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.

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

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

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.

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

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?