What Did You Sign Up For?

For Kim and Carol, and for my beautiful kids…

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. – Martin Luther King, Jr.

Ah, the cold winds of January – they can mean only one thing: baseball.  Yes, that’s right, in north Texas, baseball season is in full swing.  It never fails for some, either, that during these first few weeks, once all the roster-churning from the previous season is done, and once parents, coaches and kids have all shown up for those first few practices with overwrought expectations, reality sets in.   The kids my son is playing with are not nearly up to his skill level!  Wow, I’m really gonna have to coach these kids up!  Man, my coach is a hard-case and all he does is makes us run and yells at us!  Often, especially early in each season, the response is to start looking for that next team where the other players come close to your perceived talent level, that next guru to throw money at that will help your son get to that “next level,” that next great player to replace the one you ended up with that isn’t so talented and might require some real coaching. 

I’m very lucky.  I’ve reached a great place where I love the people my kids play for and with.  Similarly, I know that the above examples aren’t everyone’s experiences, and I also know that often some of these things are really true and produce an unproductive environment that probably is difficult to foresee.  But it seems to me that there is an excess of drama, for lack of a better term, each season that has a lot to do with out-of-whack expectations by parents, coaches and kids.  The declaration is made – “This is not what I signed up for!”

I love baseball, and Kelly loved baseball, and all my kids, even Ella (although she wouldn’t admit it), love baseball.  It has been an important part of our lives, and has helped to introduce us to many of our best friends.  We’ve been lucky to witness some pretty extraordinary moments of selfless devotion that had everything to do with ordinary everyday people and little to do with extraordinary baseball prowess.  But we’ve also sat through some pretty mediocre, and downright bad, performances on the field.  Through the years we’ve witnessed abhorrent behavior by coaches, kids, and most often parents.  I won’t generalize as to why this occurs so frequently other than to say that I think people just get frustrated over their own unrealistic, unmet expectations. 

Baseball lends itself to metaphor maybe more than any other team sport, although that may just be an old-fashioned American bias, or maybe just a personal one on my part.  But there is no doubt that athletic competition is in many ways a proxy for life, and the drama that we see unfolding in and around the playing fields, gyms, tracks, rinks and slopes tell us much about human nature, and most importantly, in my opinion, about that thing we call character.

Somewhere along the way, my kids have all been cut, failed to make the team, made the “C” team when they thought they’d make the “A” team, spent the better part of the season riding the pine as part of a right-field platoon, batted last in the order, and registered a “DNP” in the box score.  I’ve sat through tournaments and even better parts of seasons where wins were more elusive than seventy degree sunny days without wind.  It’s hard not to take these things personally, and it’s even harder to keep yourself from constantly getting in between your child and his disappointments.  Recent experiences in our lives, though, has taught us, - my kids and me - the difference between the fleeting happiness that so many think they are entitled to, and the true joy that comes from devoting yourself wholeheartedly to one another, and to shared purpose and goals.  Of course, you know who helped us to learn this – and I don’t mean through Kelly’s struggle with cancer so much as through her daily walk even before her illness. 

We all quit playing or get cut at some point.  For some, the end to their athletic careers simply comes sooner than for others.  But alas it comes, whether on our terms or no.  That next day, though, we have to get out of bed, go to work or to school, drive in traffic, clean the house, cook dinner, attend church, change diapers,– we have to do whatever it is that we do.  Disappointments abound, pleasure eludes us, and we often become jaded about our constantly unfulfilled expectations, just as in our former athletic pursuits. 

That’s it – the expectations.  It’s tricky.  We are taught the value of goals and aspirations by our parents, teachers, coaches, pastors, and employers.  We all have visions of how our lives are supposed to play out.  These things are normal, or more importantly, I think natural.  I believe we’re wired to see our existence as narrative, and narrative contains beginning and end.  There are heroes and villains, good deeds and evil, fall and redemption.  For many, though, and particularly for many of our kids, there are real expectations of fulfillment through pleasure and gain.  Success becomes defined by, and confined to, our own incremental, individual, and continual achievement to such a great degree that we assign our happiness to that achievement.  It’s not okay to work hard and fail – you’re supposed to be rewarded for hard work, right?

Well, I don’t know.  Often hard work immediately precedes failure.  Often random chance dictates that the perfectly placed bunt rolls foul, hitting the clod dug out by the cleat of the previous hitter – wrong place wrong time – and the subsequent strikeout is all that’s recorded in the scorebook.  Failure, not because we didn’t do what we’re supposed to, but because failure is part of the game.  In fact, failure so defined, in most games as in life, is often requisite for the success of others.  Similarly our wins are their losses.  The key is our unrealistic expectation of success and maybe as importantly our definition of success. 

In November and December, I found myself as I often have in my life, at the center of prayers and well-wishes.  That’s what happens when you have great friends and family.  And of course, as the holiday season neared, the frequency and intensity of those well-wishes grew.  Along with them, though, was the constant reminder from those friends and family of how tough things were going to be on me and the kids.  After a while, I noticed the prayers and well-wishes less and thought more of the impending difficulty, and ultimate disappointment, about to beset my family.  For the first time in my life, I dreaded the holiday season.

In early December, I met with our men’s small group from our church to have breakfast, and the conversation centered on the upcoming holidays and our “Scrooge Quotient.”  After we all went around the table and made the case for our varying degrees of excitement, dread or ambivalence towards Christmas, Gary, the leader of the group, made an interesting comment.  He said he would lead us in prayer, but wanted us each to pray especially about making this Christmas the best Christmas ever.  Now at this point I was literally startled about how low my bar had been set. 

I immediately was reminded of one of my all-time favorite movie scenes, and I’m guessing most of you have seen it.  Gene Kranz, played in Apollo 13 by Ed Harris, is the NASA flight director now in charge of not only an aborted lunar landing but what has essentially become a rescue operation.  Kranz, upon overhearing the NASA Director say that this is going to be the worst disaster NASA’s ever faced, jumps in: “With all due respect sir, I believe this is gonna be our finest hour!”  I get chills just typing that, and thinking about what kind of character it takes to say that with conviction under the circumstances.

I witnessed some terrible things during Kelly’s sickness.  I know a lot of you did – Kim and Carol, Grand and Papaw, Nana and Pops.  I know my children did.  She and I made a decision not to keep it from them.  We always believed that letting them experience disappointment, even grave tragedy, would better prepare them for lives that will inevitably be rife with further disappointment and heartbreak.  We wanted them to know that sacrifice was required of them in ministry to their mother and to each other, as it would be all along the road they would travel without her, and ultimately without me, and for a time maybe without one another.  We even agreed that they should bear her body to its gravesite.  And it has been the case, and will continue to be, that in those most difficult labors they find their greatest joy, and a real reason to be proud of themselves. 

There are some things impossible to convey, and some things I choose not to share but to keep close to my heart.  But I will let you know that in our last hours together I watched Kelly struggle with shame for what she needed others to do for her.  I will always cherish those moments when I was able to serve her, and told her as much then.  “This is what I signed up for!”  You must stop and realize that no matter where you’re headed, everything that has happened up to this moment in your life has converged into a present that is filled with opportunity to put your hands to work making a difference in service to others.  I admitted not long ago that I struggled with James’s directive to “Consider it pure joy…whenever you face trials of many kinds….”  My wisdom and understanding is as incomplete as ever, but a little time and distance has afforded me perspective by which I can better appreciate the difference between fleeting pleasure and lasting joy. 

Before you catch yourself or your kids saying, “I didn’t sign up for this,” decide what it is you and they are signing up for.  Recite those wedding vows in your head the next time you get frustrated with your spouse during one of those “mid-life” moments.  I don’t know about you, but sickness, health and death were real in my marriage, even though they were the farthest thing from my mind on my wedding day.  Remind your kids that sooner or later it doesn’t matter how hard they work and how talented and smart they are, they’re going to fail or be disappointed, wronged, or cheated – in school, in sports, or in life in general.  And let them know that it’s not just for their own sake that they must get back up whenever they fall down but for the sake of their teammates, or their mother, or their brothers and sisters, or their friends.  Teach them that they must embrace disasters in their lives as offering the potential for their own finest hours.   Let them know that is what they signed up for.

Story

Break, break, break,

   On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter

   The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman’s boy,

   That he shouts to his sister at play!

O well for the sailor lad,

   That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on

   To their haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanished hand,

   And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,

   At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

But the tender grace of a day that is dead

   Will never come back to me.

                              -Tennyson

I’ve wanted so badly to write of Kelly these last several weeks.  I still have my Muse, but, alas, I haven’t Lord Tennyson’s talents.  Nothing comes so close as these four stanzas to revealing the frustration – agony – that comes from “moving on.”  It’s often difficult to avoid resentment for the ease with which those around me go about the ordinary business of their daily lives, and all the while the sun rises and sets, waves crash against imperturbable rocks as they have always. 

But I see everywhere and in everything only reminders of Kelly.  In the faces of my children, objects lying around the house, photos on the walls, the clothes still hanging in the closet.  I find scraps of paper bearing her handwriting used as bookmarks in old books, their messages now unintelligible, just incomplete checklists from Saturdays past. 

I see the frosty toenail sliver of moon in the predawn eastern sky on an early morning jog.  I want so badly to tell her about it, knowing how she’d complain about the cold and the hour, but how much she’d love it because I loved it.  I want to tell her about the sunrise over the pond at our farm where Sam, Will, Bailey and I hunted ducks.  How that same evening Ben, Ella and I sat for hours in a deer blind, only to be foiled at the very last by dusk descending over a mesquite flat where finally the doe Ben was hunting emerged too late.  I know, too, that the kids want so badly to tell her themselves.  Such ordinary things become extraordinary, precisely because they become our story, and because that story has an enthusiastic audience, devouring every detail offered, and pulling ever more from us.  Then, for that audience and for ourselves, our story becomes an indelible part of who we are. 

So something profound disappears from us whenever we lose some part of that audience.  The significance we attach to things we experience can no longer be related as before.  Each becomes less significant in a way, or it has to be remembered precisely, stored away, awaiting a new audience.  My story was important to Kelly – in fact, my story was joined to her story, and some new and “other” story had begun.  Aside from the experiences we lived together, every new song I heard, every book I read, every new friend I made, every new place I travelled – all were made part of our story, just as each new thing she saw and experienced added another chapter.  So that longing for her is everywhere and in everything, utterly inescapable.

And I don’t want to escape from it – not yet.  I was mad with love for her and I’m mad with longing now, unsure whether to ask for healing or not.  I fear the dulling of the ache comes with a fading of the memories, and I’m ready for neither at the moment.  I love our story, as I know she did, and I’m not ready to write the end. 

On the contrary, I want to share our story, and “flesh out” that part of hers before it became ours.  Of course, there are parts of our story that must remain written only on my heart and hers, just as there are scenes from her story that lie hidden forever from us all.  I’ve thought often, though, about what my children and I, as well as Kelly’s own family and bosom friends, will miss from her story without her there to tell us.  I remember how acutely my grandmother, Mamaw Williams, in her old age could descry scenes from her own often distant past, relating tales I’d either forgotten or never heard before, in vivid detail.  And I am deeply saddened to think that Kelly, so often the central character in one ridiculous caper after another, will not be able to enliven the dinner table with remembrances from her past. 

So it has been my intention for some time now to reach out to her family and friends, particularly those friends from her childhood days before I knew her, in order to learn those details that would never otherwise emerge except from her self-deprecating recollections, now forever lost to us. 

One friend, from our Baylor days, reminded me of something I would surely never have remembered:  Allison was with Kelly immediately after delivering our firstborn, Will.  She remembers Kelly breaking down sobbing wondering what in the world was she going to do with a boy. 

Little did she know then that he was only the first of three boys, and even less did she understand at the time how perfect her instincts would be, and how she’d find herself eventually the envy and wonder of so many “boy moms” around her, as she parented seemingly without effort.  Of course, Will did lock her out of the house – twice – and both times the Frisco Fire Department was dispatched to gain entrance.  She took a pair of scissors to the seatbelt ($250 seatbelt!) in a brand new Expedition because one of them (can’t remember which one) had managed to wrap it around his neck and then lock it – all while she was in the drive-thru at a dry-cleaners.  She let Ben take a nosedive out of his baby carrier while in Target – precipitating a trip to the ER (that boy's still not right).  Seemingly without effort.

Not long after Kelly’s death, I received a letter from parents of a former student of Kelly’s.  They related how their daughter, devastated by the recent passing of her grandmother only days before school started (a victim of pancreatic cancer), showed up in tears for the first day of school.  Kelly instinctively embraced her, and along with Mrs. Cunningham helped her get through those first few days.  Later Kelly would volunteer to coach her cheerleading squad – one of two times she coached a championship team – and then later would help her with her high school drill team tryouts.  So great was her influence that this same girl, years later, would enter the teaching profession herself with Kelly as one of her inspirations, and so continues that same impact in other children’s lives like a great ripple, ever expanding.

These are the stories I and my kids need to be reminded of, or better yet, hear for the first time.  It’s not too late for them to become part of our story – all the memories woven into a patchwork to form a great and beautiful counterpane -  which will be an heirloom, a great inheritance for Will, Ben, Sam and Ella, and a fine comfort to me.

So I invite all who read this to share it with others who knew Kelly, and to share your stories with me and my children and with those closest to us.      

Please continue to pray for me and my children as we set off together in this brand new year.  Pray that we will find a way to keep Kelly’s story alive in our hearts and minds, even as we begin our own new story together without her. 

If you’d like to share a story about Kelly, you can email it to kellystewartstories@gmail.com.

A beautiful day to honor a beautiful woman

Team Kelly represented the Pancreatic Cancer Purple Stride walk today 116 members strong. We covered the streets of Uptown with GOT HOPE? shirts and reunited with friends and family. 

The crowd at Klyde Warren Park congested the area in purple, but thankfully Jason was able to make his way to the stage as they announced Team Kelly as the #2 top fundraiser raising over $19,215!

Amazingly, Jason was asked to stay on the stage to announce he was the #2 top fundraising individual raising over $7,385!!!

The top team, It's All Good, raised $35,469, and their honoree is Jimmy, another South Garland High School graduate.

Thank you all for coming out and participating. This event means a lot to the Stewart Family and I hope we can always gather annually for this event to honor Kelly and raise more funds for The Pancreatic Cancer Network www.pancan.org.

"Fight like Kel!"

Wear your TEAM KELLY shirt Saturday!

Hi team Kelly :) 

If you have a TK shirt wear it Saturday to Purple Stride! Can't wait to celebrate Kelly's life, raise awareness, and raise $$ for PanCAN!  

God love you all for all your love and prayers and support!

Love this pic of kel and mom from last year's walk...see y'all Saturday TK:)

FIGHT LIKE KEL!

Supporting PanCAN

It's no news that the internet can be a wonderful tool for learning about new things, and, for anyone wanting to get a quick answer to some bit of trivia or help their kid with geography homework, it's indispensable.  But when you're trying to learn about serious medical issues, it can become a minefield of opinion and misinformation.  In the first several weeks after Kelly's diagnosis in February 2012, we were constantly overwhelmed with information from caregivers as well as well-meaning (and often helpful) friends and family members concerning everything from treatment options and their side-effects to diet and exercise.  Prognosis was unclear, and it was always hard to get anyone to talk about life-expectancy in a straightforward manner - everyone wanted to remain "optimistic."  At times like these, Google and Wikipedia are not very helpful.  There's no dearth of uninformed opinion online, and what often sounds authoritative is often countered elsewhere by no less official sounding "experts."

I'm not even sure how I first ran across www.pancan.org, but the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network was the first place I found that cut through all the fog and delivered the most straightforward information about the battle we would face for the next several months.  We learned about Folfirinox and its side-effects, as well as a host of remedies to attenuate them.  We were able to better understand the realistic life-expectancy, thus understanding the "bargains" we were making in terms of quality and quantity of life.  We read survivor stories, many with similar diagnoses.  When chronic pain became an issue, we learned about different ways to deal with it, in some cases gaining the confidence to suggest to our doctor alternatives he hadn't before considered.  Whenever wasting became an issue due to loss of appetite, we learned about dietary supplements and foods that could more efficiently assist with weight retention/gain.

In the spring, whenever we realized we were running out of conventional treatment options, we contacted PanCAN and requested their "patient and liaison services (PALS)," and in short order were contacted by our own personal PALS representative who began the process of matching Kelly's diagnosis with ongoing and upcoming clinical trials nationwide.  In our case, while we qualified for a few different promising trials, we simply ran out of time.

Nothing can replace the comfort of God's grace in our lives, but there is little doubt in my mind that His grace is made manifest in many ways that we don't often consider.  Sometimes it's that feeling of being accompanied by him as we pray, sometimes it's the vast network of saints - friends and family - at work in our lives.  But sometimes it comes to us in ways we don't  at all acknowledge as His work, like being able to go online and find the answers, or in some cases just figuring out the right questions to ask.  Like being able to find the best treatment options available anywhere in the world.  Like being able to connect through story with other patients or grieving loved ones left behind.  Like knowing that there are millions of people worldwide dedicating their time and money to knowing, fighting, and curing this disease.

Please support PanCAN today and join Team Kelly in the DFW Purplestride Event on Saturday November 9.  For details on the event and how you can donate or volunteer, visit DFW PurpleStride.  We'd love for you to honor Kelly's memory, or that of another cherished loved one lost to or currently fighting this disease.

For more information about the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network, visit www.pancan.org.

God Bless and "Fight Like Kel!"
-Jason

PurpleStride details and shirt pick up

Please join us for the PurpleStride 5k run/walk.

I will pick up the shirts from RunOn in Dallas on Thursday, November 7th and will have them on the Stewart's front porch by elementary dismissal on  Friday, November 8th. You can pick up your shirt and mark your name off the list that will be in a box on the Stewart's front porch.

Here are details for the event:

• Arrive Saturday, November 9th at 8:00 AM, meet in the Ginsberg Family Great Lawn in Klyde Warren Park (see map)
• If you have not registered, you can sign up that day at 8:00 AM.
• Opening Ceremonies starts at 9:00 AM
• Run/Walk begins at 9:30 AM
• Closing Ceremony is at 11:00 AM

Please call Gayla Cruikshank at 214-533-4260 if you have any questions.

Consider it Pure Joy

I figure it must be time to check in with everyone whenever I hear my good friend Kris, who sees me as often as anyone, ask me how I’ve been doing.  So here goes…

A few weeks back, a bunch of my closest friends decided to join a men’s small group/Bible study hosted at our church on Friday mornings at 6 AM.  The early wakeup call has proven challenging for everyone, but not nearly as challenging as some of the questions and ideas raised in the study.  I am used to getting up early with most of these fellows, but it’s always been part of some outdoor pursuit – in a duck blind or fishing boat –never to ponder deep, meaningful “life questions.”

We’re studying the book of James.  I’ve always loved this book - the matter of fact way that James challenges everyone to toughen up, and the way he distills the concept of religion into such straightforward notions as charitable work and self-purification: “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”

Somehow, though, in all the times I’ve read this book I’ve zipped right past that opening instruction: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds.”  Sure, trials lead to perseverance, perseverance to maturity and completion.  But “pure joy?”  I admitted it there and then, in that first group meeting – I just don’t get it.  “I’m not feelin’ it, James.”  And while I’m certainly not the only one among this group to have faced adversity, almost all of these men were close to Kelly, and so what vexes them when I question this instruction is much more than just empathy for me.  They weren’t biting their tongues – they’re as confused as I am about how to be joyful in the face of such terrible loss.

So there – I admit it.  I’m not “purely joyful.”  If you thought you’d keep reading until you witnessed me squeezing wisdom out of this conundrum like juice from a ripe orange, well I hate to disappoint.  It’s just not that simple to me – not that easy.  For now I continue to ebb and flow, lie down and rise with each new sunset and sunrise, trying not to withdraw totally into memory, trying to live in and out of my home, with my family and friends, rather than slide into the easy habit of curating a museum where she once lived.  But for now, each of my new days still begins with waking in my bed alone after sharing it with the same lover for 18 years.  And that’s where I start.  And, until I fall I asleep at night, not one minute goes by where she is not in my thoughts.         

Along the way I do experience frequent joy – I am blessed with four wonderful children, and I have to remind myself (although I shouldn’t) just how many great friends I have.  I have family close by, Kel’s and my own.  And together – the kids, my friends, and my family – we try to keep our arms around this crazy life of ours.  There are so many that lift me up in their prayers, and so many that were there for Kelly and me and the kids who are still there for me and the kids now.  (See these two old posts - Buena Gente; One Year Ago Today)

I have something else, too.  Not long ago, Carol reminded many of us about a blog post that included a lengthy text message Kelly had written in the middle of one of the innumerable long sleepless nights toward the end of her battle.  You can revisit it here: Text From Kelly. Whenever I find myself faltering, I remember the nights like this.  From February to May of 2013, Kelly was suffering a constant upper abdominal pain that prevented her from lying down comfortably, and despite dozens of different approaches to pain management, we never found anything that provided relief enough to allow for regular sleep.  So most nights she sat upright on the sofa, sleeping little and fitfully at that.  Not knowing what else to do, I curled up beside her.  I wanted in some way to share her suffering, but often found that, like the disciples who accompanied Jesus in Gethsemane only to fall asleep while he went off to pray, I proved unfaithful in even this paltry gesture.  Those close to me know I am cursed (blessed?) to be able to fall asleep anywhere at any time.  So it was during just such a night that she arose, no doubt annoyed by my peaceful slumber, to write this text.

This image of her is burned into my mind, imprinted there forever.  She was just so brave.  She never thought of herself that way.  It’s hard to overstate the number of times she faced terrible news head-on, and just how terrible that news often was.  She faced it while biting the inside of her lip, slightly puckering as she fought off tears, and rubbing her hands together above her lap like she was trying to clean off some permanent filth.  You see, whatever “Kelly” means to you, she is no symbol, no super hero taking on and beating pancreatic cancer, no miracle working saint.  She was just like you and me, scared to death of how bad it might hurt, how bad she’d look and feel, and most importantly, how you and I and everyone else would get along without her.  But once she understood and accepted each step she had to take, she would still find it in her to think about and pray for everyone else.      

So like her, I try to turn my attention outward, to a world that is broken and hurting.  And so much of James’s message is clearer from this perspective.  There are so many people that need our prayers, and more importantly need our hands and feet and resources at work in their lives.  And yes, I am in need.  And yes, so many of you have been at work in my life, and in my kids’ lives.  And in each other’s lives.  I see that when I look outward as Kelly reminds me to. 

I saw it in Younglife Roundup Sunday night, as I was reminded of the great examples so many of you set each day for my kids.  Thank you Eric, Cody and Darrell, and thank you Jack, Grady and Joe (and so many others I don’t even know). 

I saw it in our men’s group – we all sat around the other morning trying to think of all the ways that we needed to put our faith into action, and it dawned on me later that day that all of you had been putting your faith into action for me and my family for the last year and a half. 

I saw it for sixteen months in the form of angels like Lee Miller, who almost daily hand delivered to our mailbox cards of encouragement for Kelly, until the end, then cards of consolation and shared grief, then cards of encouragement for me and the kids. 

In fact, I see it around me everywhere.  The housecleaner I’ve hired “miraculously” finding money in her account and letting me know I don’t need to pay her for the next couple of weeks.  The moms of my kids’ teammates getting them to and from practices and games all over God’s creation.  And of course the closest friends just reminding me they still want to know I’m doing OK.

At church this past Sunday I got to experience one of my favorite things: a bunch of new Christians getting baptized.  Among these new brothers and sisters were two young friends of ours, 10 year old twins Katie and Libby.  Both, before their profession of faith, declared that among others who influenced them and helped bring them to this point was their mom’s best friend Miss Kelly.  Maybe watching this is as close as I can come to experiencing pure joy, knowing how Kelly’s example of friendship in life and bravery facing death changed the lives of so many around her, including these new two sisters in Christ.    

I know I am blessed.  For all the friends and family around me.  For a great Savior, because I am indeed a great sinner.  Yes I am blessed.  Pure joy?  Not sure about that.  Pray for me, so that maybe I can understand that, and so that my family and I can experience that. 

And like Kelly, let’s all continue to look outward to our friends and our community for those that need not just our prayers but our hands and feet at work in their lives.  Among so many others, continue to pray for and lift up my friend Katy Stockard, her husband Greg, and their children Sam, Drake, and Sally, as Katy continues her battle with cancer and chemotherapy.  FIGHT LIKE KEL, Katy!

God bless!

-Jason