Paralyzed by the harrowing fear of losing her grown daughter to the clutches of brain cancer, a mother, Julie Brown, reflects upon a lifetime of details and experiences that have built and shaped her very existence. As she questions her station in life, she finds herself doubting every decision that she has ever made all along the way and wonders if she'll ever be able to breathe again. Building a Life A Mother's Healing Journey of Self-Discovery By JULIE BROWN, Angel Logan Balboa Press Copyright © 2017 Julie Brown and Angel Logan All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-5043-8270-0 Contents Preface, vii, Foundation of Love, 1, Tethered to Uncertainty, 13, Yielding to Expectation, 35, Waning Endurance, 53, Revising the Plan, 67, Fragility of Body and Spirit, 91, Transcending through Resilience, 101, CHAPTER 1 Foundation of Love A normal day is something that we all take for granted; it is the culmination of our routine, daily activities, which range from the mundane to the chaotic. Such days entail going to work, attending school, grocery shopping, and domestic chores. In my case, a typical day finds me standing in the kitchen, preparing a meal. After one telephone call, that one simple task ceased to exist, as everything that was normal in my life within those few moments had been forever altered. Of course, normal meant something entirely different to me throughout my life, but to hear my daughter utter the words, "Mom, I have a brain tumor," was paralyzing and completely against nature. In that instant, life as I knew it would never be the same again. How did this happen? How was it even possible? How could I be the mother Jessica needed? Then suddenly, it wasn't the voice of my twenty-seven- year-old daughter that I was hearing at the other end of the phone. Rather, it was the sweet voice of reminiscence — my innocent, little Jessica telling me that she had hurt herself. Only, this time, I couldn't kiss away the hurt and make it feel better. It was the most terrifying and helpless feeling. No mother should ever have to experience it. Parents are not supposed to outlive their children. We are supposed to see them grow to live long, full, and productive lives. While these thoughts careened through my mind, I wondered how I could avoid the undeniable guilt of making this situation about me. But then, how could I not? The connection between a mother and child is an inexplicable, bottomless ocean of boundless love wrapped within its own blanket of complexity. A mother wants to absorb any pain that could harm her child. I knew that if I lost my daughter you might as well rip my heart right out of my chest because I didn't know how I could possibly ever breathe again. I stood there within that unfathomable state of panic, clutching the phone in my hand, faced with the horrifying prospect of my daughter's mortality. It was as though the clock had stopped and had frozen time — only I wasn't there anymore, in that house, on that phone, hearing those words. Instead, I was sixteen years old, standing in a different house with a different phone in my hand. My parents were on the other end of the line as I desperately listened in silence for their reaction, wondering how they would recover from what I had just told them. Of course, there was nothing normal about that moment either. Now that I think about it, I wonder whether I ever had any normalcy in my life. I guess the only way anyone could answer that question — or how I arrived at this day — would be to understand my unconventional journey and how it all began. Life had seemed so simple and limitless when I was growing up in Portland, Maine. As far back as I can remember, I think that I could see well beyond the stars within this vast universe. There was a subtle stirring from deep within my soul that had always made me yearn for the unknown world past the walls of my home. I didn't have that in common with my sister, Karen. She was six years younger and always seemed to have more grounded aspirations — somewhat typical of kids growing up in our time. She was the one full of energy, laughter, and corny jokes — always ready to entertain us. My brother, Mark, who was two years older, followed different goals while marching to the beat of his own drum. There were times when I had wondered where he was going to go in his life, but then, I think he had wondered the same thing. I don't think that I could put my finger on any one thing in particular, but I believe there was always something calling out to me that I needed to answer. I was born in October, 1962, the second child of Karl and Joanne Andersen, who came from Chicago, Illinois. They moved to the East Coast when my father was in seminary working toward a master's degree in sacred theology. When Mom married Dad, she viewed their new life together as an adventure, and she was brimming with excitement to see where their path would take them. She didn't know about all the pressure t