Sunday, April 6, 2025 - Day 236

Sunday, April 6, 2025

Sunday Reflections Good morning, friends. It’s Sunday again, and I find myself sitting in my usual spot by the fireplace (my church), with a swirl of emotions—some heavy, some light, all very real.

Cindy mentioned the idea of turning this blog into a book. It caught me off guard, in a good way. A book? I’ve poured my raw thoughts into 226 entries since August, trying to make sense of this shitty diagnosis (credit to my sister Lis for that wording). But a book? That feels… bigger. More permanent. The truth is, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to wade through my daily ramblings. Yet maybe, just maybe, there’s something worth preserving—something worth sharing, especially with my grandkids, family, and the people who’ve stood with me through all of this.

Lately, I catch myself wondering: Will anyone remember me when I’m gone? It’s a fear that sneaks in, even though I know it’s as pointless as worrying about whether I should take Social Security at 62 or 70. I’ve always joked, “If I wait until 70 to draw and I die before I break even, I won’t be mad—I’ll be dead.” On the flip side, I’d probably be mad if I start drawing at 62 and live into my 80s. So why does the question of remembrance feel any different? But logic often gets blurry when time starts to feel more finite. That moment… it’s coming. I feel it getting closer. I can’t step off this path, and that’s terrifying in ways I can’t always explain. Gulp.

Still, I see the value in trying to gather all of this—my fears, my hopes, my love for everyone around me—into something tangible. Something that says: I was here. This was my heart. This was my life.

In the midst of all this emotional weight, there’s the bracelet sweatshop—and it’s buzzing. Cindy’s got reinforcements now (they volunteered, of course). Friends, neighbors, family—so many people stepping up to help. Every offer, every kind gesture, hits me straight in the chest. I’m overwhelmed in the best way. You all show up, again and again, and I see it so clearly: I’m not alone. Andy’s Army is real, and you’ve got our backs. It brings tears to my eyes—this constant, unwavering love. I can’t say thank you enough.

A special shoutout to Nicole (Alex’s fiancée), who deserves all the credit for getting the bracelet idea off the ground. She quietly made over 50 bracelets last fall and surprised us with them. It was such a thoughtful gift, and it meant so much. Since then, Cindy has taken over production—because Nicole has her hands full with a job, wedding planning, coaching the little ones at the Highland Park swim club, and of course… Alex (guys are a full-time job). Thank you, Nicole.

Mike, a new friend who already feels like an old one, offered to install cameras on the house. We’ve had some punk kids playing ding-dong ditch and knocking on windows—harmless, maybe, but unsettling. After 20+ peaceful years here, it’s strange. I joked about putting the cameras up myself, but let’s be honest: I can’t even lift the ladder. I’d have to mount them at eye-level, which probably wouldn’t catch much more than belt buckles. Thankfully, Mike’s on it. Thank you, my friend.

Later in the day, we spent time at Kishwaukee Brewing with some of Cindy’s old high school friends (Ron and Kim). A couple of hours of laughter, stories, and good beer. Simple. Perfect. But then something was said—I don’t even remember what—and it just broke me open. The tears came, and the words didn’t. It’s been weeks since I’ve had one of those moments. I thought I was getting better at keeping it together. But maybe the trick isn’t holding it back—maybe the real strength is in letting it come, feeling it fully, and letting it pass… followed by a good hug. In all the emotion, we missed taking a photo. Guess we’ll have to go back for another tasting and try again.

Robyn sent me a couple photos yesterday…great substitute.

So here I am. Scared. Grateful. Loved. Supported beyond anything I ever expected. And doing my best to honor all of it.

Have a great Sunday.

Love you guys! ❤️