Ali was scheduled for a stem cell transplant and high dose chemo in January, 2005. It was a last ditch effort to get rid of the cancer. It was experimental and extremely dangerous. There was a very real possibility that the chemo itself would kill her, but, as Mayo Clinic had given up hope in April, we saw no other choice.

In December of 2004, Ali began to develop severe pain in her joints and her lip was completely numb. There were explanations for the joint pain, but, the numb lip remained a mystery. I decided to go online and investigate.

When Ali was first diagnosed with cancer, I did not research. We were at Mayo Clinic so I knew that we had the most knowledgeable doctors in the world for her particular cancer. I did not want to know the odds; Ali was not a statistic she was my child. Ali’s dad spent a lot of time researching but, I wouldn’t let him tell me anything regarding a possible outcome. I never regretted that decision, because when she looked into my eyes she always saw hope.

When I made the decision to investigate the fact that her lip was numb, I figured that it was due to something innocuous. Unfortunately, the more I read, the more my heart sank and I was fearful. This is when I knew.

Ali was scheduled for pre-transplant testing on December 28th in Chicago. On the 26th, Megan was at her dads, so Ali and I made a spur of the moment trip to Grand Haven. I took her to the mall the next day to spend her Christmas money. She was walking around just being Ali; making me smile on the outside yet, on the inside, my heart was beginning to shatter. Imagine a mall filled with smiling teenagers while you watch your daughter pick out t-shirts that you know she might never get a chance to wear.

We shopped for a while and then I took her to Olive Garden for lunch before we headed back to Indiana. At one point in our lunch, Ali l stopped our conversation, looked into my eyes and said, “mom, what’s wrong?”. I told her nothing was wrong, held her hand, kissed it and changed the subject. She knew that I was lying. The hope was gone from my eyes.

The next day, all of our worst fears were confirmed. The cancer had spread to the bone marrow and then some. There would be no transplant.

Last night, was Craig’s son Lukas’ birthday. He wanted to go Olive Garden. It was the same one that I had gone to with Ali and the moment we walked in all of these emotions washed over me. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and gathered my composure. As the waitress showed us to our seats, she headed toward a different area of the restaurant and I breathed a sigh of relief. All of a sudden, she changed direction and headed toward the area where I had sat with Ali.

Inside, I was thinking, this is a big restaurant, there is no way she will sit us there.  Wiith each step my heart started pounding. No, no, no, please, not… that… booth.

I didn’t ask to change, because I didn’t want to put a damper on Luke’s celebration. Luckily, I was able to sit where Ali had sat, so I didn’t have to look across the booth and see her--or not see her.

When things like that happen, something so entirely against the odds, I wonder if I am supposed to carry some meaning away from it. Later, as I was lying in bed, I figured it out.  As usual, it was a matter of perspective.

I have tended to look back on that day with great pain and sadness. But for Ali, I believe it was a great day. It was the last day where there was still hope, the last day that buying a cool t-shirt mattered and it was the last day that she and her mom would get to spend together doing things that for the previous 17 years were taken for granted.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity . . . Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities