Join Our Team: Race for the Cure - Denver - Oct. 4, 2009

Brayden and I have formed a TEAM for this year's Denver Race for the Cure in memory of Tracell.

The Race for the Cure is on Sunday - October 4, 2009.

Our Team Name: Wings of a Butterfly

Race: 5K Walk

If you are going to be in the Denver area on this date, you are invited to help us remember and honor Tracell by joining our team for this year's race. To join our team, simply click on the link below...and in the Team Members section, click on the Join Team link:

Wings of Butterfly Team Race Page


OR

You may also go to my race personal page and click on Join Scott's Team:

Scott's Race Page

OR

You can go to the www.komendenver.org website, register for the race, and while registering, indicate that you want to join the "Wings of a Butterfly" team.

Denver Race for the Cure Website

IF YOU DO JOIN THE TEAM:

I will be sending out information to all team members as the date approaches as to where we can meet prior to the race.


IF YOU CANNOT ATTEND THE RACE...YOU CAN STILL SUPPORT US:

Our team is also hoping to raise $ 2,500 for the Race for the Cure. You may sponsor a team member with a donation to the breast cancer research cause.

To make a sponsorship donation, click on this link...and click on the "Sponsor Scott":

Scott's Race Page

I would love to see everyone make some kind of contribution in Tracell's memory...


Thanks,
Scott

Size Really Does Matter

I am quite certain the title of this blog entry has raised more than a few eyebrows and furled a few foreheads. A number of the readers may be frantically scanning the document seeking the definitive answer to this age old question. As for the rest of my readers, and most likely the majority, a certain degree of puzzlement has crinkled their noses in disgust as they cannot begin to fathom how such a topic could relate to my precious seven year old son.

Yet, if you shall momentarily indulge the indiscretion of my title, you shall soon learn how in both cases it is quite apropos. For not only have I revealed the definitive answer to this perplexing question, but I shall also demonstrate how it is quite applicable to recent events in our lives.

To reach this definitive conclusion, you must follow me INTO THE WILD....



When I beckon you to follow me into the wild, I am not talking about some pansy trip to the local suburban hiking trail or mountain biking autobahn. No, I am talking real roughing it in the wild Rocky Mountains.

If you don't believe me, how about this for proof:

No Television
No Electricity
No Internet
No Wii
and NO CELL PHONE SIGNAL (no...I couldn't "hear you now").

Now can you possibly imagine the hardships we endured under such rugged conditions? We even had a run-in with serious wild animals (more on this later)...

Prior to the start of summer, Brayden and I discussed what we would like to do this summer. Did we want to take another road trip to national parks as we did the summer of 2008? Or did he prefer activities around home? We also had the uncertainty of our little butterfly's condition for the summer, which was quickly answered less than a week into summer break. After a moment of thought, Brayden said he didn't want to do another road trip this year, dictating to me in no uncertain terms that we will take a road trip "every other year". That at least makes the summers of 2010, 2012, 2014, 2016, 2018... already planned out. Then Brayden said the two words I most feared: camping and fishing. Terror surged through my body as I realized that two of the activities I rather don't enjoy much would be the lynchpins of our summer vacation.

Camping and Fishing

To minimize the unpleasantness of this summer agenda, I suggested we include some lake kayaking to our summer of fun, an activity I rather enjoy. With the full arsenal of a Stanford education at my disposal, I was inspired with a brilliant idea: we can accomplish all three at one time. We shall go camping at a lake where we can fish in our kayak. With one bold stroke I had reduced the damage to a handful of days while filling a seven year old with pure joy.

With camping gear and fishing tackle in tow, and a rented kayak on our rooftop, Brayden and I set out on our great excursion into the wild on July 20, 2009. Destination: Chambers Lake Campground about 50 miles west of Fort Collins, CO, winding our way up like a snake through Poudre Canyon to an elevation of 9,200 feet above sea level.



Now, everyone who is anyone knows the story of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf". The timeless fable is faithfully passed along from generation to generation, as we teach our children that playing pretend does have it's limitations. However, after three days of camping and fishing, I am absolutely certain that Mr. Aesop not only botched the story, but got the title wrong as well.

In fact, the proper title should have been, "Daddy! I think I got one!!!".

So begins the fable of "Daddy! I think I got one!!!".

The story begins with a little boy and his daddy, fishing from a kayak on the glassy waters of Chambers lake. The father, while simultaneously trying to paddle the kayak, tie the fishing line, and rummage through the tackle box, prepares the little boy's fishing pole for deployment. The little boy, brimming with enthusiasm, frequently inquires about the status of this fishing pole, "Daddy, is it ready yet? Daddy, what is taking so long?", as daddy slices his finger with the switchblade. However, with determination and grit, the daddy declares success and throws out the first cast of the trip.

Within minutes, a cry, "Daddy! I think I got one!!!".



Daddy stares at the fishing pole and does not see any indication of a fish struggling against his impending doom. Daddy tells the little boy, "I don't think you do.". The little boy ignores his daddy and reels in the line to find it carrying a phantom trout. Disappointment momentarily overtakes enthusiasm. However, within minutes, the line is back in the water and the little boy is once again claiming "Daddy! I think I got one!!!", and the ritual of bringing in the line to an empty hook plays itself over again...and again...and again...and again... At one point, with my sliced finger gushing blood, I take to rinsing it in the lake, fully expecting the scent of blood to have the trout circling our boat ready to feast on Powerbait. Still, no luck.

As the long warped shadows of the surrounding mountains cast across the lake, we declare our initial fishing expedition a shutout. We brought in our line and took to the shore. Together, daddy and little boy vowed they would catch a fish the next day. Silently, the father was in a state of panic, realizing his entire legacy as a father will depend upon the success of this prophecy.

The darkness of night slipped into our campsite and engulfed us in a blanket of stars from horizon to horizon. Distant flashes of lighting from a powerful storm in Denver momentarily lit the night sky. Together, Brayden and I sat by the camp fire, cooked our dinner, and prepared our plan for the following day. Definitely going to go fishing. Definitely going to go kayaking.



Dawn arrives early. Seems to be a regular pattern of which I was not previously aware. It suddenly dawned upon me just how early it was at dawn when Brayden let out a loud yawn. I peeked out of our less than luxurious sleeping arrangements to see that indeed it was light outside, barely. No sign of the sun. Just lighter than absolute darkness. Brayden is ready to go fishing. I clearly am not ready to go fishing. I roll over and momentarily believe I will be permitted to fall asleep again. However, within minutes, I hear the beginning of tears as Brayden mumbles, "All the fish are going to be gone and we won't catch any." He might as well have just thrown his fishing line right to his daddy, because he hooked a big one with that display of heart-tugging bait. Daddy took the hook and was pulled unceremoniously from his sleeping bag and into the chilly morning air.

No time for breakfast. Must go fishing NOW. We trudge down to the shore of the lake and begin the ritualistic casting of our lines into the motionless lake. The sun slowly curls around the earth and showers us with its morning greeting. The trout begin jumping. The little boy begins exclaiming, "Daddy! I think I got one!!!", and it begins all over again. Deja vu anyone?

As we sat together, father and son, fishing where the Wild Things Are, we were embraced by the glory of nature. The cries of two bald eagles pierced the morning sky as they spread their wings and soared overhead. The fish frantically jumping out of the lake to catch bugs on the surface, or taunt us for our ineptitude at fishing. The sun reflecting off the water with a the mirror image of loge pole pine trees circumventing the lake, many dying from the tragic invasion of the Pine Beetle. The scene filled us with the elation of life and nature, if not with a basket full of fish.

After a couple hours, we find ourselves trudging back to our campsite, devoid of any fish. We start our campfire, cook some bacon and eggs for breakfast, and embark on our next mission, kayaking. This kayaking trip was an exploratory expedition of the lake, sans fishing poles. For the next two hours, Brayden and I paddled around the lake and took in the beautiful sites of nature. He quickly learned how to use his paddle to turn the boat and guide us to the shore. In fact, he insisted on "parking" the kayak on our trip home, doing a splendid job, missing our launch point by only a couple of feet.



Whew! What a day it has been!! It has been filled with fun activities of fishing and kayaking!! I am oblivious of time, assuming it is late in the afternoon and we are running late for lunch. However, my cell phone finally comes in handy, as I turn it on to show me if we should have lunch now or just start dinner really soon. My phone powers on and faithfully tells me the time: 10:00 AM. PANIC. Sheer panic. You mean we still have ten more hours until bedtime??

Later the same afternoon, after many tips about using worms as bait, Brayden and I took to our human instincts of hunting and gathering. We are in the wild now and must forage for our food and supplies. So, we hopped into the car and drove five miles down the highway to a small convenience store, where we hunted for worms and gathered a couple ice cream sandwiches. We knew our tribe back at the campsite would be elated at the success of our wild expedition. We were unprepared for the stunning encounter we were about to experience with a wild animal.

Arriving back at our campsite, I immediately noticed some things at our site had been displaced during our absence. Upon closer examination, I noticed a small baseball size hole in the travel bag I was using for keeping our food zipped closed. This was a rugged Eddie Bauer gear bag. I opened the bag, to find similar holes in our bag of nuts and cookies. We had been attacked by wild animals!!! Terror surged through us as we prepared ourselves for the encounter. We were determined not to back down from the mighty and powerful wild.....chipmunk. In our absence of just over an hour, chipmunks chewed a hole through our travel bag and food and perfectly executed their theft of our goods.

Following the coordinated chipmunk attack, there was only one thing left to do as evening approached - go fishing again. Brayden and I decided to try fishing in our kayak again using our fat and juicy worms. For over an hour we paddled around the lake, tempting the trout with our wriggling and squiggling worms sacrificed on the end of a fish hook. We had no takers. I was beginning to dread the possibility of not catching any fish on our trip when suddenly, Brayden yells out, "Daddy! I think I got one!!!" -- he eagerly reels in his fishing line and to his surprise, his fishhook was once again empty. Daddy gave a little chuckle and was reprimanded by Brayden for not believing that he had caught a fish. Then, to my complete surprise, I feel a jerk on my line, and I yell out "Brayden! I think I got one!!!". I reel in a bit and then wait. A moment passes and I think perhaps I had been duped. Then the fish struggled and I knew we had him. I reeled him in slowly, but he did not put up much of a fight. Within minutes, Brayden had our first rainbow trout in our net and on the deck of the kayak. Success!! We can safely go home now because we caught a fish!!! It was not really the biggest of fish, but it was a fish. Not knowing the size limit for the lake, I was not about to toss this fish back in the water.

Then Brayden says, "Well, you caught one but I haven't caught a fish yet. That just isn't fair!". Oh dear.

As our fish flopped around on our kayak, I was confronted with a serious dilemma. I hate touching fish. I refused to do it. In the past, when our little butterfly would go fishing with me (she loved fishing), she would always have to grab the fish, take the hook out, and do all that slimy wriggly squiggly stuff. However, now our butterfly was, well, really a butterfly and not a whole lot of help. I could not possibly lose face in front of my little boy and refuse to touch the fish. So, with butterflies now in my stomach, I grabbed the fish and took charge of the situation.

There is absolutely not a shadow of a doubt in my mind, that Tracell was looking down on this scene, both laughing her ass off at me having to grab the fish, but also gushing with pride that I overcame my fear and showed that fish who was boss.

As Brayden paddled us back to shore, with our fish in-tow, he was already making plans for us to go fishing again first thing in the morning by the rocks of a small peninsula in the lake. I agreed with one caveat, the sun has to be shining on the trees before we get out of our tent in the morning.

If this had been a movie, then a scene of the sun slowly peeking over the tree tops to the east would be set against very dramatic and suspenseful music. The kind of music you would hear in a movie for the morning of the big climactic game. Full of drama. Full of energy. Full of potential.

Brayden and I trekked the 100 yards to the rocks by the peninsula, stabbed our worms with our hooks, and cast out our first lines of the morning, just as the fish were beginning their aerial stunts and taunts. No luck. The fish just were not having any of the worms when they could snap at flies on the surface. So I changed strategy. I changed my line to a Rooster Tail lure. I cast out my line and began reeling it in when I feel a hard jerk on my line. I instinctively tug the pole to try and set the hook when the line snaps and comes flying out of the water, sans hook and fish. However, the instant success of the Rooster Tail was a good omen.

Meanwhile, Brayden was struggling with his fishing line and worms. The line kept getting stuck in the low marshy weeds and the fish simply did not have an appetite for slimy worms. After my near success with the Rooster Tail, Brayden wanted me to change his line to a lure. So I change out his line and toss out the first cast for him. Within seconds, a bite on his line! However, the hook did not set in the fish. As I slowly reeled in the line, we saw the fish actually chasing the lure all the way up to the shore. Had we been prepared with a net, we could have caught this fish right on the shore. However, it was a tiny fish, and as you may recall, the title of this article is that "Size Really Does Matter".



Emboldened by our two near successes, Brayden mounted the top of the giant boulder at the end of the peninsula and cast his line out to the area where I had the first hard bite. A half-dozen times, Brayden reeled in the line with his orange Rooster Tail and flung it back out to the water. I settled myself down behind the rock to tie a new lure on my line.

"Oh my God!!! Daddy!!! I got one!!!"

I looked up. I could see in his expression and the tone of his voice, he may not be crying "Daddy! I think I got one!!!" this time. It was possible that he could actually have a fish on his line. I bounded up on the rock next to him. Brayden was frantically starting to reel the line in as fast as he could. I just as frantically told him not to reel it in so hard or the line could break if he has a fish and it is fighting. I tell Brayden to stop reeling it in for a minute and lets see if he has a fish on the line. He stops turning the reel. We watch the end of the pole. It twitches. It twitches again. Then it frantically bends and flails in response to a fish acutely aware of impending doom.

I exclaim, "You do have one!! It is fighting!! Let it have some line now..."

Brayden let the line out a bit and tried to reel it in, but the fish was fighting him too hard and he couldn't spin the reel. He instinctively handed me the pole and started jumping with excitement. I jumped down off the rock and began a choreographed dance with the fish, reeling it in and then giving it some line, reeling again and giving line. The music in our movie now building to a triumphant crescendo, Brayden and I suddenly see the fish near the surface about ten yards from shore. I gently reel him in more, trying to keep the line from snapping on us. The fish approaches the shore. Once it is two yards off the shore, I step into the water, grab the line and pull the fish out of the water. It is a 16" rainbow trout. Brayden is beside himself with joy.

"Can you believe it daddy??? I caught a fish!!! I caught a BIG fish!!! That is my first fish I have caught in the wild!!!". It is the joyful sound of accomplishment that makes a parent flush with pride and love. My boy was happy. He caught a fish and he was happy. I was happy.

As we walked back to the campsite with our fish, I tell Brayden, "Well, it looks like we are even now. I caught a fish and you caught a fish. Now we can go home happy and it is fair."

Brayden responds, "Well daddy, it really isn't fair. I mean, the fish I caught is a LOT BIGGER than yours."

I laughed with no response.

The rest of our camping trip passed with several kayaking excursions around the lake and a couple more unsuccessful fishing expeditions. However, the pressure was off. The monkey was off my back. Brayden would be going home with a fish. We enjoyed the company of Sarge, the bald eagles that gracefully soared through the skies above and gave piercing cries, before dive bombing into the lake. Their fishing success rate was significantly higher than ours. We also had the thrill of watching a moose swim across the lake and pull itself onto shore (we later learned the moose had walked right through our campground). The entire trip was an unequivocal success. We accomplished our summer goal: camping, fishing, kayaking.

One would think this would be a logical point to conclude this story. We had the build-up, climax, and conclusion to a successful mission. End of story, right? Not quite.

Anyone that has children, will immediately identify with how size matters to a child. Go to a birthday party and cut the cake. Each and every child is comparing pieces to see who got the biggest piece. Purchase a toy car at the toy store and the child is immediately drawn to the upgrade size, a Toys-R-Us version of "Would you like to SuperSize this toy?". So we learn as children that size really does matter in all things where another child may have a bigger toy, piece of cake, drink, or any number of a million shiny objects designed to draw a child's attention.

I assure you, when it comes to fishing, it is no different. Size matters.

Once we returned to our campsite with Brayden's fish, we put it into the ice chest next to the one I had caught the day before. Without a moments hesitation, Brayden declares, "Oh my gosh daddy, your fish is SO TINY compared to mine.". Followed several minutes later with a casual question, "Daddy, can you believe I caught the BIGGER fish?".

On Thursday afternoon, as we drove down out of the mountains, winding our way along the Poudre River, Brayden replayed his fishing success moment by moment, always concluding with, "Then when you pulled it out of the water, I couldn't believe how BIG it was!! I mean, you really had to fight that fish because he was so BIG. Really daddy, you hardly even had to do anything when you caught your TINY fish, but mine was so much BIGGER.".

Upon arriving home, Brayden was anxious to demonstrate how big his fish was to an audience. So, before the car was even unpacked, he had his fish pulled out of the ice chest and proudly putting it on display, followed by "...and here is daddy's tiny fish.".

Two nights after our return from the wild, grilled rainbow trout was the feature item on our dinner menu. Brayden and I went out back and cleaned the fish (Ok...I cleaned the fish...he watched). Brayden squealed with delight when fish brains slimed out of it's skull. Once both fish were cleaned, they were laid on a pan to take out to the grill. The fish filets now lay side by side. Brayden picks them up and starts to declare, "This is daddy's. This is mine. Daddy's. Mine. Daddy's. Mine."

Of course, I was forced to eat my TINY fish while he gorged on his BIGGER fish. The dinner was delicious as he explained how his fish had more meat on it because it was BIGGER than daddy's fish. I confirmed that indeed my fish did not have much meat, with it being so tiny. After about four bites, my dinner was done.

Briefly returning to the evening of our exquiste trout dinner, after Brayden went to bed, I slipped out of the house (no Brayden was not left alone) and took a quick drive through the town. My destination, for the first time in almost three years: McDonalds. You see, after my paltry meal, my stomach also arrived at the same conclusion as Brayden, that Size Really Does Matter.

End of story? Not on your life.

For the next month, the topic of his BIGGER fish has been a staple of many conversations. Last week, Brayden randomly said "Wasn't it amazing when you caught your fish daddy?".

I responded, "It sure was, it was our first fish we caught!".

Brayden inevitably replies, "Yeah. You caught the first fish, but I caught the BIGGER fish."

In fact, just two days ago, a full month since we emerged from our adventure into the wild, as I was painting the family room bookshelf, Brayden blurts out with no prompting from me, "Can you believe that I caught that BIG fish and you just caught that little TINY fish?"

Need any further proof that size really does matter?

As many of you may recall, Tracell's funeral featured a butterfly release following the ceremony. When ordering the butterflies, Brayden and I looked at the choices: Painted or Monarch Butterflies. Brayden insisted on ordering the Monarch butterflies. When I asked why the Monarch and not the Painted. He responded, "Daddy, Monarch butterflies are a lot bigger."

I suppose that when it comes to riding on the wings of our precious butterfly, Size Really Does Matter.

Learning to Trot

On June 27th, we became the last of the hummingbirds to leave our nest in "Hummingbird Heaven". We followed the brave examples set by Dangily, Edgy, Ryan, and Austin, spread our wings, and launched ourselves from our nest in Palmdale, CA. Brayden and I took to the skies (ok...so we had a little help from Southwest Airlines), heading for our own little nest in Superior, Colorado.

The first few weeks of our new life mirrored the early weeks of our previous life, with a puddle of tears and a feeling of helplessness. We had not even begun the process of learning how to crawl, much less rejoin the sprint of every day life. Our little nest in "Hummingbird Heaven" was the perfect place to shield us from life's challenges as Brayden and I together learned once again how to crawl.

Now, as we left our nest and headed home to Colorado, we had mastered the crawl and felt confident in our ability to stand on our own two feet and face the daunting challenge of learning how to walk. As it turns out, learning to walk the second time is just as easy as the first. You simply need someone you love and trust to hold your hand, keep you steady, and help you overcome those first wobbly jitters.

We had no shortage of people to hold our hands as we began to walk on our own. Starting with my brother picking us up at the airport upon our arrival back in Denver and Tammy returning from visiting her family in Florida, we had friends and family reaching out to help us walk. We had play dates, sleepovers, swimming days, baseball games, and just a bevy of activities at our fingertips. Learning to walk again was easy with so many people offering to help.

Yet, even as we once again learned to walk on our own two feet and meet the challenges of the world without Tracell's love and support, we have had so many reminders of her presence. Every time a butterfly floats by, Brayden will call out, "Daddy...a butterfly...".

I will respond, "Mommy is watching...".

The butterflies are a bit duplicitous in their effect on Brayden. He has a moment of happiness and smiling, followed by a brief respite of sadness where he thinks about missing mommy. She is always present in his mind if not in his words. As a father, I want to reach out and make it better for him, yet it is the one thing in life I cannot put a band-aid over and make the hurt go away. All I can do is offer my arms, kisses, and love as he works through his feelings.

One activity that was organized upon our return to Colorad was a horseback ride. One of Brayden's Kindergarten teachers, Dianne Nyhuis, whom owns a couple horses in the area had frequently been offering to have Brayden come see her beautiful animals. I knew this was exactly the type of activity that would be therapeutic for Brayden after his mom died.

The week following the 4th of July, Dianne so generously arranged for Brayden, Tammy, and myself to go on a horseback ride. This was no casual gesture on Dianne's part. In fact, the lengths to which she went for Brayden were extraordinary. You see, Dianne owns TWO horses - one is her daughter's horse and the other is her own - and they were both planning on joining us for the ride. Those of you doing the math will conclude we were three horses short. However, Dianne reached out to her good friend at the stables, Pam, and together arranged for us to ride the horses of other members at the stable. Once again, a good friend extended her reach simply to help us adjust to our new life. I was and continue to be profoundly thankful and humbled by her gesture of kindness.

As we rode to the stable early on a Sunday morning, Brayden could not hold back his excitement. He proudly wore his Junior Ranger hat (acquired during our 2008 summer road trip). He babbled in long run-on sentences (those with young kids know exactly what I mean) about how he is a good horseback rider and what will his horse look like and what will his horse be named and he wonders if it will like carrots and he knows how to turn a horse and... Luckily the stable was only a ten minute drive from our home. The moment we arrived, Brayden was out the door and ready to meet his mount.

First we were introduced to Beau - the horse Brayden would ride. Brayden quickly endeared himself to Beau by providing him with a bucket of oats as he brushed his sleek dark coat.

Next came Latti - a smaller horse suitable for Tammy to ride who would later prove to have a sweet tooth for bright orange flowers.

Then came my horse, Indy. Indy was not a big horse. No, Indy was HUGE. Had he been constructed of wood, I would have been certain Indy was the reincarnation of the Trojan Horse, complete with a compliment of Trojan soldiers craftily hidden inside.



After exchanging some pleasantries with our mounts (pleasantries consisting of carrots and brushes), we took to the trail, the new version of the Three Muskateers, Brayden, Tammy, and Scott, cautiously escorted by our fabulous guides, Pam, Dianne, and Tara (Dianne's daughter). We sauntered along a dirt road before breaking off into the wilderness (ok..an open space trail in a flat field surrounded by some farms and apartment complex).



Indy clearly knew who was the boss as I expertly kept him on task and focused on our mission. However, Beau and Latti had a hunch they could get away with a few "snack breaks", consisting of flowers and alfalfa along the side of the trail. Brayden quickly learned the command "Walk On" as he pulled his mount away from the snack bar. However, Tammy was content to allow Latti taking a few extra flowers for the trip. I suppose it is to be expected for a girl to want more flowers.

The morning was fabulous. The weather, while it can be in the upper 90's this time of year, was mild and slightly overcast. Perhaps Tracell put a little blanket over the sun it from scorching us during our ride. With all the flowers in full bloom, you can imagine all of the butterflies escorting us along the way. Brayden pulled up next to me and mentioned that mommy was watching him ride Beau.

At one point, Pam lead us into the shallow waters of a lake and our horses gleefully kicked their legs in the water, creating a tsunami of water splashing all around us. For the first time since June 3rd, I saw Brayden laugh with pure and absolute joy, his heart far removed from its heavy burden. He was happy.



Along the ride, Dianne and I had the opportunity to talk about Brayden's ordeal. She and her co-teacher in Brayden's K-Care class had been so supportive since we first met them two years ago. When I told her how thankful I was for her arranging this ride, she responded, "I have never done anything like this for another student. That should let you know how special I think Brayden is.". A smile spread across my heart.

As we headed home, Brayden's mount, Beau, was eager to hasten our return. Suddenly, Beau began to trot as Brayden's tiny body bounced up and down in his saddle. It was a moment of discovery for Brayden. It was the first time Brayden had been on a horse trotting. Brayden quickly pulled back on the reigns and Beau returned to his leisurely stroll through the field of flowers. However, Brayden was hooked on trotting. He exclaimed, "Daddy, have you ever trotted on a horse before? I bet you can't trot like I just did...". So I rose to the challenge and brought my Trojan Horse to a trot and pulled past Brayden. Not to be outdone, Beau broke into a trot and pulled past Indy. Suddenly trotting had become a competition.

As Brayden trotted past me yet again, he shouted out, "Look at me!!!". The smile on his face was priceless. At that moment, I lost all interest in the competition. At that moment, I suddenly realized that we had taken another step forward in our developing life together. At that moment, I realized that first we were born, then we learned to crawl, then we learned to walk, and now, a month and a half after Tracell died, with our beautiful butterfly floating by our side, Brayden and I were Learning to Trot.

Catching Up on Blog Posts

Since returning to Colorado in June, I have been a bit remiss in updating my blog with our activities this summer. So during the next week, I am going to get everyone caught-up on our summer...

Flight of a Hummingbird

Tragedy never stops life, but slows it down just enough for humanity to take an inventory of their lives. Tragedy is our wake-up call to slow down and prioritize. Tragedy reminds us to live like we are dying.

Following Saturday's funeral, our butterfly spread her wings and returned us to a desert oasis in Palmdale, CA with Brayden's grandma and 'pa'. I suppose it is appropriate that Brayden and my new life begins where my old life once took flight, a place I will forever call home. Home is with my parents in Palmdale, a moderate sized city on the edge of the Mojave Desert, serving as a bedroom community to Los Angeles area commuters.

Ironically, Sunday, the first full day following Tracell's funeral, was Father's Day. The symbolic nature of the day was hardly lost on me. It goes without saying, this Father's Day was particularly special. It was a poignant reminder of just how my responsibilities as a father to Brayden have taken on a whole new dimension. From today forward, every day is going to be Father's Day for the two of us.

Brayden launched our new life, on Father's Day, with a very sweet homemade Father's Day card. It is a card I will keep forever, my reminder of this major transition in our lives. The card was a hand-drawn picture of a baseball pitcher on top of the pitcher's mound. He also drew a sweet card to his grandpa, with a picture of an Apollo rocket, acknowledging my father's career as a true rocket scientist. The rest of Father's Day was filled with hours of swimming in the backyard and a wonderful steak dinner. As we ate our dinner underneath the cool evening sky, we were constantly watched and monitored by our guardian butterfly and a mother hummingbird.

Did I say a hummingbird?

We are taught as children about the never ending "cycle of life". Be it through the death of a pet dog or cat, the squishing under foot of an adorable ladybug (tears included) or treacherous spider, or the loss of a human life, we learn where one life ends another begins. The regeneration of nature through life is constant. We are surrounded by it every single day, yet often too busy with our lives to stop and notice. Yet, as we stated at the outset, tragedy has a way of making life slow down and force us to take notice of our surroundings. So in the backyard of this small oasis in the desert, it was the nest of a hummingbird that fittingly began to slow down our grief-stricken lives.

Over the past three years, a hummingbird (it is assumed the same hummingbird) has chosen my parent's back patio deck as an ideal location for building her annual spring nest. The nest sat directly outside the kitchen window for easy viewing every morning. Each year, she has painstakingly attached her nest to a strand of white "icicle" lights that decoratively adorn the bottom of the deck and illuminate the patio below. Each year, she has laid her tiny hummingbird eggs, hardly bigger than a large jellybean (in fact, the hummingbird egg is the smallest hard shell egg in the world) sitting in an Easter basket. Each year, her eggs have failed to produce off-spring. Failed that is, until this year.

Around the same time as Tracell left us on earth, two baby hummingbirds arrived. Grandma Weiss provided Brayden and I with a full narration of the baby hummingbird activities up until the time we arrived in Palmdale. In her narrative, she excitedly shared how one of the baby hummingbirds had crawled a bit out of the nest and was "dangling" upside down on the nest and later on one of the icicle light wires. The morning of the funeral, this hummingbird was still dangling by the nest. Yet, when we arrived home late that night, exhausted from the events of the day, we observed the first baby hummingbird had earned its pilot wings and taken to the desert skies.

The following morning, Father's Day Sunday, Brayden and I went downstairs to the kitchen and immediately wanted to see the famous hummingbird nest. I slowly opened the back door and promptly set off the house alarm. Without knowing the code, I told Brayden to "go wake up grandma and ask for the code" (7 AM in the morning). After the commotion settled and grandma had woken from a sound sleep, we stepped outside to get our first daylight view of the hummingbird nest. At first glance, we saw no sign of a hummingbird. Then suddenly, taking a closer look, Brayden excitedly noticed baby hummingbird #2 actually sitting like a statue on the edge of its nest, patiently waiting for mother hummingbird to bring more food.

If only our own children could wait so patiently for momma to bring their meal!!!

Throughout the lazy Sunday afternoon, as we swam and talked and laughed, baby hummingbird # 2 sat like a statue at the edge of the nest. Every hour or two, mother hummingbird would fly to the nest and feed her baby. At times, mother hummingbird appeared to engage her special hover mode and be coaxing her baby to spread its wings and leave the nest. Baby hummingbird # 2 was having none of that risky adventure. It was content to simply sit on the edge of the nest and chirp for mother to come feed it.

Later the same afternoon, a second hummingbird nest was discovered hanging from the trellace by the gate to the back yard. In this nest sat two baby hummingbirds, facing in opposite directions, on the edge of the nest.

Thus, Brayden first dubbed it "Hummingbird Heaven".

Yet, dubbing this Palmdale desert home "Hummingbird Heaven" was hardly sufficient. You see, Brayden has a deep affinity for nature. This past spring, as we prepared our backyard garden at our home in Colorado, I found myself doing the digging while Brayden assigned himself the task of rescuing the turned-up worms, snails, and "rolly pollies". Each insect was awarded a homeowner subsidied relocation package to a safer garden neighborhood. So given his affinity for rescuing garden insects, it was hardly a surprise when Brayden decided the baby hummingbirds needed names.

Thus, baby hummingbird #1 was named "Dangily" for its propensity to dangle upside down on the nest prior to departure.

Baby hummingbird #2 was named "Edgy" for its stubborn refusal to leave the edge of the nest.

The two newly discovered baby hummingbirds, were named "Austin" and "Ryan", a tribute to Brayden's cousins who live near our home in Colorado.

Dangily was clearly the mature leader of the group. It was the first to venture from the nest, perform some acrobatics with upside down stunts, and then take flight to show off in front of its audience.

Edgy was uncertain about declaring itself fit for flying duty. It preferred to stay in the nest and have mom supply the meals. I believe many of my friends have experienced this with their children returning home after graduating from college...

Austin and Ryan were simply inseparable. One would not fly without the other, much like their namesakes.

At dinner Sunday evening, we sat only a few feet from the back patio nest where Edgy was constantly chirping its demands for room service. The hummingbird nest was the focal point of our dinner conversation, as we observed the incredible wonders of nature only a few feet away. My mother casually commented, "I am guessing it is highly unlikely we would ever get to see Edgy take its first flight..." We had a front row seat to the start of a new life and the mustering of courage for Edgy to fly. It was life slowing down so we could observe and appreciate our surroundings. It was the cycle of life, tragic death followed by the regeneration of life.

Monday morning, Edgy was still Edgy, sitting like a statue at the edge of its nest waiting for breakfast from mom. Momma hummingbird was still hovering outside the edges of the nest, coaxing her baby to take its first hummingbird "flaps". Austin and Ryan were also content with sitting in their nest by the backyard gate. From time to time, Dangily would make a guest appearance on a branch near the kitchen or even clinging (dangling) to the window screen of the dining nook.

In the late Monday afternoon, as Brayden let loose a cannonball into the pool, it was status quo in Hummingbird Heaven. Edgy showed no signs of leaving the nest. Brayden splashed in the pool as I sat on the patio beneath the deck and watched a child's exuberance with making big waves. Soon I found myself required to rate each cannonball from 1 to 10...with minimal difference in the small "kerplop" splash between a 2 and 10 score. Imagine the joy when he finally "achieved" a perfect 10 for his cannonball.

As Brayden swam to the edge of the pool to prepare for his 10,000th cannonball, I glanced over at the hummingbird nest, for I thought I saw momma hummingbird coming to feed Edgy. However, when I focused on the flying hummingbird, I noticed it struggling to flap its wings and maintain altitude. Clearly it was having mechanical difficulties and its altimeter was fluctuating wildly. This was NOT mamma hummingbird. In fact, this was EDGY leaving the nest!!! I screamed to Brayden, "EDGY LEFT ITS NEST!!! Brayden, hurry...come here...Edgy is flying out of its nest!!!!". Brayden scrambled out of the pool and dashed to the patio.

By the time Brayden arrived at the patio, Edgy had performed a "controlled" crash landing on the patio below. It was a landing similar to those landings you experience in an airplane on a gusty afternoon, the wheels slamming to the runway and the plane briefly taking flight again before pounding and bouncing on the runway a half dozen more times. Edgy softly bounced to the patio below, stunned and amazed at its adventure.

Brayden walked near Edgy as it sat like a statue. At this time, we were uncertain if Edgy had injured itself during its test flight. It just sat. Then it began to chirp. Momma hummingbird instantly returned to the nest only to find it empty. She frantically flew in fits and starts around the nest, trying to find her precious Edgy, trying to locate the source of the chirps. After several minutes, momma hummingbird located Edgy. She slowly hovered above Edgy as if to say, "I am so proud of you...now lets get back up and try again...".

So Edgy tried again. On its second attemp, Edgy truly took flight. It quickly darted up into the air and bolted to a nearby tree branch. This five second flight was a milestone for Edgy as it finally earned its hummingbird wings. Momma hummingbird was now an empty nester.

Brayden and I had witnessed the first flight of a hummingbird.

Ryan and Austin, in the nearby nest by the backyard gate, promptly followed Edgy's inspiring example, taking flight by the following day. "Hummingbird Heaven" was no longer a hummingbird nursery, but rather had become a hummingbird flight line. Our hummingbird families frequently return and hover from tree to tree and branch to branch. We can no longer identify our hummingbirds by name, but we never fail to notice when they return home for a visit.

Between our daily swimming, playing catch (baseball), butterflies, and hummingbirds, our life has begun to slow down, given us time to take stock of our grief as well as the promising road ahead. In this tumultuous week, we have observed both the tragedy and beauty of life.

Yet, we shouldn't need tragedy to slow down our lives and observe our surroundings. We simply need to gain a proper perspective on the fragility of life and prioritize accordingly. As Tracell would state in her funeral service, we need to make choices that matter, make a difference in people's lives, and live like we are dying.

In a couple short days, Brayden and I will board a plane and return home to Colorado. He is excited to return home and see his friends. I am excited to begin our new adventure together.

In many ways, I feel like Brayden and I are Edgy, sitting on the edge of our nest trying to summon the courage to take our first flight. When we do, those watching will have the chance to witness the first flight of a hummingbird.

Authors Note

Authors Note:

The response to my first blog post has been absolutely overwhelming!! Stunning in fact. Your comments have inspired me like never before in my life. I have read many e-mails and comments about how my post had touched each of you in some way, especially through the butterflies. I also read that I should receive a commission from Kleenex for all the tissues people went through after reading the post!!

I assure you that not all of my posts in this blog will be ten tissue tear-jerkers. Hopefully everyone that follows our journey together will enjoy moments of humor, inspiration, hope, and success...and maybe the occasional tear when I reflect back on Tracell from time to time.

I hope that through our story, you will find some bit of inspiration you can use in your own story and journey. I welcome you to share with me your thoughts and feelings...and suggestions.

Thank you all for your amazing support...

Scott

New Life Takes Flight

Today, June 21, 2009, our new life begins.

The birth of our new life has been through a long and painful end of the old.

Yesterday, June 20, 2009, Tracell Ann Weiss's casket was lowered into its final resting place, a burial plot with her grandmother and grandfather under a towering shade tree. In a matter of minutes, her site was covered with a blanket of flowers, the only remaining symbol of her colorful life. With tears streaming down my face, as the sun began to set on the most difficult day of my gray life, I re-arranged her blanket as though tucking her in for the night, and said goodbye.

It was a sorrowful conclusion to a journey that began almost five years prior, when Tracell first received the devastating diagnosis:

"The lump in your breast is malignant. You have breast cancer.".

Not once on that dark afternoon did I think those words would lead to this sad goodbye at her gravesite. While Tracell shed tears, I callously told her, "You have one day to feel sorry for yourself, and then we are going to fight this and beat it.".

Really she had every right to feel sorry for herself for the next five years, as the cancer fought relentlessly to consume her physical body. Yet while it consumed her body to the very last breath, on June 3, 2009 at 12:00 PM, it never touched her amazing spirit. Tracell never quit. Tracell never felt sorry for herself. Tracell never stopped being Tracell.

Through it all, through the chemotherapy, double masectomy, radiation, more chemotherapy, lung draining, natural therapies, radical diet change, surgeries, spinal fractures, and breathing tubes, Tracell never lost focus on why she was fighting so hard:

Brayden Mark Weiss.

Brayden is our son. He was born in October 2001 and had just turned three years old when Tracell first heard the devastating news she had cancer. Her first thought was about Brayden. Every thought the next five years was about Brayden. She was fighting for time, time with her son, to watch him grow into a man.

Yet, despite every prayer and plea, the cancer failed to grant a mother's right to watch her child grow to adulthood. It failed to understand her benevolent wishes to watch her son graduate from high school and college, to see him married, and greet her grandchildren. No, the cancer played by its own rulebook, a rulebook that could only have been drafted from the deepest layers of Dante's fiery Inferno.

As Tracell slowly ran out of appeals with her antagonist, she sought to make every moment with Brayden count. She threw him a huge 7th birthday party, with a homemade "snake" cake that became so famous with her friends, they referred to "the snake cake" as they shared, during her final days, what they most admired and loved about Tracell. She took Brayden for a two-week "trip of a lifetime" to Florida in February, made memorable by Brayden's ear-infection, three hours of standing in the rain at the Daytona 500, and her lifetime dream of swimming with dolphins. Even as she struggled to breathe and limited to a wheelchair with multiple compression fractures in her spinal column, Tracell managed to attend three of Brayden's baseball games in April/May 2009.

Tracell was an incredible mother. She set the highest example of love and guidance for her son. She was "momma kitty" and he was her "baby kitty", even during Brayden's final visit two days before she slipped from the clutches of cancer and into the hands of God.

It has been said, the death of an individual is a tragedy, the death of a million a mere statistic.

On June 3rd, Tracell become our tragic statistic.

Tracell was our tragedy. Our friend, mother, and daughter.

Tracell was breast cancer's latest statistic, another notch among millions of victims.

On June 3rd, everyone that knew Tracell became a victim. We all joined the victims of those who, at one time or another, mourned the devastating loss of a loved mother, wife, friend, and daughter to breast cancer.

So it was, as she rose into the hands of God, that Tracell began to give birth to the new life of a father and son. Together, Brayden and I began the transition from our old life to the new, marked with a river of tears as we mourned the loss of mommy.

Following a beautiful celebration of her life on June 13, 2009 in Northglenn, CO, friends and family gathered outside the church to give flight to a final wish. It was her wish to transfer her spirit to the flight of a butterfly. As more than a hundred mourners joined hands in a circle, Brayden released thirty-six Monarch butterflies, each lifting her spirit high into the bright blue sky.

As I stood at Tracell's California gravesite and said goodbye, a Monarch butterfly landed on the blanket of flowers. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I knew it was Tracell's spirit giving birth to our new life. The butterfly twitched it's wings and waited.

I made her one final promise, "Tracell, I promise to make sure our son will never forget you."

Then I said, "We're ready."

The butterfly opened its wings and took flight.

So began our new life, Brayden and I together, riding on the wings of a butterfly.















Brayden and Scott at a Rockies Game