It is overwhelming writing this and knowing that my Kevin is gone from this life. I miss him everyday.

Kevin's birth changed my life, forever making it sweeter and more precious, while his death is so final. Kevin will always be alive in my heart. I will not let go.

 I remember the day Kevin and Wayne went to the doctor and Wayne called telling me it would take a year to get well, but Kevin would probably come through this. "Why?" I asked myself. "I don't understand. Surely not!" I knew something wasn't right. We kept thinking that surely they had made an error in the diagnosis. It must be a misunderstanding. I remember hanging my head as Dr. Ward told Kevin it was cancer. I wanted to protect my son. The doctor told him perhaps later on in life, after this ordeal, he could be sitting on his porch and strumming his guitar. The hope of "someday" seemed enough at that time. Knowing that Kevin could hang on and be alive was comfort enough. Kevin is always with me in my heart.

During his many treatments and surgeries, you could not ask for a better patient. He was always willing to try to beat the odds. The chemotherapy made him feel bad. Even though he lost his hair and weight, he still weathered each trial set before him. I don't know how he remained so strong, but he was no quitter.

He loved North Carolina and the Carolina Panthers. I recall him telling people in Houston, "North Carolina is beautiful. You should try to come and see it sometime."

Everyday when I would bring him home, he would ask for the phone to check if anyone had called. Most days, no one had. I thought about asking people to call, but I knew sometimes he did not feel like talking. He also wanted to know if he had mail. With all his pain and suffering, he still tried to carry on with life.

He had a 4-wheeler at one point and enjoyed riding it. In his last months, he would ask for his helmet, goggles, and gloves, and sit on the sofa with his equipment on. I tried to stay behind him, so he would not see me crying, wondering what he was thinking in his head inside the helmet. I knew he would probably never ride again. I was hurting for him. It seemed so unfair. He was always off the scale in height and weight. How could he be struck down with cancer? There was nowhere to go. Be happy with what you have today, because it is all any of us have.

There were so many special things about Kevin. He always thought of others. When he found out he had cancer, the first thing he said was, "It sure is going to be hard on Granny and Pa." He was wise beyond his age. He often told me he felt like an old man. I would tell him he was not old, and that I was sorry he felt that way. It was the disease.

From June 2006 through November 2006, I was with him almost every day. Those days were gifts. In the fall, he would get up and I would bring him a cup of apple cider. He might have to put on a light coat and gloves, but he enjoyed this. We would sit on the porch in the rocking chairs listening to the birds. We just liked being there together. He told me that fall was his favorite time of year. Sometimes we would talk or just be still. He shared with me how he felt, his beliefs, and his values, many of which I carry with me every day. If I felt down he would say, "Mom, if you feel down, do something for someone. That is the best thing to do." If I got aggravated he would say, "Don't get all worked up, Mom." 

I will miss being called “mom,” Kevin wishing me Merry Christmas, happy birthday, and happy mother's day. I will always be thankful for the blessing he was in my life and the blessing he still is to others. Some parents do not have children, even as long as I had Kevin. As a parent, you always want more for your child. A friend once told me that as long as we are on this earth, there will always be disease, pain, and suffering.

I miss Kevin so much. In his last days, he wondered why he was even here. Sometimes he would say, "Mom, the days end like they begin." He would be coughing, taking medicine, and struggling. He shared with me how life is like a vapor. He would tell me not to worry about him, and that he would be okay. Kevin had grown tired. He wanted to live, but when surgery was not an option, he knew his body could not take much more. His body looked like a body in war with scars down his chest, along his rib cage, and down his leg.

His last night as he lay suffering, he was very restless. The last thing I remember him saying was, "I want to go home."

I miss seeing his phone number light up on my phone and his needing me. I miss the unconditional love a mother has for her son. I could never say enough about my son. The love I have and hold for him is forever and will continue to be with me as long as I live. I will try to take life one day at a time. Kevin is at peace now. No more suffering, no more pills, no more chemo, surgery or radiation, no more doctors telling him there is nothing we can do, just peace forever.