The Day My World Stood Still

March 5, 2010. Five years ago. My world is divided between before March 5, 2010 and after March 5, 2010, and there it will remain. Before. After. 

March 5, 2010 is the day a phone call brought me to my knees while putting laundry away in a closet. "Mom, the doctor called this morning. I have cancer." 

March 5, 2010 is the day I clung to a shelf so I would not completely collapse. 

March 5, 2010 is the day all my children enjoyed a family dinner at our home with Brandon as chef. Joey and Mia announced they were expecting their first child. We celebrated the March birthdays of four of our five children. Brandon shared that he was diagnosed with a sinonasal cancer. He then joked he was not even able to "play the cancer card" that evening, since Joey trumped him with the announcement of their expected baby. 

March 5, 2010. Dinner was fantastic, as it was always fantastic when Brandon took over in the kitchen. Conversation was light, heavy and just plain silly, as it was always so during our family dinners. Still, a bit of fear invaded the silliness and more than a bit of hope invaded the heaviness.

March 5, 2010. Our family's world briefly stood still, but all too soon it began to turn again. 

March 5, 2010. Five years. A moment and one very special person's lifetime. Five years. 

Brunch the weekend of March 5, 2010 L to R:
Tony, Joey, Mia, Joe, Christina, Brandon, Kris, Carolyn
(Several are out of camera range and Christina and Kris are partially obscured!)

Where's the Soundtrack?

After posting the other night I went back to our bedroom. My husband Joe was watching a movie. With each change of scene, the music would change. It struck me. Why don't we have a soundtrack that plays music to fit the mood or foreshadow what is soon to happen? Would it help or would it hinder? When might the notes have changed to signal that cells were growing wild in Brandon's sinus? Might we have known to seek help months or even years before? What happy music might have played in the background during periods when there appeared to be NED (no evidence of disease)? Would an occasional jarring note or two have been interjected, telling us that this happiness was to be short lived? What would have played those last few precious months when we could see his body failing, yet we all thought he had more time than what was given? Would the soundtrack that presaged Brandon's death have interfered with our ability to enjoy the time we had left with him still in our world? 

Questions, questions, questions - questions with no answers. 

Five years since P (Polyps) Day

Five years have come and gone since Brandon's March 1, 2010 procedure to remove nasal polyps. Five years since I went to pick him up after this routine procedure. Five years since I had no clue that only a few days were left of our family's "unknowing." I've already written a blog post about that day, so I won't rehash it now. 

Still, sometimes I wonder how long had this cancer - cells of Brandon's own body run amuck - been taking root, growing, spreading before the nose bleeds of late fall 2009 signaled their presence within the camouflage of nasal polyps? How long had these wild cells been mocking our unknowing? Had there been earlier, quiet signs that had been missed? If yes, would it have made a difference if the polyps had been removed then or was it already too late?  

Sure, it's moot. Still, sometimes I wonder...