Hat

We bought this hat for Steve in 2008, when his cancer-fighting cocktail included Accutane and other drugs that made too much sun dangerous. He needed full protection from the rays.

He wore the hat all over Frisco. To soccer games. To Disneyland.

Disneyland, June 2008

To our final vacation together -- a soul-restoring three days in West Palm Beach.

The Breakers, West Palm Beach, March 2009

I wore the hat on my 2011 getaway to Belize.

Xunantunich, near San Ignacio, Belize, February 2011

Cooper has taken the easy-to-pack hat camping with Boy Scouts.

And today, Katie wore the hat to complete her ensemble for career day.

Her current professional aspiration is zoologist. (Actually artist and zoologist.) She borrowed one of Cooper's outdoorsy shirts to wear over her Brownie T-shirt (today was also the first meeting of the school year for her Girl Scout troop).

After a great deal of consideration and perusal of our massive stuffed animal collection, she chose a duck to tuck into the front pocket. (She actually wanted about six animals attached to her body, but we couldn't figure out an elegant way to do so. Pinning them to her shirt just looked creepy.)

I made a name badge: Dr. Kathryn Damm. Zoologist.

And she topped it all off with Steve's hat.

Kathryn Damm, future zoologist, Frisco, September 2012

Attitude

A dear friend who is going through chemotherapy asked me tonight how Steve kept such a positive attitude during all of this treatments.

I told her that it wasn't always easy, and that his spirits sometimes flagged.

I told her that he was on anti-anxiety and anti-depressant meds. He spoke to a therapist early in the diagnosis.

Sometimes, when he was really feeling down, we would solicit a whole bunch of jokes from friends and family members. Or we'd watch goofy movies.

We would pray.

Steve was also blessed to live in a home with two little children. How can you not be cheerful when there's a 2-year-old dancing through the house or a 6-year-old always on the verge of a big discovery?

Sometimes I think of how unfair it is that our children don't know Steve like I do or many of you do. They had so little time with him.

But tonight I was reminded that Cooper and Katie's youth is part of what sustained Steve. He soaked up every moment with them -- with gusto! -- not just after he was diagnosed but before, too.

Steve wasn't cheerful 100 percent of the time, but he came pretty darn close. Cooper and Katie were a huge reason why. And I trust that they both will appreciate how much that means as they grow older and continue to discover what made their Dad so special.

Just right

This morning I emailed Katie's second-grade teacher and school guidance counselor with a small reminder that tomorrow is the third anniversary of Steve's death.

I'm not making a big deal about it at home, but Katie is definitely aware. (Cooper, too. That requires a separate blog post.) I'm not sure how Katie will be affected during school tomorrow, but I wanted Wendy and Angie to be aware, just in case.

(And actually, it was probably not necessary to email at all. Angie is always on top of these moments in our family's life. She's the best guidance counselor ever.)

Wendy received my email and called not long after. She wanted to share a Katie conversation from yesterday.

It was time for writing in class. Katie approached her teacher and told her that was feeling a little sad. Wendy asked what she was sad about. Katie said she was thinking of her daddy.

Wendy said that she understood. She asked Katie to look at her charm bracelet. On the bracelet is a gray ribbon.

Katie's eyes got wide. She knew that it represented brain cancer.

Wendy then shared that her own mother has brain cancer. Katie's eyes got even wider. They had a little chat, then Katie was happy to return to her desk and get to work.

Katie now understands that her own teacher lives with the cruel effects of brain cancer. She knows that her teacher "gets it."

This little conversation and Wendy's phone call is yet another reminder that we are placed in just the right community, with just the right friends, at just the right school, with just the right caregivers and teachers.

Once again, my heart is full even as it aches. 

Labor Day weekend

How can it be another Labor Day weekend?

 

"Labor" is an appropriate word for what Steve endured this same weekend in 2009. His breathing was labored. His speech was labored. His body had worked too hard, and his body needed rest.

Steve's body found eternal rest on Labor Day 2009.

In 2010, the kids and I escaped to Michigan over Labor Day weekend. We stayed with our dear friends the Healys. We attended a Michigan game in Ann Arbor, courtesy of our friends the Redmonds, and felt right at home thanks to the Dodd family.

In 2011, we escaped to Los Angeles. We stayed with our dear friends Gretchen and Anthony. They were impeccable hosts, showing us Malibu and Hollywood and museums and great restaurants.

In 2012, we're not going far. Michigan is coming to us, actually.

Cowboys Stadium in nearby Arlington is hosting tomorrow a big college football matchup: No. 2 Alabama vs. No. 8 Michigan. The Redmonds helped again, this time allowing us an opportunity to buy alumni tickets before the general public sale that never actually happened because tickets sold so quickly.

Jim and Betty have tickets, too; the five us will sit together and root for Michigan together. 

***

Cooper started middle school this week. 

In one class he was asked to name his hero. He simply said, "My Dad" without explanation.

In another class he was asked to create a paper shield illustrating a little about himself.

In one corner, the teacher asked for an animal. He drew a snake because he was born in the Year of the Snake. 

In another, she asked for an activity from summer. He drew the lighthouse from Peggy's Cove, which we visited on our Canadian cruise.

In another, she asked for what he wanted to be when he grew up. He drew a beaker bubbling over to show that he wants to be a chemist.

And in the last section, she asked for a representative color. Cooper colored the area black.

"I chose black because I have seen death," he wrote.

***

The date for Labor Day changes annually, of course, so pretty much the whole week is a minefield of memories. This year the experience stretches a full week, from today through next Friday, Sept. 7. 

I try to focus mostly on all the good from this week three years ago. There was so much good, so much love surrounding Steve and us, so many reminders of God's love and provision.

Laughter mixed with tears surrounding Steve during his final hours. Never-ending prayers. Standing with Steve as he took his final Communion. Family members and friends and hospice workers who stepped in to take care of what I couldn't take care of. Steve, unable to speak, pointing to letters to spell "Thank you" and "I love you."

"Hi, Daddy!"

One of my favorite Steve-and-Katie moments repeated just about every Sunday when Katie was 1 and 2.

Steve sang in our church choir. I would sit in a middle-of-the-sanctuary pew (connecting chairs, actually) with Cooper and Katie, and Steve would sit in the choir loft. Sometime during the prelude, Katie would spy her Daddy in the choir loft, wildly wave her hands and speak loudly and clearly "Hi, Daddy!"

Our congregation is a friendly and forgiving group. No one seemed to mind the interruption.

In fall 2007, Steve's voice began to subtly change. We didn't know why at the time. By December we knew about the mass in his brain stem, and he reluctantly stepped down from choir.

I immediately missed that special interaction between Steve and Katie. I still do.

Last night I attended a small church meeting. We have a new senior minister, and different families are hosting get-acquainted meetings in their homes so that Pastor Rusty can meet and listen to church members.

We were discussing the importance of young families in the church when Pat, a more senior member of the congregation, spoke up.

"When Tyra's daughter was much younger, and her husband was in the choir, her daughter would see her Daddy in choir and say, 'Hi, Daddy!' I always loved that."

This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.

(Psalm 118:24)

Three things

In mid-January 2008, Steve and I knew that the tumor in his brain stem would kill him. We prayed for a miracle. We prayed that the chemotherapy and radiation therapy would do what no doctor expected. We fervently prayed and wished for that Damm Spot to disappear forever.

But we also knew that time was limited.

Now, here's the difference (one of the differences) between Steve and me.

Had I received the same devastating diagnosis, I would have gone into crazed list mode. Steve did not.

I would have made short-term and long-term lists and plans related to the house, my care, our children, Steve's future. I would have tried to anticipate every major milestone in Cooper's and Katie's lives and left corresponding suggestions (read: bossy instructions).

I would have tried to assert some semblance of control in a totally out-of-control situation. Steve, of course, did not.

That's one of the many qualities that made us such a great match. Tyra the planner and Steve the one who appreciated plans but lived more freely.

Steve planned his memorial service with Pastor Andy and Pastor Debbie. I didn't know anything of their plans until after Steve died, and for that I am forever thankful. Steve's celebration was absolutely perfect. Truly, I can't think of a thing that should have been changed. And it's because it was what Steve wanted and because clergy who love him carried out his vision.

And he left me with three specific instructions. Three things.

1. Keep Katie dressed in Hanna Andersson as long as possible. He liked that the clothes were colorful and comfortable, matched her personality and were age appropriate.

2. Stand firm and remain confident in my parenting. Our deliberate parenting style was crafted through our shared values and our shared vision for the lives we wanted for our babies.

3. Travel with Cooper and Katie as much as possible. One of our shared passions was travel -- discovering new places and then remembering them together. We never shied from taking our children with us on our adventures.

That's it.

Imagine if the situation were reversed. Poor Steve would have been saddled with notebooks and diagrams and Post-it notes, all well-intentioned but imprisoning suggestions from me on how to continue life.

What a disaster I would have created.

One day, when we're together in heaven, one of the first things I'm going to do is thank Steve for giving me only three demands, only three things.

1. I do splurge on Hanna Andersson for Katie. I try to buy clothing there only on sale, but even then it's a little pricey. We have maybe two years until she grows too big for their sizes. (She's already in 140s, and the biggest is 160.) I'm certain I'll be a sad momma when she outgrows the store altogether.

2. I keep Steve's voice in my head and think of his parenting style often. I try to imagine how he would handle situations that he tragically never was able to experience. I know that my single parenting isn't equal to what our team approach would have been, but I am comforted knowing that Steve trusted me and believed in me.

3. After accounts were settled in 2009, I set aside some of Steve's life insurance policy for our "travel slush fund." I've accessed that money to help pay for Legoland, West Palm Beach, Colorado, Ann Arbor, London, Seattle and the Olympic Peninsula, Los Angeles, Sarasota and, most recently, New York City and a Disney cruise to Canada. The money won't last forever, but I'm stretching it as far as I can. 

Cooper and Katie and I have created incredible memories together at home and while traveling. We have gotten lost and found our way back. (Just ask them about the night driving north from San Diego to Carlsbad.) We have defeated language barriers. (Cooper and I have a great story to tell about a Parisian grandmother.) We have visited places special to Steve and places he only dreamed of visiting. (I cried on the drive in to Ann Arbor, knowing he should have been our guide. And I cried at the top of Hurricane Ridge, wishing desperately that he could have held my hand.)

Almost three years after Steve's death, I am still discovering new reasons to love him. At the top of the list: His list to me was mercifully short.

Cooper, Tyra and Katie (in a Hanna Andersson dress) on the Disney Magic, August 2012

Crossing

We've just returned from a wonderful week away -- two days of sight-seeing in Manhattan and five days on the Disney Magic, taking us to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and Saint John, New Brunswick.

I'll have more to share in the next few days. For now, here are two photos that I love. As soon as I took the Cooper photo, I was reminded of the Steve photo. (Steve and I were in New York City together twice. We always planned on many more trips. I am thankful for those two trips and the opportunity to explore more with our sweet children.)

Cooper, Times Square, August 2012

Steve, Chinatown, November 2006

One

I am in the process of refinancing the mortgage on our house. (Interest rates are incredibly low right now.)

It's an emotional experience for a few reasons:

• When the process is complete, the title of the home will be in my name only. I probably should have removed Steve's name before now but it hasn't been a priority. Just after he died, there were lots of actions I had to take. I focused on those, and I haven't been diligent about following up on the rest.
• Unlike every other loan I've signed since 1994, this one requires just one signature. Only mine. Before I was the co-borrower, always the second signer. I miss Steve's inscrutable scribble at the bottom of every page. (He walked me through the progression of his signature on our first date on July 4, 1992, after he signed the credit card receipt at dinner.)
• Compiling the necessary paperwork for a post-2008 home mortgage is a lot of work. It's the kind of work that Steve and I would have shared. I should add that (1) it was miraculous that I was able to locate our original survey from 2002 and (2) I am thankful that my CPA keeps good records.
• Big financial decisions were shared decisions in our marriage. I miss the ongoing discussions we would have about our goals and the future.

I do take comfort in knowing that I'm capable of these decisions on my own and that Steve would be proud of me.

Identity

A few weeks after Steve died, I met with our financial planner.

My financial goals as a single, widowed mom were drastically different than the first time Steve and I met with our planner. Back then, we were focused on college planning and retirement. In late 2009, I was focused on survival, with enough left over for college and retirement.

As part of that 2009 meeting, our planner asked how I wanted to be remembered.

I cried. "As a good wife and a good mom." Saying that out loud made me realize that one of the roles I'd treasured so much -- wife of Steve Damm -- was trapped in time. Not gone, of course, but not exactly moving forward.

That meeting has been on my mind again lately. One, because today is our 18th wedding anniversary, and the weeks leading to it always make me remember 1994. How Steve moved to Lubbock so I could take a job at the Avalanche-Journal. How he couldn't find a professional job for the longest time and instead waited tables at Leal's. How we planned our simple wedding long distance. How very giddy we were, at the young ages of 25 (him) and 22 (me), to be husband and wife.

I've also been considering the "good wife and good mom" answer because of the Bible study I'm facilitating this summer. A group of friends and I gather every other Thursday night to discuss No Other Gods, a study by Kelly Minter.

Last week's session addressed identity. How do you see yourself? How does that identity -- or the pursuit of that identity -- control how you behave?

I thought about my Twitter profile, which reads: "Reluctant widow; joyful mom; Briefing columnist focused on parenting & education; freelance writer & editor; volunteer; painfully slow runner."

That's me in a nutshell, mostly.

But those things can be stripped away. I could lose my column. (I certainly hope I don't, but the newspaper industry is cruelly fickle these days.) All kinds of tragic events could rob me of my ability to move or read or write. (Again, I'm not expecting them, but then again we weren't expecting a malignant, inoperable brain tumor.)

My list doesn't include the one thing that no one or no thing can take away: I am a child of God. (So are you!)

When I reframe my identity to include "child of God," the other stuff flows from it. The 15 amazing years on earth with Steve Damm. Cooper and Katie, the incredible souls we were gifted with raising. My ability to organize, process and write. An innate need to help others. The ability to run, even if it's ungraceful and slow.

So I'm working on changing how I think about myself, not in a way that excludes everything I love but in a way that makes me feel more complete, even with Steve gone.

Today I rewrote my Twitter profile. It now reads: "Child of God; reluctant widow; joyful mom; Briefing columnist focused on parenting & education; writer & editor; volunteer; painfully slow runner."

It's a tiny, superficial change that, with time, may help me continue to adjust to all of my other roles -- chosen and otherwise.

Image courtesy of Melissa Tarun, best friend since eighth grade

Caps for Sale

Last week Cooper and Katie participated in half-day camps at the private school attached to the church where I work.

They each had teachers they'd never met before and will likely never see again. So I was faced with the  big question: Do I tell their teachers about Steve or let it go?

I decided to let it go. For Cooper, it's rarely an issue. He's less likely to talk about Steve, and at almost 11 he's a capable spokesman and advocate.

For Katie it's tricky because so much of life around her reminds her of Steve, and she's eager to share. But Katie would spend only 15 hours in the class, and her teacher had her hands full with 12 new students, and sometimes I just want to appear, well, normal, I guess.

Katie's camp was "Imagination at Play," and every day there was a different theme around which crafts, snacks, books and games were centered. Teddy bears on Monday, bugs on Tuesday, pajamas/camping on Wednesday, monkeys on Thursday, beach on Friday.

On Thursday, Katie's very kind teacher pulled out Caps for Sale to read to the group.

Katie interrupted before she could begin. (This is the moment when the teacher may have preferred I say something in advance.)

She said something like, "This story is good but it makes me a little sad. My Daddy used to read it to me almost every day. And he died."

The teacher told Katie that she was very sorry. She led the class through a prayer for Katie. And with Katie's permission, she read the story.

Katie, just 7 and a day, proved herself a capable spokeswoman and advocate. I asked her after the fact if she would have preferred I have said something to her teacher in advance.

She shrugged her shoulders. "No, I didn't mind."

(I have not attempted to read that book aloud since the first time I tried after Steve's death. Katie reads it on her own now, whenever she chooses.)

Father's Day presence

Katie's birthday falls within a week of Father's Day every year. This is a good thing, as we're so wrapped up in celebrating her special day we don't wallow in missing Steve. (Really, we don't often wallow. But it's kind of a fun word to say.)

Today, for the first time since 2006, I hosted a child's birthday party at the house. The last one was Cooper's fifth birthday, a big shindig with adults and children; we grilled out back and entertained for hours. One of my favorite photos of the four of us was taken by Betty on the front porch that day.

July 2006

Six sweet girls came over to help celebrate Katie turning 7. (In years past, I would have invited more, but my re-entry into birthday parties at home necessitated a small crowd.) The theme was loosely based on one of Katie's favorite book characters, Junie B. Jones.

I wallowed a little bit this morning as I was baking Katie's cake (lemon because Junie B.'s favorite dessert is lemon pie, and Katie thought lemon cake was close enough), wishing that Steve were here to take over for frosting and decorating the cake. It was one of his great hidden talents, honed by years of practice at the Ann Arbor Baskin-Robbins.

I didn't attempt anything fancy -- just a plainly frosted cake with whimsical candles as chosen by Katie.

Katie before the party, with cake and Steve candle 

Even without an expertly decorated cake, Steve's presence was part of Katie's celebration. As I often do on special days, I wore Steve's wedding band on my right hand. We set out the special Steve candle for the party, and I lit it when I lit Katie's cake candles.

Tyra and Katie
(If you look closely, you can spy that July 2006 photo on the mantel.)

Katie blows out seven candles plus the Steve candle.

And when Katie laughed, she laughed with the same gusto and wild abandon that her Daddy was known for.

Katie's laugh is contagious.

(Big thanks to Betty, who cooked and served dinner, including spaghetti and meatballs -- Junie B.'s favorite meal. And to Liz, who made Katie a fresh lei to wear -- in honor of Junie B.'s trip to Hawaii -- and helped the craft table run smoothly. And to Naida who stayed and helped, too.)

There's no handbook

There's no handbook on how to handle some of the situations Cooper, Katie and I encounter in life without Steve.

A couple of weeks ago, a co-worker at my new job emailed me to ask for my address and my husband's name. (She's getting married soon.)

I wrote back with my home address and my best attempt at a lighthearted way to address the Steve issue. Something like:

My sweet husband's name is Steve, but he passed away in 2009. He no longer receives regular mail. =)

I thought the smiley face might soften the news a little. And I think Steve would have appreciated the "regular mail" bit.

Last week a few friends came over to help empty contents of three rooms. (Remember the February 2012 flood? We had carpet replaced in all the affected rooms. That carpet was defective. It had to be replaced, which meant we had to move everything out again. I have good friends.)

One friend's son, who we've known for a couple of years, definitely post-2009, wandered around the house for a bit before asking Katie, "Where's your Dad?"

"He's in heaven," she said, barely moving her eyes from a Crashbox episode on television.

Our little friend was incredulous. He looked to me for confirmation. I told him that Cooper and Katie's dad had died, sadly, and that he is in heaven.

Yesterday another co-worker and I were walking together. She asked about Cooper and Katie's camps this week. Cooper is at a science and engineering day camp; Katie is at a creative problem solving program. This led her to ask about their interest in science and math, which led her to ask about my husband.

"What does your husband do?" she asked.

"He passed away about three years ago," I said, feeling terrible that I'm having to tell her this news, knowing that it's going to make her uncomfortable even though I'm not at all uncomfortable talking about Steve. "He was a hospital administrator with an English literature degree who was really creative and really good at math and science."

This is the truth: I am thankful that Cooper and Katie aren't known to everyone as the kids whose dad died. I am thankful that I'm not instantly recognized as a young widow. I am thankful that we have not stopped growing, laughing and living because Steve died.

But every now and then I sort of wish that someone would circulate a memo in advance of meeting us -- just to ease the discomfort for the other folks.

What would be even better: Steve here with his witty lines and sarcastic, slightly self-deprecating humor. If only he could coach me.

=)

Third-annual Stephen Damm Memorial Award

Last night I helped to present the Stephen Damm Memorial Award to Dr. Lauren Phillips, a graduating resident in the UT-Southwestern neurology and neurotherapeutics program.

Dr. Lauren Phillips

Dr. Phillips was co-chief resident in the program and was recognized with multiple honors for her work. The Stephen Damm award is given for excellence and compassion in patient care.

Back in 2009, our friend Dr. Shilpa Chitnis worked to have the award created. She and her husband generously fund the cash stipend.

Liz was my guest at the graduation dinner and took this photo of me and Shilpa during the presentation.

Dr. Chitnis spoke briefly last night about Steve -- his diagnosis and the way he lived until he died, his courage and strength. She called him one of her heroes.

I continue to be inspired by Steve's legacy. He's one of my heroes, too. And, gracious, I wish he were here. Can you imagine how tickled he'd be by an award in his name for such a noble cause? He'd also get a kick out of the endearing, quirky sense of humor on display when a bunch of neurologists are gathered.

(You can read about the 2010 award here and the 2011 award here.)

Footage from 2006

For months now, when I go to YouTube, I get a dire message about Google videos that need to be migrated. I always ignore the message -- until yesterday, when I started to worry that if I ignored the message much longer, the videos might disappear.

The migration was simple and quick. And now I've rediscovered some wonderful snippets of Damm family life.

Two very special ones:

I haven't yet shared these two with Katie. I don't think she's quite ready.

I did share them with Cooper. He watched the Katie video first. He stared at the computer screen with big eyes that soon filled with tears.

We talked about that early fall day in 2006. And we talked about how much we miss Daddy.

I asked if he wanted to see another video, one of his 5-year-old self and Daddy, including Daddy's voice. He said yes. I asked if he was sure. He said yes again.

After watching that video, he laughed and laughed.

I am so thankful to have these tangible, recorded moments to supplement our memories.

Homecoming

I have, of course, made all kinds of mistakes during life without Steve.

One of the most memorable: Taking Cooper and Katie to Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport to welcome home members of the armed services.

It was December 2009, about three months after Steve died. Cooper's Cub Scout troop encouraged its members to meet at Terminal D at the airport early on a Sunday morning to cheer for military men and women flying home from Iraq and Afghanistan.

Cooper dressed in his uniform, and Katie and I dressed in church clothes. We joined the other boys and their families at the airport. We held little flags and handmade posters.

Family members of the folks coming home took their place at the front of the receiving line. Then veterans of foreign wars stood in chronological order -- World War II, Korea, Vietnam, etc.

The Scouts filled in at the end of the line.

Doors opened, and men and women in fatigues came out. We all cheered as family members were reunited.

Mommas and fathers were there to hug their grown children. Military men scooped up toddlers and hugged wives.

I cried. Because I was thankful that these folks made it home and heartbroken for those who didn't. And because Cooper and Katie, still grappling with life without Daddy, were there to watch daddies reunited with their babies. And because I, who still cried daily missing Steve, was watching husbands reunited with wives.

The timing was just wrong for our little family, and I felt awful for not protecting us better. And then I felt guilty for being selfish. It was just a bad day all around.

I hope you all will give thanks today, Memorial Day, for all the homecomings -- for the men and women who serve our country and protect our freedoms and then get to return home. And that you will give thanks for the homecomings that never happened -- for the men and women who served our country knowing the potential sacrifice, who died serving our great country. And for their families, who endure life without them.

Father's Day

Since our first Father's Day without Steve in 2010, I've been thankful that the holiday falls in the middle of June. That's because school isn't in session in mid-June, which means there's no big school-related Father's Day to-do. We can be as low-key as we please.

This year is different, though. All seven first-grade classes have been working on Father's Day projects to be sent home and saved for June 17.

Katie's teacher, Shannon, has been very sensitive about the projects. She told Katie that she could design her work for her grandfather or a special uncle. Or she could make things for her Daddy, who is always with her and will know what she's working on.

Katie opted for Steve projects. Every now and then over the past week she's told me that it makes her sad. I tell her that it makes me sad, too, and that I'm proud of her for using words to describe how she feels.

Today, though, she reached her limit, even after being exempted from some of the work.

She complained of a stomachache at school and eventually went to the nurse. She had no fever. I talked to her on the phone and surmised that she sounded blue but not in pain. Our wonderful nurse, Crystal, convinced Katie to return to class.

Shannon and I communicated by email. Shannon expressed concern that the Katie's stomachache was rooted in worries and sadness and suggested that Katie work on another project, outside the classroom, while the rest of the class finished their Father's Day work.

Shannon visited with art teacher Jennifer. When Katie's class was finished with library time, Shannon told her that Mrs. Hand needed some help with kindergarteners in art. Katie instantly brightened and headed to art -- her favorite of all the specials classes -- and helped a kindergartener catch up on some work.

After school, Katie told me all about her worry and sadness. She cried off and on for 30 minutes. I hugged her and told her it was OK to cry and that it's not fair and that sometimes I say "stupid tumor" in my head or out loud to help myself feel better.

She laughed. Even with permission -- "stupid" is a bad word around here -- she wouldn't say it.

She hasn't laughed much since. "This is one of the saddest days of my life," she says. 

We're hoping that tomorrow is a little happier.

***

A friend's third-grade son is on a baseball team. Every year the team plays in tournaments on Mother's Day weekend and again on Father's Day weekend.

New this year on the team is a boy whose father was killed in car accident last August. This June 17 will be his first without his dad.

My friend is struggling with how to handle the out-of-state Father's Day tournament. Do they go on with the dad hoopla as usual? Nothing at all? Somewhere in between?

I offered a little advice and told her I'd also ask Cooper. After all, his first Father's Day without Steve was just after he finished third grade. He knows better than I what that feels like.

I explained the situation to Cooper.

"First of all," he asked, "does he go to Bledsoe? Because he needs Mrs. Williams as his counselor."

I told him that I don't know where he goes but that I hope he has a counselor as kind and helpful as Mrs. Williams.

He asked if the boy could invite a grandfather or uncle to the tournament instead. And he suggested that the team not make a big deal out of Father's Day this year.

"Next year will be OK," he said, "but not this year."

Head for the Cure 2012

Last Saturday was a great day for racing! The weather was cool. The rain held off until the awards ceremony. And the site was packed with joyful folks running and walking in an effort to defeat brain cancer.

Cooper, Katie and I are so thankful for everyone who joined the team -- whether you could make it or not -- and everyone who donated money in Steve's memory and everyone who cheered for us in person or from afar.

There is such a sense of hopelessness with a brain tumor diagnosis. The statistics are overwhelmingly depressing. The treatments, though evolving, aren't effective enough. (I will never forget one of the doctors we consulted in December 2007 who took one look at Steve's MRI films and told us to go ahead and find a hospice agency.)

Events like the Head for the Cure Foundation 5K give people a small sense of control and a huge hope for a cure.

You can see the final list of team members and donors here. 

Morgan and Katie found a Sonic character before the race. Morgan and Katie are Girl Scouts together (and bridged this week from Daisies to Brownies).

Cooper is tall (5 foot 3) but Uncle Greg is still taller. And faster. For now. 

Part of our team gathered for a photo before the race. This awesome group includes people I've known since the ninth grade, neighbors, co-workers, friends of friends who've become friends. We are blessed. 

Katie loves Jeannie. (Everyone loves Jeannie.)

Betty was our biggest fan!

Cooper, Jay, Rich and Jakob
Jakob placed third in his age group!  

Shari and Tyra
Shari and I met last year through Head for the Cure. She is super positive and always helpful and a big reason the race runs smoothly. 

The delightful Cagle family and Katie
Will and Gracie are in first grade with Katie; Will and Katie have been in class together the past two years. I'm hoping for a repeat in second grade!

Best-ever neighbors: The Walls family 

Walter, Greg and Sharon are in this speedy crowd.

Cooper and Tyler ran together the entire race. 

Katie cheered for the runners while waiting for her kids dash to begin.

Neighbor, friend and new college graduate (woo hoo!) Allen placed first in his age group.

Allen's dad, Phil, placed first in his group, too! 

Walter, my ninth-grade honors geometry teacher and longtime friend, placed first in his group. 

Katie, Cooper, Sharon and Tyra headed for brunch after the event. Sharon placed second in her group, bringing our team award total to five!

12 hours until race time

In about 12 hours, runners and walkers will gather in Plano in an effort to raise money to fight brain cancer. Rain or shine, we'll be participating in the Head for the Cure Foundation 5K.

The Run for Steve Damm team is 76 members strong! Click here for the full list.

Plus, we've raised $1,435!

Thank you:
Christina Johnson
Lauren Daves
Kalvin Nguyen
Highside Capital Management
Liz Wohl
Rebecca Christian
Amy Forbus
David Warhoftig
Jim and Betty Damm
Rob and Julianne Amezcua
Jim Suydam
Tracey Robinson
Brandie Sellers
Robert Kroutil
Sarah and John Hanan
Kathi Williams
Karen Jackson
Jan Pepper

Cooper, Katie and I continue to give thanks for your continued support and prayers! And we look forward to a cure to brain cancer!

Swiped from Facebook

W.T. White High School Marching Band, 1986-87
Can you find Steve? And three members of our wedding party?

Team roster so far

Look at this strong group of runners and walkers! Here's the list, so far, of folks who have registered for next Saturday's Head for the Cure Foundation 5K. (For details on the event, please click here.)

Adam Spears

Allison Earwood

Ally Calandro

Angela Barretto

Angela Frazier

Caden Wright

Carson Wright

Cathy Rodriguez

Celeste Walls

Chase Wright

Chloe Wright

Chris Backus

Chris Calandro

Christiann Calandro

Cooper Damm

David Cagle

David Shilson

Dylan Coleman

Elaine White

Eric Slemmer

Erin Baird

Ethan Krilic

Eva Woody

Gracie Cagle

Greg Woodbury

Isabella Rodriguez

Jakob Woody

Jay Woody

Jennifer Morgan

Jenny Reeves

Julie Spears

Julie Spessard

Kanya Deering

Kara Burley

Kathryn Damm

Katie Calandro

Katrina Watland

Kelly Cox

Kelly Starnes

Kendall Walls

Kristin Cagle

Kyla Walls

Laura Riddle

Layne Smith

Leslie Wright

Lisa Cutright

Liz Smith

Luke Morgan

Marcy Gore

Mary Calandro

Matthew Rodriguez

Mike Morgan

Morgan Frazier

Pamela Coleman

Richard Chollick

Ro Lewinski

Robin Lowe

Roddy Wright

Rodica Slemmer

Ron Walls

Sage Backus

Sean Burley

Sharon Grigsby

Stuart Cutright

Suzanne Endres

Tamarah Walker

Tammy Patterson

Tate Johnson

Tyra Damm

Walter Dewar

William Cagle

There's still time for you to join the fun! You can register online through Wednesday. (Click here for the registration page.) Be sure to choose the team registration AND choose the Run for Steve Damm team. 

If you've registered for our team and do not appear on this list, please email me at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Charlotte

The first book I remember reading by myself and sobbing as I read: Charlotte's Web.

We lived in Farmers Branch. I was 7. It was a Saturday, and I was sprawled on the covers of my twin bed, engrossed in this wonderful story about Fern and a pig and a spider. I fell in love with the characters.

And then the spider died.

Oh, it was heartbreaking. It's been heartbreaking every time I've read it since. (As a writer, I'm impressed with how E.B. White makes us feel so strongly about barnyard animals and arachnids.)

Yesterday was movie and popcorn day in Katie's first-grade class. The class had earned the privilege after filling its compliment jar to the very top.

While Katie was still in chess club after school, her wonderful teacher, Shannon, called me.

"We watched Charlotte's Web today," she said.

"Oh, no," I answered, knowing what was next.

Shannon told me that Katie enjoyed the movie until the end. And then she cried -- not a mild cry but a really strong, dramatic, sincere cry.

Shannon comforted Katie. She told her that it is so sad that Charlotte dies, but it's also wonderful how all of Charlotte's babies live and how those babies carry with them all of Charlotte's good qualities.

She told Katie that it is the same with her Daddy. That it is so sad that he died but that she and Cooper carry with them all of Steve's good qualities.

I am consistently reminded of the gracious, loving, nurturing folks who have been placed in our lives, and I am so thankful.

40

Today I am 40. The same age Steve was when he died. I can't even wrap my head around that.

What I can do is report that I have been absolutely spoiled and showered with love. My loved ones completely outdid themselves. Steve Damm would have been mighty impressed.

***

You may remember the lamp incident from September 2009, when I'm convinced Steve was communicating with me through our bedroom lamp.

Last night, around 11:45 p.m., I went to bed. I turned the lamp switch to turn off the light, and it wouldn't turn off. It flickered a little but stayed on. I turned again and again. It stayed on.

I whispered hello to Steve and kept turning until it turned off.

About five minutes after being in the dark, the light flickered one more time.

It's just like Steve to make a big deal out of my birthday.

***

My mom called this morning. She's been in a nursing home for more than four years now. Some conversations are more lucid than others.

Today, she was cheerful and totally cognizant. And she told me some baby and toddler stories.

She told me that I was born with lots of dark hair. And that I was a smiley baby, often "smiling when it wasn't time to smile."

She told me that when I was very small and in the backseat (without a carseat, of course, because it was the 1970s), I dug my hand into the ashtray and ate cigarette butts.

Nice, eh? Perhaps that's why I've never smoked or had a desire to smoke -- I got it out of my system early.

And she told me about a time when I was a toddler and slept in my crib with night braces to correct the direction of my feet (too inward or too outward, I'm not sure).

She and my dad were downstairs drinking coffee. I apparently crawled out of the crib with the brace on and crawled down the stairs. With a big smile on my face.

"You were determined," she said. "And you always have been. That's what's gotten you through your life."

That conversation was one of the best gifts ever received.

***

Liz apparently sent an email to our circle of nearby friends, asking them to help me celebrate today. Let me tell you -- this group of women and men gets things done. They do life in a big way!

Drivers followed instructions all day.

I woke up to a giant 40 sign hanging on the front porch. And in the front yard, signs encouraging drivers to honk "hello." (The handiwork of Layne and Kris, I believe.)

Cooper and Katie were beside themselves with excitement, obviously in on much of the fun.

Kelly was here by 6:45 a.m. with enough breakfast food to feed a dozen people, including the Starbucks oatmeal I love AND a grande soy latte.

One of many 40 signs around Frisco today

When it was time to drive to school, I discovered another surprise: my typically tame minivan tricked out with tulle and a big heart on the windshield and signs proclaiming "40 and Fabulous!" and "40 is Hot!" (I have Shannon and Lisa to thank for this creativity, I think.)

So, we're in the car, driving one-third of a mile to school in the gaudiest Odyssey this side of Frisco when Katie says, "Tyra is 40!"

"Yes, Katie, that's true."

"No," she persisted. "There's a sign there that says 'Tyra is 40!' "

It was true. On the corner of our street and busy Timber Ridge was such a sign. And a couple of blocks later, at the entrance to our beloved Bledsoe, was another sign.

Katie, Tyra, Cooper and the sign at Bledsoe

Shannon was responsible for the signs, too. She never met Steve, but I have no doubt they would have been fast friends.

***

Bernita, on her way to Bible study at Prestonwood, surprised me in the office with homemade muffins for Thursday's breakfast.

***

Holly, Kris and Liz treated me to lunch. (This after they joined Julie and Allison in throwing me the best girlfriend birthday party ever on Saturday night.) We ate on the patio at one of my favorite restaurants and enjoyed the sunshine.

***

Once home from work, a giant balloon bouquet was waiting on the front porch. (I think I can thank Zena for that festive touch.)

***

Cake and candles (with a wisecrack from Cooper about the heat)

Angie (world's best guidance counselor) and Jana (world's best fifth-grade language arts teacher) delivered a homemade, three-layer chocolate cake.

***

Cooper, Katie and I met a group at Braum's for afternoon treats. When we walked in, the Amezcuas, the Morgans, the Wheeleys and one Watland burst into song, singing "Happy Birthday to You" right there in the entrance.

***

Katie, Molli, Brooke and Cooper

We met the Woodbury family for dinner in Allen. All four cousins ate together then ran around. Melane, Greg and I visited.

***

I've received so many cards and gifts and phone calls and Facebook and Twitter messages all day. It's like the best group hug in the history of hugs.

Cooper asked me tonight how I would rate today as a birthday on a scale from 1 to 10.

I told him 9. That the only thing that would have made it better was to celebrate with Daddy.

"I've kind of forgotten what it's like to have Daddy in the house," he said. "All those tears are dry, since the middle of fifth grade."

He didn't say it with sadness or melancholy or anger. He was simply honest.

After I tucked him into bed and I was walking out of his bedroom, he called out, "Good night, Birthday Girl."

For some reason, that sweet comment made me cry for the first time all day.

***

Thank you to everyone who has made 40 so fun and so filled with love.

Discovered

We're putting the house back together after post-flood carpet was installed yesterday. (Aren't you ready to stop reading and hearing about that incident?!)

We're trying to be deliberate about what goes back in the rooms. I predict that will last about four more hours and then everything will be shoved back in. Because Cooper and Katie are growing weary and I'm tired of walking through a cluttered family room and entry way.

Part of being deliberate means going through boxes, which means I'm discovering all kinds of treasures.

Such as:

This Mother's Day card from Steve in 2006. Cooper was still 4. Katie wasn't yet 1. We were living a blissful life. We had never even heard of the word "glioblastoma."

Reading Steve's loving words in his distinctive handwriting makes me simultaneously cry and smile. And makes me miss him even more in this moment than when I woke up this morning.

And this:

A photo taken for the church directory in spring 2006. At the time I hated this photo. I gave it to no one. (I guess that's why it was in a box.) My hair looks weird. We're all looking in different directions. I don't think I did a good job coordinating colors.

And now? Well, it makes me feel enormously foolish for being so vain.

And it simultaneously makes my heart sing and ache.

Head for the Cure: Top 10 reasons

We're getting the Run for Steve Damm team back together for the Head for the Cure Foundation 5K!

When: 8 a.m. Saturday, May 12, 2012
Where: Granite Park in Plano (corner of SH 121 and the Dallas North Tollway)

Top 10 reasons you should join our team:

10. Saturday mornings are made for exercise.

9. You can show off your enviable running skills.

8. Or you can show off your incredibly amazing walking skills.

7. You'll be surrounded by super friendly and fun people.

6. You'll get a cool, green Head for the Cure T-shirt.

5. It's a great excuse to pull out your favorite Run for Steve T-shirt.

4. You can witness Cooper beating me by at least 10 minutes.

3. You'll see old friends and make new friends. (Click here for the totally awesome group already registered!)

2. You'll help us reach our goal of at least 100 team members. (We are already a Top 3 team with 33 members!)

1. Proceeds from the race benefit brain tumor research.

To register, please click here.

And be sure to choose the Run for Steve Damm team option on the second page! That's how I'll know you've joined the team and how you'll be included on future Run for Steve Damm correspondence.

Can't be there? You can donate to the Head for the Cure Foundation. To donate, please click here.

Thank you to everyone who has donated already and who has joined the team!

Week 1

This week I returned to an office job for the first time in almost seven years.

This week also included:
Memorial service for a former colleague
Reconstruction work on the house, repairing flood damage
Katie getting strep throat

How does a single widowed mom handle those challenges plus a new job in the same week?

With a super supportive new boss and an incredible team of loved ones to help.

Jim spent much of the week at our house, taking Margie on walks and making sure everything was in good shape as workers painted walls, replaced baseboards and rebuilt and installed a new bathroom vanity. (We're still waiting on carpet.)

When I worked late Monday, Julianne took care of Katie and Wendy took care of Cooper. Julianne sent us home with a complete dinner. Liz made us dinner the next night.

I worked from home many hours while taking care of an ill Katie. Jim returned to the house Friday to watch her for a few hours so I could work in the office. (It's a little busy at a megachurch, you know, the week before Holy Week.)

The Walls family let Cooper and Katie hang out with them one night so I could see a grown-up movie in a movie theater. (The Hunger Games -- as intense as the book.)

The Burris family took Cooper to lunch and soccer so that I could take Katie to the doctor for a second time. (She has an upper respiratory infection on top of strep.)

Betty brought dinner Saturday night.

On this Sunday after Week 1, I'm pausing between activities to give thanks for my new job and for the sweet people in our lives who continue to support us with words and actions and prayers. And I'm kind of hoping for a less eventful Week 2.