brain cancer

Today our son Sam would have been 12.  When I originally sat down to write this blog I had plans to make it cheerful or at least upbeat�really.  After all, a birthday should be a celebration of life.  But the truth is�that�s really not where my heart is right now.   The struggle between how you�d like to think and feel�in contrast to the reality of how you think and feel having lost a child so young�is palpable.  Bereaved parents don�t want to be �Debbie Downers�; we don�t like feeling sad; but sometimes that�s just our own personal reality.  The �new normal� as they say. Don�t get me wrong.  There is a lot to be thankful for and, perhaps even more so than others, bereaved parents are indeed thankful for what we still have�our other children, our spouses, our family, our friends, a very supportive community, an opportunity to do good and make a difference�the list is quite long.   Yet, there remains a hole in our hearts�a hole in our lives�that...

Three years ago today our son Sam died.  He was eight years old.   Just 13 months prior to that he was diagnosed with a brain tumor out-of-the blue.  He had been a bright-eyed, energetic, loving and highly intelligent little boy.  After a brief but brutal fight he succumbed.  Cancer took his precious life. Over the course of those 13 months we saw Sam develop a tremor in his hand that bothered him both physically and emotionally.  We saw him gain nearly 50 pounds from steroids, lack of exercise and little else to do but eat.  We suffered along with him as he told us about the ringing in his ear, which we couldn�t make go away.  We stood close to him and held his hand as he began to lose his balance and co-ordination.  We sat next to him and protected his shaking body through numerous difficult seizures, including one that lasted nearly 3 hours.  We wheeled him places in his wheelchair when he lost the ability to walk.  We saw h...

Today marks the 4-year anniversary of Sam�s diagnosis with brain cancer.  Just a little over four years ago, we were a happy family of five, and everything seemed nearly perfect in our little corner of the world.  Everyone was healthy, happy and had their entire lives to look forward to.  And then, in an instant, our lives changed�permanently.  Future Scholar We will never know what our Sammy could have grown up to be.  Instead of a world of possibilities Sabrina and I now have only a world of what might have been.  Cancer robs so much from the world when it takes an innocent soul.  I could write about how unfair life is.  I could write a long torturing post about all of the bad things that Sam and we experienced from the time of his diagnosis through his crappy treatment and ultimately his death.  I could also curl up into a little ball in the corner and cry and feel sorry for myself.  Future Rockstar Instead, I just want to reiterate t...

May 29.  The day before Memorial Day, the day we honor those who died while serving our country.  May 29, 2013 replays in my head over and over like a broken record.  Dr. Brown�s words drip on me like water torture.  �There�s nothing more we can do.�  How can that be?  Three weeks ago we talked about holding back radiation�our cannon�for when we need it.  What about now?  �It�s too late�.  Too late!?  �It�s growing too fast.  There�s a third tumor and it�s getting big.  Quickly.�  Boom. That was just five months and 9 days after getting hit by our own personal D-Day, when we heard the first heart-stopping words from Dr. Young. �There�s a large tumor in there.� Pow. September 2012, CHLA shortly after diagnosis Four months and 22 days after May 29�our second D-Day�Sam died.   Crash.   D-Day #3. As a parent of a child who loses their battle against cancer, it�s as though you die three times:  When they�re diagn...

Today, Sam would have turned 11 years old.  For those of you who might be reading this for the first time, Samuel Alexander Jeffers was born on 4/2/2005.  Suddenly, and out-of-the blue, on 9/20/2012 he was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  On 10/20/2013 he died. Certainly a lot of things happened in those intervening years between Sam�s birth and death:  some mundane; many truly spectacular, precious and cherished; and some ghastly and tragic.  April 2nd, 2009-Sam's 4th birthday. He asked for a cow. Sam should have had many, many more years to his timeline.  Many more opportunities to experience the mundane and spectacular alike.  Instead, Sabrina and I now mark the passage of time with memories and �celebrate� unfulfilled or incomplete milestones. We continue to honor his name and celebrate his life and spread the gifts he gave us through our work at the Foundation that we established in his name, whose primary mission is to eradicate childhood cancers b...

Two years ago today our Sam lost his battle with brain cancer.   Often it seems like it was just yesterday when we held his hand, hugged him, kissed him, whispered �I love you� over and over again softly in his ear.   We wanted Sam to know�desperately wanted him to know�how much we loved him, before he was gone.   Before it was too late.   It is of course trite to say �love them while they are here�.    We know that.    But it never really hits you with its full magnitude until you lose someone so special, and so very dear to you.    Someone that you felt connected to from the first moment you saw them, and whom you felt completely inseparable from.    Someone who you never could have possibly imagined you would outlive.    Someone who it was simply unthinkable that you would have to bury. As we have written before, losing Sam in many ways still doesn�t seem real.    There are times when I actually think to ...