Today is a good day, which is amazing since less than a week ago I thought I would die--actually, I hoped I would die. But I didn't. And today is a good day.

To understand how amazing that statement is, you have to understand my relationship with Crista, my only child. I'll keep it brief.

Crista was not an easy kid, not an easy baby, not an easy teenager and sometimes not an easy adult. She was bright and beautiful and complex. During her teen years, long after my divorce from her father and his subsequent death from alcoholism, she "acted out." I understood the need for her to pull away from me. We we almost symbiotic. By age 15, she had transformed from a geeky brain child to a truly and amazingly beautiful teen. It was a transformation with which she was determined to take full advantage! She drank too much, slipped out of her window at night to meet her boyfriend and pretty much did as she pleased. I pleaded, reasoned, raged. But nothing I did made any difference. She was the center of attention (boys) and she was going to do as she pleased. Until I joined Tough Love.

If there was one thing Crista knew, it was that I loved her, adored her, was devoted to her. I think it was that love that allowed her to run wild, assured I would always be there waiting.

Her Tough Love parents and I did an intervention. Part of the plan was that Crista would live with her TL parents for awhile until we could sort things out. I told her she could come home with me right away if she would agree to live by the rules. Her answer was emphatic. "No." So I said, "Okay, Crista, I'll go home and get your clothes."

She said, "I'll go with you."
I replied, "No, Crista. I don't want you."

Where that came from, I have no clue. I only know that my gorgeous girl looked at me in disbelief. Her huge brown eyes filled with tears. And I left. When I returned, she said, "Mom. I want to come home." I said she could, but she had to follow the rules.

Just like that, it was over. My girl was home with me. She was safe. And her wild days were over. We had dodged a bullit. Never again, would we go through such tramatic times. And nothing, simply nothing, could hurt me so deeply in the future. We had made it. We were home free.

I was not prepared for came next.

I got the phone call on a Tuesday, I believe. I was living in the foothills with Crista's stepdad, Bud. She was teaching eighth grade English in Elk Grove, CA and living in Sacramento.

"Mom, I have pancreatic cancer. The doctor says I have six months to live."

I have to stop now.

All of a sudden my day isn't so good anymore. I'll write more later. Maybe tomorrow. I have so much to tell you. So much to figure out. I hope you don't mind sharing my journey through this thing called grief. I'm so glad you are there.