Earlier today my phone rang and I looked down to see it say, "Mom Cell." It is so infrequent when I see those words on my phone anymore. Dad Cell is always calling to report, translate and update. I found myself so happy to say, "Hi, Momma!" I was hoping she was going to go to the movies with us tonight to see Cinderella, the way she loves watching her grandkids dream and imagine, she is always a good candidate to join for a Disney flick. Unfortunately, she was calling to say she couldn't join. A long night of headaches and leg pain. And more unfortunately is how painful the conversation went as she LONGED to tell me multiple things, but could not find the words. Over and over again, she wanted to tell me something but gave up after the maddening nature of knowing exactly what you want to tell you daughter but not being able to express them. I quietly choke up listening to the battle.

Then tonight, after the privilege of being in another world (vis a vie Disney's Cinderella) for a couple hours I catch the 60 minutes episode interviewing recurrent glioblastoma patients who have been a part of a new trial at Duke. This is the trial we have been learning about and thought we may even be headed for before the last appointment. I see these patients from 22 to 70 years old and they are in remission. For years. They can speak and walk. I wonder if they can even write and drive. They are so happy after total desperation. After all you cannot be in the trial until you are totally desperate. It's amazing. It's hopeful. It's science and research at its finest. And I am so very hungry for a taste of it.

I see the patients that are doing well and I think, I WANT my mom like that again. And then I think, WHAT ever do you do with a second chance like that?? I want to go straight over to mom's house and tell her, start thinking now of all the things you want to say to the world after this. Start thinking of all the things you really want us and the world to know, and get ready to shout them from the rooftops. Because I want to hear your clear voice again. I want my cell to receive a call from "Mom Cell" five years from now. Damnit I want to know what you have to say. And I want Hannah and Sadie and Beatrice and Oliver and Isaac to know your voice in their teens. And here I am again, Heartbroken and hopeful.