I’m excited to share this month’s story and also thrilled to finally be live with my NEW BLOGSITE.  Woot woot!  Isn’t it purty?

This month’s story is about an incredible group of kids.  I hope you enjoy it!  If you don’t know what this Life Stories thing is all about, click here to find out more!

My daughter is pretty dang amazing.  And so are her classmates.  Since Kindergarten, she has attended the Mandarin Immersion Program at our local school.  She’s learning Mandarin.  And she’s pretty dang awesome at it.  I don’t speak Chinese.  I’m not even Chinese.  I’m half Japanese, but um, yeah, I don’t speak Japanese either.  My husband doesn’t speak Chinese either.  He’s Korean, and um, yeah, he doesn’t really speak Korean.

But my kids?  My half Korean, quarter Japanese, quarter Caucasian kids?  Well, they’re learning Mandarin.  The program is amazing.  This year, she also had the opportunity to learn Kung Fu and Chinese music as part of this program.  THAT’S called AWESOME.

And because of some seriously awesome parents and staff, they got to participate in the San Francisco Chinese New Year Parade.  That’s a huge deal, people!

I wish I could share more images, but I didn’t get model releases for everyone, so am sharing what I can!

I took headshots of all the kids before the parade so that we would have a reference sheet in case anyone got lost.  Luckily, it wasn’t needed but I did love the shots I took.  These were probably taken in a span of 10 minutes.  Aren’t they cute?

In preparation for the big parade, they had an assembly where I was asked to take pictures.

My proud sweetie, waiting to perform:

Excuse the blurred faces.  I wasn’t able to get model releases for everyone, but had to share how amazing they look!

It was pretty dang cool because they had these Wu Shu Kung Fu masters from Beijing perform for the kids.  They were amazing.  The guy in the middle was in the movie Karate Kid.  Not the old one with Ralph Macchio and Pat Morita, but the new one with Will Smith’s kid.  The kids were totally stoked to see him. And that guy that’s “lying down?”  He was jumping up and down in THAT position while swinging a rope under him.  CRAZY.

After months of practicing and preparing, the kids were ready for the big night!

They were just a little bit excited.

Excuse me for a second… I have to gush about this woman.  She is the mom of one of the kids in the Mandarin program, as well as a teacher.  Her energy, determination, and enthusiasm was contagious.  She did SO much to make this parade happen.  Let me just publicly get it out there: she ROCKS.  I love this picture of her at the parade, looking excited and so proud.  She’s quite a woman.  Thank you, Mrs. M.

The San Francisco Chinese New Year Parade is the biggest Chinese New Year parade outside of China.  It’s a very organized parade, and only 10 adults were allowed to be with the kids once the parade started.  I was not in that group, so did my best to get pictures of the kids before the parade started.

It was such a fun night! Everyone was so excited.

I love these next two. I asked them to hold up their streamers that they had during the parade, and shot through it.

And here’s my sweetie cakes. She wrote an essay inspired by this picture called “The Ladybug Parade.”  She pretended that this picture was a picture of her peeking through the streamers at a group of ladybugs who were performing.  I love her imagination.  I love her intensity.  I love her face, her eyes, her smile.  I love this child.

When it was time for the parade to start, I had to get off the street.  Due to the crowds, I wasn’t  able to follow her for very long.  I got this shot of her just as they were getting ready to start.  I love the look of pride in her eyes.

Such a wonderful night.

Click here to continue the Life Stories chain!  You’ll know you made it all the way through when you make it back here!…

This month’s story was tough for me to write, but GOOD for me to write.   If you don’t know what this Life Stories thing is all about, click here to read about it!

This is the story of two years of cancer.  The story of hope.  The story of faith and love.

This is the story of my mom.

Mom, you mean the world to me.  I write this to you because I love you beyond words, and I feel that pictures will help me explain.

Here you are just 3 months before your life was rocked by cancer.  I love this picture of you.  Calm and poised.  Wisdom hiding behind your eyes.  Love shining brightly directly into my soul.

You.

Mom.

My ever present mom.

Two years ago, we got the devastating news that you had brain cancer.  You had tumors in multiple areas of your brain.  It happened so quickly.  You had just been in Guatemala, helping others, nursing others back to health, and then, with a blink of an eye, you were on the receiving end of that nursing care.  Days after you experienced your first symptoms in a remote village in Guatemala, you found your way back to California with so many people escorting you home.  I am so thankful for them.  I think you made it home just in time.

We had no idea what was to come. We didn’t know, quite frankly, if you were going to die.  You could barely roll over in bed.  You were scared.  You tried your best to hide your fear and sadness, as only a mother could.  But you were scared.  All your kids jumped in planes and cars to be by your side. It was so wonderful to be together as a family, but that comfort was bittersweet.

I took these pictures while swallowing back tears.  I didn’t know if this was it.  I am crying as I type this, just thinking of how lost and helpless I felt.  How lost and hopeless we all felt….  Cancer sucks.  Just go away, Cancer.  You are not welcome here.

We were all so scared that these could be our last moments.

All I could think is that I had to document you.  I realized how few pictures I had of you, and it broke my heart.  I had to document you: mother, grandmother, friend.

Look how little he is, Mom!

And, he was just a month old.  A newborn that just weeks earlier, you had cared for.

Gosh, the kids just keep getting older, while we keep getting younger, huh?

You read to her, and she just soaked you in.

Pictures took on a new meaning for me when you got sick.  No longer were they just to create a pretty picture.

Pictures preserve memories.  Pictures are important.  They put an image to a feeling.  I can’t thank you enough, Mom, for letting me take pictures of you now.  I remember how reluctant you were to let me take your picture before you were sick.  When you were in the hospital, I remember asking “why are you letting me take pictures of you now?”  And you said “because there’s no expectation for me to look good.”  Ha!

The day after those pictures were taken, you were too tired and weak for visiting.  It was a tough time.

But you responded so amazingly to the chemo, the love, and the prayers.  You were soon walking again.  You got better so quickly.  By April 2010, you were home.  How amazing!  You were home!!!  I remember walking through your house when you were first diagnosed and thinking you would never be back in your house.  But there you were.  It really was a miracle.

We gathered and finally got a decent family picture.

It was a happy time.  A hopeful time.

And there you and dad are.  The happiest divorced couple that ever lived.    Dad, your help through mom’s illness….  Words cannot explain what an amazing man you are.  Thank you….  I don’t think I have ever sat and thought about your heart’s generosity without getting choked up.  And the fact that you brush it off so easily…. you shouldn’t do that.  What you have done for mom and for us is nothing short of spectacular.  Thank you.

 Looking back at it now, Mom, I see things at this point, as starting to get back to manageable.  You were living on your own.  You were back to the YMCA and exercising.  You were fighting and working.  Every day.

And you were feeling well enough to start protesting having your picture taken.  : )

But maybe you just know now how important pictures are.  You rarely hide from my camera anymore.

You were able to visit us.

In March 2011, your chemo port was removed.  No more treatment.  You were done!

And then in June 2011… three months after getting the “all clear” from the oncologist….

Another tumor.  Just one this time.  But a big one.  At the base of your brain.  This one affected your speech, your swallowing, your cognition, your mobility.  This one… was a whopper.  It was so difficult seeing you unable to say what you wanted.  When you tried to cut your food with a menu, my heart just broke.

All us kids took turns spending the night with you in the hospital.  The night that I stayed, you told me that you thought you were going to die.

I fought with all my strength to hide my tears from you.  It was the first time since you had been diagnosed that I had heard you voice those concerns.  You touched my face with your hand and looked so deeply into my eyes with concern and said “I don’t want you to be sad.”

Always the caregiver, Mom.  Always concerned more about the ones you love than being concerned for yourself….  I understand that now that I am a mom.

I love you so much.

But you didn’t die.  You fought.  You fought with everything you had.

I love both of these pictures of you.  On the left, you have just the hint of a crooked smile since that stupid tumor was messing with your mouth, but the look in your eyes….  Pure love.  And the one on the right.  You’re a goofball, Mom.

Back to acute rehab for intensive physical, occupational, and speech therapy.

Then back to the hospital for more chemo… and complications.  Pulmonary emboli made it difficult for you to keep your oxygen levels up.  You were on 15 L of oxygen, but your fight was so clearly back.  Twinkling eyes behind the mask.

These pictures are two of my favorite pictures of you and dad.  I love the relationship you two have.

After what seemed forever, you were ready to be discharged. But not home.  Your stairs made that impossible.  So you moved in with dad and a 24 hour caregiver.  And you continued to fight.

Hallway laps, anyone?

By November, you were getting ready to go home.  I love this picture of you.  Resting after climbing your stairs.  Back in your home, after almost 6 months away.  You’re just breathing it all in.

But those stairs still made it a difficult transition home.  I’m so glad you got that stair lift.

And now you’re home.  Still fighting.  Still working.

Still here.

Mom, these two years have been hard on all of us, but hardest on you.  I want to take this time to tell you how amazed I am by you.

You are my best friend.

You have always been there to listen to me, offer advice, be a shoulder to cry on.

You have taught me how to love… and to do so unconditionally.

You have taught me to give…without wanting to receive anything back.

You have taught me strength.  You have taught me this through example.  You live your life deliberately, Mom.  Your actions and words have meaning.  I see you.  I see all that you do, and I’m sitting here choking back tears that I am lucky enough to call you mom.  I am so lucky to have you as an example of how to live my life with a loving heart and a giving hand.  I am lucky that I have learned from you how to live my life deliberately.  I am lucky that my children can call you “Bama.”   I am lucky, and my kids are lucky, that you have taught me how to be a mom.

And Mom, I want you to know that I am so happy that you are still here on this earth.  I continue to learn from you, to love you, to gain strength from you.  And someday, I know, you will leave this earth.  We all will.  And pretending that we won’t is silly.  No one can run from it, so we might as well just accept it and say and do the things we want to do now, while we’re still here to say and do those things, right?

And because I am now a mom, I know something.  I know that beyond anything else in this world, I want my children to be happy.  I worry about their well being.  And I know you worry about your kids’ well beings.

So, Mom, I want you to know that when you die… I will be okay.  I will miss you and grieve your loss immensely.  I know that.  But I will be okay… because I have you inside of me.  And that flame is too bright to ever extinguish.  The strength you have endowed to me will carry me through any storm.  I have you with me.  Always.

I love you, Mom.  And my kids love their Bama.

Thank you for everything you are to me.  I love you more than I could ever express to you.

And to any of my readers who made it through this post, I ask that you please send a healthy thought or prayer my mom’s way.  She’s pretty dang awesome, wouldn’t you say?

Click here to continue the Life Stories chain!  You’ll know you’ve made it all the way through the chain when you make it back here!…

I’m looking over this happy Fall session and just smiling.  Siblings are so marvelous.

I come from a family of four children.  I am the third, and obviously, favorite child.  Haha.  And I love my siblings.  I realize, as an adult, what an impact they had in making me the person I am today.  I look at my own children, and marvel at this reality: I may be the parent, but I see the bond my children I have and fully recognize that their experiences with each other will help form who they become.  I see the love and respect they have for each other… even if they don’t want to admit it, and maybe don’t see it themselves all the time.

I saw that love and respect in these two siblings here too.  It was so easy between the two of them.  They were so ready to laugh, so ready to hug, so ready to enjoy their experiences together.

Such a joy to capture their bond.

Do you hear those squeals of laughter?  Me too.

I loved how easily they held each other.

I loved how easily they celebrated together.

I loved their tickles.

I loved all their moments.

I hope they look back on these images and remember a happy, carefree time.

I hope they look back on these images and smile.

Because, I’m sitting here right now…just grinning.

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