If you need me, if you've noticed that my phone isn't stapled to my ear 24/7, if it takes me two or three days to reply to an email instead of one, please be patient. I am all over the reprint orders, album designs, and special requests for each and every person. I've got all my bases covered, dudes. Not to worry. ;)
That said, if you don't know, there are two people in my family (or friend+family="framily" as Tanii would say ;) with terminal illnesses. We've been living with the diagnosis for decades, and we've gotten to be the odds-beating medical miracle people for most of that time.
The only thing I've ever known for sure is that there will never be enough time together. We all know how this story ends, and I will never be ready to say goodbye. Brad is still fighting, to the point that when I got news of his choices regarding treatment earlier today, I was like, "Damn. He is one strong motherfucker." Then it was all, "Okay, team. We're still fighting here. Good thing I brought my jersey and my cleats and my helmet. Send me in, coach. The least I can do is block. Let me go all Terry Tate on this."
But things change hour to hour.
All I want is one more day. One more Thanksgiving, God. Give it to me in the ICU with the tubes and the vents and the beeps if you can. Give it to me on the phone, for a brief moment between procedures. Give it to me in Lancaster with my sweet, funny bebes and Mickey Mouse DVDs and air plane rides and hours of Play-Doh and Fischer Price so their mom and dad can go to UPenn.
Just let our family have him one more day. Thanks for the extra 19 years, now give us one more day.