Saturday, February 1, 2025

Appreciate What You Have

 It’s surreal thinking how long ago my grandma passed away, and yet she continues to have such a positive impact on my life. I thought about this while in the MRI machine for 2 1/2 hours last week and remembered something my grandma said to me before she died…


Maybe memories like this keep popping up because the 30th of January was the day my little boy, Zeke, passed away so many years ago. He was only alive for 2 1/2 months, and he stayed at Primary Children’s almost the whole time. It was the most horrific, harrowing experience of my whole life, and I think taking him off of life support is the worst thing I will ever do. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully move past it.


One of the only positive things that grew from that experience was how close I got to my grandma. She started calling every day while he was alive just to make sure I was okay. And sometimes, she’d call more than once a day after he passed. 


Her health began failing a few years later, and she told me something sobering during one of our many conversations. “Elisa, you see me in St. George about 2–4 times a year. Usually, you’re here a day. Well, I’m getting a lot worse, and I started thinking if I passed away next year, that only gives us about four more days together.”


This comment hit me. Four more days. It’s odd how we think about the time each year and the importance we put on menial tasks…things we do to fill our days and years. Conversely, I DO recognize that having a purpose is important, but in the process of trying to attain our goals, we often lose perspective.


Oddly enough, on the anniversary of my first son’s death, I overheard a man on a business call. He said, “I’m a doer, and you’re a doer! Do you know why I surround myself with doers?! So we can get more done!”


I saw so much of myself in that man but wondered if he understood that no one ends up on their deathbed, asking to be surrounded by piles of money—no one asks for crap that they bought. They ask for their family! And if we haven’t spent quality time with the people we love, will they be there for us? How many “days” have we spent with THEM? Did they feel like a priority? 


We’d been in line, and this man ended up butting everyone, bypassing dozens of people in his hurry through life! People gaped at each other, stunned, but that’s when Mike noticed something strange. 


“He left this!” Mike held up an electronic device the man had forgotten, something we knew he’d need later. Being inconsiderate and rushing around so much cost him time in the long run! It just goes back to my grandma’s point about time. 


It’s sad because after my grandma made that comment about how many days we had left together, she actually died within about six months, and I only got one more day with her. One. Single. Day…


So, I just wanted to remind you to appreciate the time you have. Appreciate your family and friends. Never let a day go by when they don’t know how much you love them because life is unpredictable, and I’ve come to believe that the most valuable thing any of us can do is make a positive difference for the people around us, especially the people we love. 


It’s cliché for a reason, but now is all we really have. Make it count.



Friday, January 31, 2025

Hope from a Stranger


Someone said cancer is overtaking my life,” I typed, sobbing as I messaged my friend, Jess. I thought about sharing more, then erased the words several times. Most of my friends and family don’t understand what this journey is like, especially at this age. Often, I hold back, censoring myself because I don’t want to complain and push people away. It’s a tough place to be, but Jess is around my age, honest, and usually so understanding.

I’ve leaned on her quite a bit, to the point that I felt like I needed additional help; that’s when I started counseling again last year.

“You’d do better in group sessions,” the counselor said after only a few months.

“Why?” I asked. I’ve never had a counselor do something like that before.

“They’d understand your circumstances because they’re going through it too. I know what I’m supposed to say, but I’ve never had terminal cancer… I think you need to talk with people who understand.”

Her honesty was refreshing, despite that I haven’t dared to start group sessions again. I did them a while ago, and many of the terminal patients I met have died, and that's beyond devastating.

“Do I…” I typed the words, so nervous my hands shook. “Do I talk about cancer a lot?” I finally asked Jess something that's worried me for months. If anyone would respond with kindness and reassurance, I thought it would be her.

“If I’m honest,” she wrote back, “you talk about cancer all the time. It’s already hard enough SEEING that you’re suffering, but now your kids and husband hear about it all the time, too. You need to stop letting cancer ruin your life.”

I bawled after that; my face puffed, and my eyes turned red.

Luckily, I’d calmed down when my mom talked with me. “Elisa, you know how I’m playing the drums in that band?”

“Yes,” I said, setting concerns aside and feeling so happy for her. “You guys are awesome!”

“They’ll be over tonight, and they want to meet you.” She paused for effect. “Bill, the lead guitarist, said you're welcome to jam with us.”

So I decided to practice with them, but it was a struggle because I wasn’t feeling my best. “Are you okay?” my mom asked at one point. “Are you in a lot of pain today?”

I shook my head, lying. I’d already felt terrified about oversharing, but after reading the texts from Jess, my fears grew. “I’m great. Really.” But I’m not. I’m undergoing radiation again AND new cancer treatments because the cancer is growing. They're exhausting and debilitating. They make you nauseous and sick all the time. And unless someone has experienced this first-hand, I don’t think they truly understand.

Just after noon, I met everyone in the band. Denver, the rhythm guitarist, spoke with me for a little while. His kind nature and Scottish accent immediately drew me in. I had the best conversation with him and had no idea he knew about my diagnosis until he said something that surprised me.

“You know,” he finally whispered, “my mother had melanoma. She did eventually die from it, but she lived to be 70!” He patted me on the back. “So don’t lose hope, girl. You might have a long time yet.” Then he winked at me.

Tears filled my eyes because a perfect stranger had acknowledged how serious this fight is, and in the same breath, he’d also given me hope. 

We played three songs as a group. My mom and I smiled, shifting speed and taking cues simultaneously like we always do while jamming together. My previous worries dissipated, floating up so many octaves that I became obliviously unaware.

After we finished playing, I thought about how incredible playing felt. I didn’t worry about how I walked or hunched from the side. I didn’t fret over talking about cancer too much or too little. Instead, I loved how nimbly my fingers could still move, dancing up and down the fingerboard, turning strings and wood to sounds that change the climate of an entire day. 

“Please, please play with us for our gigs.” The bassist shocked me. “We only play once a month.”

“I wish I could, but I play a few songs and get too tired.” 

“Well, you really can fiddle!” Denver interjected. “I’m so glad we got to hear you play.”

After almost everyone else had packed up and left, Denver lingered in the entryway.

“You,” he said, then stood straight. I wondered what he’d wanted to say. “You’re…” So many thoughts seemed to swirl in his brain, but instead of saying anything, he thought hard. “You’re the best!” Then he pointed to me and gave me the brightest smile. “Hang in there.”

After Denver left, my mom turned to me. “Not bad for a group of people in their 60s and 70s.”

“Are you kidding?!” I said, giving her the biggest hug. “You guys are AMAZING! Especially you and Denver!”


Friday, January 24, 2025

Learn From Others

I opened my grandma's happiness file and read the words she'd written in 1998: Learn from others. This brought back a memory of something that happened when I recently went to the radiation oncology clinic. 

A kind-looking couple, probably in their 80s, talked so earnestly. At one point, the man must've noticed my interest because he turned to me and smiled.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," I said, "but you got radiation once and said you'd never come back?"

"It was... different than I expected," he said. "Is this your first time?"

I shook my head and told him I'd been there multiple times.

"So you know how hard it actually is?" he whispered. "The fatigue? And nausea?"

I nodded. "I'm just so grateful to be alive." I sat back in my seat. "If you don't mind my asking... what made you decide to get radiation again?"

 "Like you said, it kept me alive." 

He squeezed his wife's hand, and she finally spoke, explaining that ever since her husband first went into remission, he started a progress log, writing down what everyone in their family had been up to. After the cancer returned, they went through the log together and highlighted the best moments of every month.

"There were so many things in my life that I didn't really appreciate until I got sick," he added, and I nodded with understanding. 

"I looked back at all of the time—and years—I would've missed if I hadn't gotten radiation the first time. After reading through the progress log, it felt surreal how everyone in my family grew so much as people. And I got to watch. I had a front-row seat for all of it." He smiled reflectively. "A couple of our grandkids graduated from college. One of them even got married! I just can't imagine missing out on that or missing the look of pride on our son's face."

The two of them turned to each other with such love, and the woman actually had tears in her eyes. 

So, I heard an incredible reminder from a couple of strangers. And when the nurse called me back to my appointment and I spoke with the radiation oncologist, I didn't feel quite as hesitant as I had before. 

"How are you doing today?" my doctor asked me.

"Much better," I said, and I meant it.

Sunday, January 19, 2025

Success is Subjective

I’m not sure if you’ve heard of the Frequency Phenomenon, but I’m sure you’ve experienced it. An example would be when you buy a car and suddenly see that same kind of car everywhere. Or you could be thinking about butterflies, then find a documentary about them, receive a butterfly sticker, and maybe even see one in real life—all within a short period. Anyway, I’ve been doing that with the word “persevere,” and I’ve been wondering if it happened so I could help a kid who came over to our house earlier this week...


I’d already been thinking about perseverance, but this didn’t get odd until I opened my grandma’s happiness file. I’ve talked about this file before. My grandma suffered from pretty severe depression, but she came from a time when people didn’t see therapists or look for help when they struggled with mental health problems. So, trying to solve this on her own, she wrote on dozens of index cards, sharing what makes her happy. Then she put the cards into an old recipe box so that whenever she felt down, the cards waited with something better to focus on… something that made her happy.
 
After I got diagnosed with cancer, I wished I could talk with my grandma, but she’d passed away so many years before. Now, her happiness file and words of wisdom have become like a lifeline from Heaven, and I’m grateful to read her notes whenever I’m sad, too.

The other day, I pulled out a card from the happiness file. I expected to read what the cards normally say: a quote, inspiration, or words of encouragement. But the card this time only said one word… PERSEVERE. Hoping for something more to ground me, I went to a jar I have that’s filled with daily inspirations, and it talked about “your story.” "What does your story say about you?” It went on to talk about strength and resilience, and then the end of the card talked about—of course—perseverance.


Not long after this, a family friend came over to our house. “I just haven’t accomplished much,” he said. “All these kids I’ve graduated with, they’ve accomplished so much. They’re going to school. Some of them have graduated already, and they have awesome careers. They’re making so much money. And what do I have to show for my life?”

“You’re only 21,” I said. Then I took a deep breath. “And with my fight against mortality and death… I’ve shifted my focus. What really matters in life... What I consider to be "successful," has changed. I guess I’ve just fully realized how subjective so much of this is.”

“So what do you think success is?” he asked.

“Life—to me—is all about relationships. What matters most to me now is making a positive difference for the people I love. I’ve had to work hard to persevere through a lot, but my family keeps me going.” I recently got some tough news. I’d been getting so hopeful because the cancer in my body hadn’t grown since August of 2024, but they just found a new tumor in my pelvis and another possible tumor in my spinal cord this January (2025). I didn’t relay any of this to our family friend; I didn’t want to place that burden on him and detract any more from his current struggles. "I just hope you know what an incredible person you are," I said.

“Have you ever felt like a failure?” he asked, and I nodded. “It’s such a terrible feeling. I’m stuck in a hamster wheel, not going anywhere.”

“I know this might sound… strange…But can we pull up your Facebook page?”

“Um.” He got out his phone. “Okay, Yeah.”

I flashed through his pictures and smiled. “You look happy, and so does everyone around you.”

“That was during a family vacation.” He laughed. “We didn’t have much money, but we had the best time anyway.” He paused. “You know, it was actually more fun than the vacations when my parents had more money.” He continued telling me about other experiences, funerals, weddings, and hiking trips.

“This was all in 2024?” I asked, and when he confirmed, I said, “You did so much in a single year! And look at all of these people, these people who love you. You’ve impacted their lives. You make such a difference.”

I watched as some new realizations dawned on him while he scrolled through pictures. “I have done a lot this year, haven’t I?”

“You have. It was so neat seeing how happy everyone was in those pictures with you.”

“You really think the most important thing is relationships?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Not a career? Getting an education?”

I shook my head.

“Not money?”

“Nope. I really think it’s about relationships and being kind. That’s it." I took a deep breath. "I know you're worried about your future, but don’t worry. You’re gonna go far in life. You have the two most important skills: you’re kind, and you’re a hard worker. You know how to persevere and still make a difference for other people. So, don’t be too hard on yourself. Everything else will fall into place.”

He nodded. “Hey, thanks, Elisa. I… I do feel a lot better.”

It was such a surreal experience, literally witnessing as at least some of the weight and stress left this kid. I just hope he knows how many incredible things he's doing right now—in the present. He's making a difference for everyone he knows.

Anyway, after he left, I thought again about my grandma’s word from the happiness file (PERSEVERE) as well as the daily inspiration. If we could all look back at our lives and see what a positive difference we’ve made for other people and what our stories show about us... If we could see how hard we're striving and persevering just to make it through life... I think it could change how we live, help us give ourselves grace, and make us a lot happier about the people we’re striving to be.

Friday, January 3, 2025

Always Good to be Kind

"You know what enters the room when you do?" I asked my 14-year-old, Indy, and she shook her head.

"SUNSHINE," I said. "That's what I feel when you come into a room."

Indy grinned so big that the light from it reached her eyes. "You're feeling good?" she asked, and when I nodded, her excitement surprised me.

"Whatcha wanna do?" I sounded so much like myself before this whole ordeal with cancer started.

"Go to the coffee shop?" She smiled big as if she'd been waiting for a day like this for her whole life. "A boy from school works there, and he said…" She looked down at her feet. "You know, we're just friends, but he said he'd buy me a sandwich if I came to see him at work."

"Sounds great," I said, "but there's a catch."

"Anything," she said, surprising me again. "As long as it's just the two of us."

I grabbed my purse and pulled a tiny sack from it.

"What are those?" she asked, coming closer.

"Well, they've become kind of magical because they bring happiness." Then I dumped the contents into her hand, and her eyes lit with wonder. For just a moment, I forgot that she's 14, and it seemed that a tiny six-year-old sat in front of me, wondering over fireflies again. "They're magnets," I said as her eyes took in every detail.

"All different kinds of flowers…" She flipped each one over. "Ladybugs. Mushrooms—with faces. And turtles." She actually giggled at that point. "The turtles are so cute!"

"Think hard," I finally said after she'd looked at each one, "and pick the one you think would be the very best for today."

"You give these to people?" she asked. 

"When I feel like I should." I smiled at my precious girl.

She took a while, almost picking a turtle at one point, then selected a sunflower. "This one. I'm not sure why, but I pick this one."

"While we're out today, I want you to find someone who seems like they might need a smile. You'll think of something good about them and actually tell them before giving them the sunflower. You up for it?"

"A stranger?" Her eyes had grown wider. "Mama, I don't know if I can do that."

"I understand if it's too scary. But just promise you'll try?"

"Yeah, sure! It sounds fun… except for the stranger part."

We both laughed and headed to the coffee shop where Indy's friend works.

"You see anyone?" I asked.

"I don't think so," she replied, and I didn't want to press it at all.

"No worries."

Indy got her free sandwich, and we had a wonderful date together. Then, it was about time to head back home.

"Mama, we haven't been out like this in forever," she said, and I felt more grateful for the pain pump than in previous months. "Remember how we used to go to the photo booth when I was younger… before you got sick? We'd go on dates and get our pictures taken there."

I nodded. Indy has some of those pictures still hanging on her mirror.

"You wanna go to the mall and take pictures at the photo booth?"

"Would that be okay? If you're still feeling all right?"

I nodded. Fighting cancer has changed a lot in our lives and somehow catapulted our teenagers through the tough years and made them appreciative and extremely helpful.

Indy has her learner's permit (since kids can drive at 15 in Idaho), but she still has a lot to learn, and when she drives, I feel closer to G-d—because I pray so much for Him to spare our lives.

Anyway, after we walked into the mall, a rush of people skirted past us. I wondered if they returned holiday gifts or just wanted to go shopping for 2025 sales. Regardless, the number of people seemed unusual.

"You okay?" Indy asked because I went toward the wall and held onto it.

"Yeah," I said. "That was just a lot of people. I'm glad it's calmer now."

We looked over and must've seen her at the exact same time. A woman used a walker to inch toward the exit. People passed her—not even noticing her struggles. And with a sinking heart, I wondered if that's what true loneliness looks like. 

"That's her!" Indy suddenly said. "That's who the sunflower is for."

"But you said you were nervous about going up to a stranger?"

"I'm not nervous anymore." She straightened up. "She needs this."

Indy walked over, almost matching speed with the woman. Then, she finally stood in front of her, and the woman peered up, shocked. Mall customers continued passing by, too busy to notice a miracle unfolding right next to them. 

Few words were exchanged, but Indy stood there, looking kindly at the woman. After a few moments more, Indy walked back toward me, and the woman's eyes never left her, even as she clutched the simple sunflower magnet to her chest.

"Are you okay?" I asked because tears filled Indy's eyes.

"You won't believe what she said."

"What?" I asked.

"Well, I told her how beautiful she is and that I wanted to give her something special to remember. Then she told me she's 85 and hasn't heard something like that about herself in decades!"

"That's… I'm so glad you said that to her, Indy. Is that why you're crying?"

"No, Mama," she said. "I'm crying because when she first saw me, she said, "Oh, my goodness. SUNSHINE!" Indy swallowed hard. "Like I was SUNSHINE. Actual sunshine... Just like you said." She shook her head in wonder. "She did more for me than I did for her. You were right. Those are magic. Where did you get them, Mama?" she joked.

"The dollar store," I replied, and we both laughed.

"Wow. She made my heart feel so warm." Then, more tears filled Indy's eyes as we walked toward the photo booth to finish off the perfect date.

 "It's always good to be kind," Indy said, and I knew in that moment that I couldn't be any prouder of Indy and all of my kids. 

Thursday, January 2, 2025

Happy Holidays and Happy New Year

 We’ve had so much fun celebrating Hanukkah. Trey even gave me and Mike a poncho. So thoughtful.🥰 We’ve played a ton of games, AND I even won… once. 😂 But we’ve had the best time, and I’m really grateful for the time. 🕎 ✡️ ✨

Even though Indy and I are the only people in our family who are converting to Judaism, we’re so thankful for our family and friends’ support 🥰




Wednesday, January 1, 2025

The ‘I Cans’ in Life

We recently went to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and had the most incredible time. But despite how fun it was, at one point, I found myself getting a little bit sad because there’s so much I can’t do. I knew the kids wanted to go skiing—and I brought my laptop so I could stay busy at the room while they were gone—but I guess they wanted me to be involved.

Unfortunately, since there’s no way I can do something like skiing, they ended up scheduling some family pictures. 😮

Anyway, our family did sooo many incredible things there: tried new restaurants, went shopping, saw museums, moose, and elk… Who knew these western pictures would end up being the kids’ favorite part?!

This was so much fun 🥰



P. S. I wish our two oldest girls could’ve come (they had to work), but we’re already trying to pick a time to visit Jackson again when they can come too 💓 This was just too great; we need to do it again. 







#ecstilson #butchcassidyandthesundancekid #butchcassidylookalike #sundancekid #sundancekidlookalike #thesundancekid #paulnewmanlookalike #fyp #foryoupage

Word to Live By?

 If you could pick a single word to live by for 2025, which word would you pick? I’m thinking about maybe potential, capable, or open. I looked up the etymology of each word, and they’re all pretty neat. How about you? 




P.S. Happy New Year! 🥰🥰🥰🎉🎉🎉 I hope it’ll be incredible for you. 







#ecstilsonfaith #ecstilsonfindingpeace #elisabethmagagna #elisamagagna #ecstilson #stage4cancer

Friday, December 27, 2024

Kindness Is the Best Teacher

Before meeting with an HR team, Trey asked for me to do a mock interview. "I'm extremely hard working,” he said, “and that’s why I'll be the best decision you ever made here—because I won't let you down." Then he thoughtfully tapped his fingers on his knee. “This apprenticeship, well… it’ll change the course of my life. I just need a chance.


I hadn't realized exactly HOW much he’d wanted this, and I couldn’t help staring at him. 

That next week, Trey landed the years-long welding apprenticeship AND a scholarship paid by the state. Now, half a year later, he’s worked hard and appreciated every minute. He's showed enthusiasm even when he’s tired and never called in sick even when he could have. There was only one hiccup—last month.

“Your car broke down?” Mike asked Trey on the phone. “I’ll be right there, but this might cost a bit to fix.”

We’ve asked Trey to pay for half of his car parts, and although he and Mike do the labor, it can still get expensive. “Trey, they’re paying you at this apprenticeship.” I sighed. “Why don’t you have any money?” We had this conversation after I logged into our joint checking account and saw some larger purchases.

“There’s a reason for all of it,” he said. “But if it’s okay, I don’t feel like it’s my place to say.”

"You’re not in danger?" I asked, suddenly worried. High school is a different place than when I was a kid.

Trey actually laughed. “No! It’s nothing like that.” Then he added, “I’ll make sure to save money in the future—and I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

Time passed, and eventually the holidays came. Not knowing what to get Trey, I noticed him perusing, video games and instruments (not surprising), but then he googled uncharacteristic things too like cameras, art supplies, and clothes.

“Mom, people have shown me so much kindness since you got sick,” he said one day. “I still can’t believe I got Borah!” His cat looked up at the mention of his name and took the opportunity to meow at us. “But I don’t want you worrying about the holidays. I make my own money. Just worry about going to your cancer treatments and getting better.”

This brought tears to my eyes, making me vow to give him something extra special. 

Ironically, it wasn’t long after Trey opened his big gift—a new woodwind instrument—that I started receiving a few unexpected calls and texts.

“He bought our son the nicest gift!” The first woman cried. “Money has been so tight since my husband lost his job. We didn’t know what to do this year. But it all worked out. It’s gonna be okay.”

I didn’t know what to say. And when I finally understood what Trey had done, I could hardly believe it. “I’m… I’m stunned,” I said.

“Me too! This is like a miracle.”

The day ended with three sets of parents calling or texting, just wanting Mike and I to know what Trey had done for their kids—all classmates he thought might be struggling this year.

We hugged our boy that night. “You’re a pretty great guy,” Mike said.

“It’s nothing. Really. I could help, so I did! What kind of person wouldn’t help if they knew they could do something?”

I didn’t respond and instead really studied Trey as he spoke. This seemed like a pivotal moment in his life. “You know,” he paused to pick up Borah, his gigantic Maine coon, “all the people who’ve been kind to our family after your diagnosis, they were good examples. This whole situation has changed all of us, and we’ll never forget the kind people who’ve come into our lives. They’ve made the hard times somehow bearable.” He hugged Borah and started walking down the hall to their bedroom. “Kind people are good teachers.” And with that, the duo disappeared into their room, and Mike and I listened as Trey cooed to Borah, begging him to go to sleep.


“What are you thinking?” Mike asked.

“Just that I never expected cancer to affect everyone the way it has. I’m glad something good has come from it, but I do worry for the kids.” I walked over to Mike and rested my head on his arm. “Things like this make me so proud of them, and it gives me peace that when it’s my time to go, the kids will be okay. They’re kind and hardworking. What more could we ask for?”

“They were always gonna be good kids,” Mike said. “I’m proud of them.”

So, we stayed like that for a long time, snuggling into each other as we looked out the window where multicolored lights illuminated the winter wonderland in our front yard. Flakes of snow twirled from Heaven, leaving paradise so we could momentarily appreciate their beauty; I guess even gravity has its perks. That reminded me of my own situation: Amid surgeries, treatments, infusions, and other appointments, Trey helped me find a huge pocket of goodness this holiday season. He didn’t just bring a miracle to those families, he brought one to me and Mike as well.


Monday, December 23, 2024

A Memory that Still Gives Me Peace

In 2020, not long after a big surgery, I went shopping with Mike. Several minutes into the trip, a huge wave of weakness descended until I needed to sit down.

It took me a while to hobble to the front of the store with my walker, and once I finally got there and found a chair, I noticed someone staring at me!

“You use this thing?” he asked, moving closer to my walker.

Who was this guy? “Yes,” I said, trying to be extra polite. “I use this thing.” I’d been using a walker since doctors removed my tumorous L3, and—at that point—I couldn’t imagine life without the device.

“Well then, what’s wrong with you? You’re not that old.”

“I’m in my thirties,” I said, and despite his delivery, I felt grateful for the bluntness. It seemed a nice departure from people who always tiptoed around me. “I have cancer... Stage four.”

The man leaned forward then, as if imparting some great gift. “The reason I’m here is to tell you that prayer works.”

“That’s the reason you’re here?”

“Yep. That’s the reason I’m here!” And he smiled, this bright smile that could light up a city.

Shortly after that, Mike came up to a register, and I went to stand by him while he checked out.

I looked back to where I’d been sitting, but the chairs were already gone! So was the man I’d spoken with moments before.

“Who was that?” Mike asked.

“I have no idea. But that was one of the weirdest things I’ve had happen in weeks.”

“What did he say?” Mike asked.

“That prayer works.”

This past weekend, I found myself unable to stop thinking about that strange man and his timely message. Who knew it would help me even years later as I continue to battle cancer?

Sure I don’t know how long I have, but no one knows when it’ll be their time to pass on. It doesn’t help to dwell on an uncertain future. The best thing I can do is appreciate the time I have, let fear go, and keep faith that G-d has a plan. And yes, I have to believe what the stranger said years ago: that prayer works... or at least that G-d can hear me. It’s nice to think He’s up there listening on the good days, the bad ones, and all the moments in between. #ecstilson #heartwarming #storytime #happyholidays #holidaystory #fyp #stage4cancer



Thursday, December 19, 2024

When Limitations Help Us Grow



 Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about thriving in different situations. Whether it be health, unfulfilled dreams, or poor circumstances, sometimes we don’t feel like we’re living up to our potential. 


I’m a free spirit, and I like to do things in my time, my way, but I’ve definitely hit some foul balls. And, as much as I hate to admit it, looking back at “mistakes” and learning opportunities, I’ve seen beauty in the aftermath, through obedience and living under constraints.


Let me explain….

When I first started playing the violin in elementary school, my bow arm would fly sporadically as I learned to fiddle and “Bile Them Cabbage Down.” I thought I excelled until my teacher said I needed to start playing the violin in a corner—with both elbows against the wall where they couldn’t be free!


Fiddling in a corner is… uncomfortable. I played like that for months, even when I practiced for hours each week at home. Slowly though, I learned to move my right arm fluidly, so the bow would stay on the “string highway.” My left arm gained proper form too, and the violin’s sound changed.


One day, my teacher smiled during my lesson and said, “Elisa, your elbow didn’t smack the wall at all! You’re playing perfectly!”


“Really?” I stepped from the corner and played. At that moment, the sound emanating from my fiddle completely captivated my soul, and my violin became an extension of myself. The sheer power and volume, the rich sound... the way the notes cried out with each emotion I felt, all because I’d learned to perfect small things while living under constraints.


It seems that we all value quick progress and rapid growth; that’s fine, but there’s also something to be said for long-suffering obedience and fully understanding the basics so we can build on a firm foundation.


Maybe this sickness is a moment for me to focus on small things so I can excel with the bigger stuff.


I can hardly wait for the day when I can look back and revel in what I’ve learned! In the meantime, I’m grateful I have my violin. Even on the worst days, that instrument brings me joy.


Pic from when I fiddled with Ryan Boyce, opening for Cracker.

(Original post 2022) #ecstilson #fyp #heartwarming #foryoupage #violin #fiddle #fiddler #musician #technique #techniquematters #growth #FirmFoundation #limitations #mentalhealth #growth #growthmindset

Thursday, December 12, 2024

A Family Grows


 Trey has three best friends: Robert, Jack, and Wyatt. They’re like “The Sandlot” movie, and it cracks me up seeing them together, but this story isn’t about their friend group; it’s about Jack.


In August, Jack’s mom called, asking if he could live with us for a while. We agreed because Jack is like family—but I did get calls from people concerned that I’m doing too much while fighting cancer. “It’ll be okay,” I said. “He’s a good kid.”


It’s been almost 4 months since he moved in, and I’ve seen changes in all of us. While I make breakfast for the kids, we’ve had some deep conversations. Jack and Trey laugh about how they met in second grade and then reminisce over what a small world it is. (For example: My oldest daughter, Ruby, is a tattoo artist who learned vital skills from her mentor. And guess who trained her mentor decades before? Jack’s grandfather! Now, his legacy is living on in her AND his grandson lives with us.)


On Tuesday, we went out for Ruby’s birthday. At one point, Jack whispered to me and Trey, “I didn’t know this was for her birthday. I didn’t get her a gift.”


We told him not to worry, but he still seemed concerned. Dinner went past quickly, and nothing exciting happened; it was just another birthday.


“Here’s the check,” the waiter said. “You guys sure you want to leave? Why not sing a song?” He pointed to a small stage that boasted a microphone. 


“Thursday only!” I read the stage’s sign. “Karaoke!” No wonder the waiter joked about it. It wasn’t Thursday.


Jack paled, then pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ll do it,” he said boldly, but despite that resolve, his hands visibly shook. “I’ll sing a song. For Ruby. For her 23rd birthday.”


So he went up onstage and started looking at all the  customers throughout the restaurant. Trey and I glanced at each other, both worried. 


Jack’s voice wafted out soft at first, so our table began cheering for him. He gaped as if somehow realizing—in that exact moment—how much he means to us… That’s when his voice grew in power. Cooks stopped cooking momentarily to see who was singing—and even rapping! A few waiters set down trays and stared. Some woman in a festive red dress came and DANCED in front of Jack. Afterward, Trey and Jack even sang together, and Ruby said it was one of the best birthdays she’s ever had.


After we got home, I sat on the couch alone, thinking what a blessing Jack is. He brings a sort of magic to our family—even on Ruby’s birthday, he breathed life into the moment and made it unforgettable. “I feel like,” I suddenly heard Jack talking to Trey in the other room, “I feel like part of your family. I feel… like you guys actually care about me.”


“You’re my brother now. And, Jack… I always wanted a brother,” Trey said.


I thought about my baby who died. My little baby boy who would’ve been older than Trey. I wish Trey could’ve grown up with him. “Zeke Jackson,” I whispered his first and middle name. Zeke would’ve been an amazing big brother, just how Jack is. And as a thought came to me, I gasped: Zeke Jackson. One of his grandma’s called him “Jack”! 


Chills ran the length of my body and tears came to my eyes. I somehow felt like Zeke was watching, smiling from Heaven about how beautiful our lives can be. Even though he couldn’t grow up, I still think he’s with us somehow in spirit, cheering every one of us on. It seems like despite distance and sadness, grief and death, nothing can diminish a mother’s love. I went into the kitchen and hugged both the boys. “What was that for?” Trey asked.


I looked at them. “I’m just grateful for both of you.” And when I left the room, my heart felt full to the brim.

Tuesday, December 10, 2024

Struggling with Negative Body Image

Before (left) 6 weeks after the surgery (right)



 You know how I recently had a surgery? There’s some good news and some superficial news: 

(1) The pain pump device IS helping sooo much with the pain (yay!), but 

(2) I am working through some other issues, simply acknowledging that it IS an adjustment having this new contraption in my body and I would be lying to myself if I denied that. I AM struggling a bit with negative body image. 


I probably sound so ungrateful because I wasn’t even supposed to live this long—and this is such a superficial thing. But today, I woke up feeling really worried, hoping Mike will always love me and that we’ll make it through all of this crap with cancer and changes… and heartache. 


Fear, well, it can be a crippling thing. 


It’s just that without Mike, I don’t know how I’d get through this. And by “get through this,” I mean: Doctors say cancer is most likely what I’ll die from, so I’m not fighting to necessarily beat this; I’m just fighting for more time, even a sliver of extra moments with my family. 


Anyway, I do *not* want pity; that’s one of the worst things in the world. It’s embarrassing and maddening…. That being said, MOST people have responded with the best thing possible: kindness. (And I don’t mean to sound unappreciative.) 


But when it gets quiet, and I’m left with my own thoughts, it can be hard grieving over what used to be and how I could do so many things. 


I’m 41… Seeing other people my age, people who don’t have cancer, I’m amazed by all the things they can do: skiing, dancing, running... I MISS those things so much. Now, a good portion of my time is spent resting, and I feel bad for Mike. He’s like a golden Lab, running circles around me; and I just have to… watch. People say he’ll always love me and he’ll always stay. I think that’s true, but I still feel bad for him.


Okay. Enough whining 😅 I know I’ll pull myself out of this and be doing better in a few hours—after a STRONG cup of coffee lol—but I was wondering… How do YOU deal with setbacks?


#painpump #ecstilson #changeishard #stage4cancer #fyp #melanoma #foryoupage #advice #loss #grief #cancerjourney #stage4melanoma #change #counseling

Friday, December 6, 2024

A Friend Who Changed Her Mindset

My friend got married really young. I knew things were difficult but didn’t realize how bad until the divorce. After that, I watched as that sweet woman struggled with serious health issues until she needed a hysterectomy…

We’ve spoken on and off for years. I knew she regretted the divorce but didn’t realize it stemmed from her desire for children. “I should’ve had them when I could,” she finally admitted 20 years later. Over the conversation, I found out she’d been looking at her ex-husband’s social media accounts. 

"You've gotta stop," I practically begged, knowing this was torturous for her.

“He has kids and looks happy,” she nearly sobbed, continuing on. "Maybe we were perfect for each other, and I was too young to know.” She paused. "And now... maybe the grass IS greener on the other side?"

"I can't remember who said it, but the grass is greener by the septic tank."

She scoffed, relaying that the remark wasn't particularly funny at the moment. After a few minutes, she finally spoke again. “I missed the boat. I should’ve had children with him when I had the chance. I never should’ve gotten divorced. Now I’m alone… in my forties. I’m lost and suffering.” 

In the past, I’ve actually looked up the root of suffering. At various points in my life, I’ve struggled and now with cancer, it can be tough doubting things and—at times—wondering if it’s worth it to continue treatments. But the thing I’ve truly realized about suffering is that King Solomon’s words are true: This too shall pass.”

So I spoke with my friend about the etymology of the word “suffer.” It actually means “to endure.” When I told her all of this, she thought of something and must've had some type of epiphany. 

“Well,” she said firmly, “I don’t want to just endure.”

She booked an appointment with a counselor after that. And over a period of time, I felt grateful to realize that she’d begun to enjoy life, see good things around her, and embrace the present. I didn’t think about it prior to all of this, but before seeing the counselor, she’d usually say “no” a lot. The counselor must’ve encouraged her to start saying “yes.” One day she even called to tell me she’d gone out dancing! And now, she’s made so many new friends, and I love seeing her embracing the present, even if it’s not the life she expected. That takes true strength and courage. Through it all, she’s finally let go of the past. 

I really wanted her to know that she’s inspired me; no matter what might be going on, there’s always something to make life worth it. For me, that might be playing board games with my family or simply trying to brighten their days—seeing their happiness erases any amount of worry, fear, or sadness I might’ve felt prior. I'm so grateful for this "reset." My friend brought me back to my “why.” My reason for moving forward is my family. 




So today, if you’re having a hard time and feel like you’re just enduring, I hope you’ll find something good around you—something that helps you enjoy! If this is our one life to live, why not find the good around us, enjoy the moment, and appreciate what we have? 

Thursday, November 21, 2024

Being Grateful for Everything


I tried to be grateful—'tis the season—but an appointment last week left me reeling. My parents came up to help after my pain pump surgery, and they brought me (along with my oldest daughter) to this month's appointment and cancer treatment. Although we got some good news (the cancer hasn't grown since August—wow!), they still think this will kill me. "Whenever we take you off of treatments," the provider said, "the cancer grows. And since your body can't handle being on these treatments forever..." I've heard things like this about a million times over the past four years. I know this is probably what I'll die from, and I thought my family understood too, but when I glanced at my parents and daughter... When I saw the pain in their eyes... There are things worse than death, and seeing that desperation, well, that was horrific.


I knew I'd never shake that memory.

"Hello, Elisa," the woman said during a Zoom call. "How was your week?"

"I couldn't wait to talk with you," I said, and then I spilled the entire story, telling my counselor about how out of control I feel. "I'm such a failure," I finally said, deflated. "Why can't I just beat this?! For my family. People keep saying if I'm positive enough or if I pray enough. But they don't understand melanoma."

She sighed, then whispered, "We often forget that we can't control the outcome. We can only control the amount of effort that we put in."

I nodded. "And no matter how hard I try, I just don't know if I can beat this. At some point we have to realize that no amount of positivity or cancer treatments—or even prayers—will work if it's my time to go. But it's still hard to see pain in the eyes of people who care about me. I just don't think I'm doing enough."

"You don't give yourself enough credit." She took a sip of her drink, and I wondered if she holds these remote sessions at a home office or in a work building. "Tell you what," she finally said, "I'll email a lesson to you. It might seem kooky but promise me you'll give it a chance?"

I nodded.

"I think we should work on your self-worth. If you're at least feeling emotionally stronger, maybe it'll help with everything else."

The lesson came to my email a few minutes after the call ended. I watched as a woman chastised herself for getting mediocre sales numbers and when she forgot to pick her kid up from daycare. "I'm a failure," she told her friend, Margaret. Of course, Margaret disagreed, saying that everyone makes mistakes. The video ended, and a new screen popped up.

"Think about your exact situation," the prompt read. "If someone you care about were in your shoes, what would you say to them?"

Reading the questions, I felt struck by a memory. Throughout this journey, I've met many terminal patients. It's been devastating to hear when some of them have passed and miraculous when others lived longer than expected. Despite human nature's desire to hope, I have become a bit cautionary about death, truly knowing that life is unexpected. In a quagmire of thoughts a while ago, I emailed a dear friend a lengthy letter, telling her how proud she made me. She'd felt how I do now: like a failure, scared to leave this world too soon, and worried for the people she loved. When she died a few months later, the fact that she knew how much I cared gave me peace.

So, with tears in my eyes, I pulled up the email and decided to see if any of it could be used for this exercise. After all, she'd been experiencing the same emotions and concerns about mortality that I am right now. What better way to heed my own advice than by reading a real example?

"If someone you care about were in your shoes, what would you say to them?" I read the first prompt again. "Answer the three following questions:

"1. Without judgment/criticism/blame what makes this situation hard? 

"2. Without minimizing, explain that no one is alone in suffering because others have experienced similar things.  

"3. Offer words of kindness/encouragement without trying to 'fix' the situation."  

The letter I'd written had elements of all three questions, and after I copied and pasted sections into the exercise, I felt stunned by the result.

"You have a lot on your plate," I'd written, "and I really admire how hard you're fighting despite setbacks and struggles. A lot of people would've given up by now, but you haven't. That must make your family so proud." It was the last line that got me, and I suddenly realized that my entire heartwish with all of this—the damn thing I want almost more than anything—is to be remembered well by my family. When my life is winnowed down to what mattered and what didn't, this is the desire that matters most. THIS is the point of my life.

As I sat at the computer, thinking about Thanksgiving and this huge realization, I suddenly felt an overwhelming peace that everything will be okay. Reading words I'd written to a friend—and trying to apply them to my own life—maybe I have been too hard on myself and it's time to conserve some energy so I can have more time with the people I love.

So, this is a very special Thanksgiving, a time when I'll stop being so hard on myself and let go of perfectionism and control. Just over four years ago, doctors said I only had two years to live. I've lived double what they thought. 
Free Pic from UnSplash (Megan Watson)

Despite fear over the future, I'm bound and determined to be grateful for today. None of us knows what tomorrow might bring. This holiday, we should hold our loved ones a little closer, enjoy each second we can, and be grateful for the opportunity to be alive. After all, every one of us is lucky to even be here.