being.

A new way of seeing.

A new dimension of self.

A Poem by Gwen Flowers

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Grief and Growth

Grief is not something you get over, or goes away. The loss of a loved one, major life change, disease, divorce – any traumatic event impacts your life.

There is no going back to “normal”, since that normal is no longer available. The journey means a few steps forward and also steps back. Don’t use the word progress for your journey, as that implies that you’ll reach a goal.

When you change your perspective to growth, it gives you the flexibility to accommodate the different seasons of growth.