Written by Erin Santos, Isabella’s Mom

It’s June.  Let’s just acknowledge it.  

Different months mean different things to us here at ISF.  Some months mean big events – and even bigger anxiety – like our September race or our spring coffees.  Other months are spent answering emails, scheduling meetings, honoring appearances, or trying to navigate the demands of the foundation. June is always different, though,  because we never really know what this month will bring.

For me, June always begins as a crazy whirlwind of  “Oh God, it’s the end of school”, as I frantically try to present myself as Mom of the Year until the day the kids exit the bus for the last time.  This particular June has been abnormally crazy, with the addition of a desperate search for Jake, Isabella’s cat who left one night after a work meeting at my house.  Jake – an inside/outside cat who loves to party at night – would always be waiting at the back door each morning to come in for cuddles. Three weeks ago, he went to party and never came back.  We are all in denial that he is gone. His food bowl is still sitting out in our house, full. The kids are devastated and I’m blocking out all the emotion that comes with how we got this cat, what this cat meant to her, and what this stupid cat means to me.  Sophia says he is finally with Isabella again but I just laugh it off because I can’t wrap my head around that.

Last week, I found myself in Mom of the Year mode again and took my kids to a Knight’s Game uptown mid-week. Grant was so exhausted, he completely fell asleep on me for an hour at the ballpark and I realized instantly that I overbooked us. As I drove us home later in the dark, I decided to take a better exit with more lighting.  Then it happened… we were hit from behind and smashed into a 5-car pile up. Surprisingly, we all walked away from a totaled car without a scratch on us. The truck that hit us from behind practically came through my backseat where Sophia was sitting. But other than a weeklong headache and a car that was being sold for parts – it was as if it never happened.  Grant graduated elementary school the next morning and I sat there, not allowing myself to think how different that morning could have been if we hadn’t been wearing seatbelts or if the teenager hit us at a different angle. In traditional Erin fashion, I pushed all those thoughts aside. It’s just another crazy June, just another thing.   

But there have also been things that have happened that I can’t push aside. A few nights ago was no exception.  I was asleep in a dark room when I heard it – the sound of a train passing closely by. I’ve heard this noise many times before. Generally, it just startles the shit out of me before I fall back asleep.  But this time the sound instantly conjured up a hundred images in my mind as if I’m living in a movie. And it suddenly launched me back to 6 years ago. Into a pitch-dark room. With her.

We were at the Grand Floridian because Mom of the Year thought it was smart to take a severely sick, dying child to Disney World.  She was skin and bones at this point and was losing her vision due to the brain tumor. So each day as our group headed out to take Grant and Sophia to the parks, I would pull the dark shades and crawl in bed next to her.  The hotel was silent because everyone was where they were supposed to be… out enjoying themselves and the sunshine. But she and I would just lie there, silently breathing together. The only sound we would hear was the monorail train coming in and out of Magic Kingdom every 15 minutes.  The room was so dark we couldn’t see each other but I could feel her against me. I would never sleep because I was too busy taking all of her in. Every breath, every twitch, every single train that would come and go. Hours would pass and I would just cry silently – trying hard not to wake her.   And just when I would feel my mind becoming tired enough to sleep, the train would come.

Ever since that June night just a few sleeps ago, the one that brought back Disney, I realized something different is happening. I’m remembering more. I don’t think it’s that I necessarily want to, but somehow these thoughts are elbowing their way in . Maybe it’s because I’m home alone and my mind has time.  Maybe it’s the combination of the cat, or the the car accident, and the silence in the house. All I know is that this stupid train has me thinking again and it’s tough. How can one sound do that to you? One simple, normal sound.

Since I’m finding I can’t push these thoughts aside, the only decision I can make is to take it all in over the next two weeks. To allow this train to throw me into memories I don’t want to have. Unless I somehow muster up the strength to realize it’s just a train. And move on.

Welcome to my June.

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It started with a girl.  And she is changing the world.  June 28th will mark the 6th anniversary of Isabella’s passing.  Please help us near and far keep Isabella’s legacy alive.  

• Make a donation in a loved ones honor: donateisf.org
• Register, Sponsor or Volunteer for our Sept 5K/10K: 5kforkidscancer.com
• Sign up as a MIBG Ambassador, fundraise through your network:  https://bit.ly/2MsUQdm
• Sign up for Isabella’s Dream team, fundraise and run:  https://bit.ly/2smlhqh
• Make a appointment to donate platelets during our CBCC platelet drive June 21-28: https://bit.ly/2sVjafX