Birthdays are supposed to be a time to celebrate, a time to come together as a family and light some candles on a cake and just laugh, smile and be thankful for another year of life. For the past ten March 23rds I have spent the day wondering what my mom was doing in heaven on her birthday. Is she with my late grandpap playing cards? Is she reading some book on the most beautiful beach? Is she trying to balance her check book? (If you knew my mom you would be laughing out loud pretty hard right now) Or is she simply just watching over her three boys who she left behind. I guess I will never know until I one day meet her again.

My mom would have turned 56 today. I can guarantee you she would have worked late and came home to a beautiful birthday surprise from her loving husband, my dad, Tony. The fact of the matter is she no longer is here to celebrate her birthday with her family. I sometimes feel like her birthday is the hardest day for me to get through. Harder than the day she died because her birthday was just that, her day. It was a day when my dad, my brother and I wanted to go above and beyond spectacular to give, her, the most wonderful women in all of our lives a day she would never forget. My brother, Adam, would always do something amazing that would blow any present I ever got her out of the water. For example he once arranged for all of her friends to send her a birthday card. I mean I’m talking every single person she was close with. I forget the exact total but there were hundreds of cards. Then when she returned home from a business trip on her birthday all the cards were strategically placed all around her bedroom. She was finding cards for a week. Adam was always very close with Mom. He always had the most unique and truly thoughtful gifts for her. I don’t think I can remember a birthday of my mom’s where Adam’s gift didn’t make her cry. My dad truly embraced my mom’s birthday to the fullest. I always knew I would see some amazing gift from him that I probably wouldn’t be allowed to touch. My dad absolutely loved my mom with his entire heart. Then it came to me and my gifts. I wasn’t always the greatest with unique or super elaborate gifts, but hey give me a break I was barely in my teen years when I celebrated mom’s 45th birthday, which would be her last family birthday here on earth.

As I look back and remember mom, today becomes a gift of its own. On March 23, 1956 my mom was born. She grew up to be an incredible person, a lady any parent would hope and dream their daughter would become. Then she gave the world the gift of two boys, one who is changing lives through his passion of television broadcast, and her baby boy who is scratching and crawling to spread the mission of an organization that ties an intense passion for the game of baseball in with an even greater passion to help raise support and awareness for all types of cancer.

I would give anything in the world to go to some amazing bakery, buy her the most amazing cake and just spend one more birthday with Mom. I would call her all day long and wish her happy birthday over and over. I would do anything absolutely anything to see her face light up at one more of Adam’s incredible gifts. But again the reality is it will never happen. As the tears flow down my face right now, I cry not because I am mad or sad, but because I feel like she still had so many gifts to give the world. I would like to think she left those gifts with my dad, my brother and I to continue to share to with the world in her absence.

The real gift is her life though. The 45 years that she did spend on earth. The people she met, the lives she changed and the passion she spread is truly Mom’s greatest gift she left. I have never met a person that had the opportunity to meet my mom who didn’t just absolutely rave about her. She had a demeanor about her that could honestly make the most horrible situation seem like just a walk in the park. I mean hell; she was diagnosed with cancer three separate times. She was a warrior. Mom never wanted Adam and me to know how sick she truly was. She always wanted to be there for us. She worried about me and how I was going to make in the world with my intense passion for the game of baseball and my lack of passion for anything else. She worried I would be lost without her reading my reading assignments in exchange for back rubs, doing spelling words in salt in a baking pan at midnight the night before the test and I’m sure she shed a tear or two wondering who would be at my graduation to give me that motherly hug and look me in the eyes and say, “I knew you could do it, Alexander!” But on this birthday the gift I want to give my mom is not a material item, or even flowers on her grave, but rather I want to tell her to simply rest, rest in peace Mommy. Your little boy has truly found his path in life, his calling and his complete passion. I couldn’t do it without you watching over me day in and day out, but I want you to know, Mom, there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t feel your presence in my life.

Happy Birthday from you little boy. I love you so much Mom.

What were you doing when you were 12 years old? To be exact, what were you doing during the spring when you were 12 years old? For so many baseball players in America and around the world, you were most likely starting what seemed to be the most important Little League season of your life. This was your chance to go to the Little League World Series in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, play on ESPN and hopefully be crown world champions. Now imagine having to bury your mother during the spring when you’re 12 years old. For many of us this is unimaginable. Losing the women who has raised us, who has cooked and cleaned for us, who has kissed our foreheads when were sick, who has tucked us in when we thought there were monsters under our bed and who has always offered their entire heart to ensure we were happy. At 12 years old, on April 25th, 2010, Straton Rushing did the unimaginable; he said his final goodbye and buried his mother. Read Straton’s amazing story as he found baseball to be his rock after having a rocky start with the game:

It might not be much, just a couple of guys with pieces of leather on their hands, and one ball flying all around a park. But there’s something magical only a ball player can understand about the diamond that makes it special. As you might guess from what I’ve written I can appreciate baseballs kind of magical ability. I’m a passionate Texas fan and proud catcher (In fact I discovered The Cure Baseball from a tweet by Mike Napoli). There was a point where baseball wasn’t so great to me. In little league, stuck in the outfield, where no one was able to hit all the way out there. Unlike a lot of people who use a game as a coping mechanism, I didn’t always love baseball; I guess I had to open my heart to love before I could even love a sport.

Keep it up, The Cure Baseball, thanks for reaching out to people. This disease can affect anybody. It’s one of the worst things in the world, but don’t give up cause it’s not over till the last out, in the last inning , in the last game and even then, life goes on.

Cancer always seems to come along at the most inopportune times in our lives. (Although it’s not like there is ever a good time to get cancer) All seemed to be going great for Matt Brown. He was recently engaged, his beloved Red Sox had won not one but two World Series titles and the thought of starting a family was within arm’s reach. Until cancer reared its ugly head in front of Matt’s face. Read Matt’s amazing journey through his own trials and tribulations of battling cancer and how his passion for baseball and running fuel him every day.

It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

Having cancer is terrible, but being a cancer survivor is wonderful. I run marathons as my ultimate statement of victory over cancer, and as a way to cherish my second chance at life. We should all want to make sure as many people as possible get their own second chance. On the diamond where we fight cancer, we’re all rooting for the home team to win in a walk-off. Together, we can make it happen.

Matt Brown at Game 7 of the 2011 World Series.

Since we first launched the organization in October of 2011 we have had so many people message, email, call, tweet and use any other form of communication you think of to reach out to us. Many times just say thank you, other times to share their own stories of how cancer has affected their life, and how they found The Cure Baseball as an inspirational “pick me up”. We want to share those stories with everyone. They inspire us, drive us, motivate us and hit “home” with us. Our very first guest blogger is a man who reached out to us simply by seeing something that we had tweeted be retweeted. He instantly wanted to help, and our mission “truly hit home” for him. Curt Stimpson is seasoned baseball coach, a prostate cancer survivor and truly an inspiration to our organization. Enjoy Curt’s story….It Truly Hits “Home”:

I can relate to baseball, I’ve been around the game since 1974 when I graduated from college and took a teaching job in a small farming community in North Central Washington. It came with an assistant baseball job. Little did I know that baseball program was on the verge of becoming one of the best in states history. We played for the state championship the first 3 years, winning it that 3rd try. I moved on to a head coaching job for a couple years then took a college assistant job at a D1 school. Long story short…..38 years later I’m still involved with college baseball, helping the coaching staff at Seattle University in any way I can.

Curt Stimpson

Curt Stimpson with University of Florida Head Baseball Coach Kevin O'Sullivan during the 2010 College World Series in Omaha, Nebraska

The holidays are over and the decorations are coming down in everyone’s houses. All the kids’ toys have been played with, and their favorite gifts are now turning into part of their everyday routines. This Christmas for me was very different. A feeling of true realization was my main emotion during this holiday season. The realization that my mom has been gone for 10 years. The 10 year mark was something I had been thinking about for a while. I didn’t really know how I was going to feel or what type of emotions would come over me, but when December 26th rolled around I felt that emptiness. I felt like I had just hit a line drive in the gap to score the winning run of the world series only to see the right fielder come out of nowhere to lay out and snag it right before it hit the ground. It was just so surreal to me, 10 years, an entire decade growing up without my mom. I couldn’t help but just think all day long about Mom and every memory I ever had of her. I remembered the times she took me to her office at S.C. Johnson and I would run up and down the halls, and pop my head into her office to say hi. I remembered going to antique shops with her and my grandma and them making deals with me so I would keep my hands in my pockets so I couldn’t break anything. I remember Mom sitting in the stands of my fall basketball league game my freshman year of high school, reading a book, and having no idea what was going on. This was the last sporting event Mom would ever see me play. I just remembered throughout the day and never really paid too much attention to anything. I guess I kind of looked at it like this, remember back to when you were 14, and then remember when you’re 24 or any 10 year span of your life. Now try to remember some of the best memories. Who were they spent with? Was your family with you? Was your mom their? I just feel like I have tripped up, I have shined and I have done things that I wish she could have been there to see, help me with and teach me. I have learned so much about life since she has been gone, but I would trade anything for just one more hug and a kiss on the forehead. I simply continue to miss her. They say time heals all wounds; I guess I need more time. Since starting The Cure Baseball I have received emails, phone calls, text messages, Facebook messages and pretty much any other form a communication you can receive from people who have been touch by cancer. My heart doesn’t ever hurt for me, it hurts for my brother, my dad and everyone else who’s ever been affected by cancer. I mean I look at my dad and I see how much he misses the love of his life. The women he envisioned raising beautiful kids with, growing old with and spending a lifelong journey madly in love with each other. I look at my brother and know he misses Mom more than anything. I know he wishes she could see his amazing television personality, his superior broadcasting accomplishments and his own personal success. It hurts so much to see the two closest people in your life hurt, and long to see their beautiful wife and one of kind mother. Then I read all of these letters and messages and just break down because this disease does not just affect the person who has it, but it affects every single person involved in that person’s life. I recently received a message from one of my Mom’s for sorority sisters; all she could talk about was how genuine, caring and fun my mom was. She went on to say that not a week goes by where she doesn’t think about my mom or a story that includes her. I have never met this person in my life, but she feels as though she has known me since birth because of stories from my mom. It’s connecting with people like this that truly means the world to me, but on the same note I still just miss her like crazy. As 2012 kicks off I want nothing more than to help as many people as possible and touch lives who never expected it. I want to cry with people, give tons of hugs and create endless smiles. I cannot thank everyone who has supported my family and me over the past ten years. I’m sure I wasn’t always the easiest person to deal with or to stick behind, but I guarantee you it was all greatly appreciated. I encourage you all to share your stories with our organization and myself, to join your love for baseball and hatred for cancer and help us to truly create hope through the greatest game in the world. Never lose faith, always hold on to hope and smile till it hurts. Thank you everyone for everything. We WILL find a cure.

“DREAM BIG”

I cannot begin to tell you how many times people have told me I need to join the real world. That the way I live my life is unrealistic and I will not be successful. So when I announced I was launching The Cure Baseball I was again met with skepticism and reserve. I knew in my heart this was my calling, my passion and my life’s work. People who didn’t think I was crazy for starting The Cure Baseball had only one seemingly simple question; why? The same question I asked so many times in my own life. Why did my mom have to die? Why did she have to suffer through eight years of cancer? So many why’s, but never any answers. Well that is what I want to change with The Cure Baseball. I want anyone and everyone to know exactly why I started this organization. I want people to know and be able to see the fuel, the fire and the passion that I have for The Cure Baseball day in and day out.

The Cure Baseball was started for every man, women and child who has ever come in contact with the with the word cancer. Cancer has touched every single person in the world in one way or another. Cancer has claimed the lives of some of the most wonderful people in the world. Cancer DOES NOT care whether your white, black, green or blue; whether you’re male or female or if you’re a newborn or newly retired. Cancer has affected anyone and everyone, and it flat out sucks no matter what way you spin it.

I wanted to create an organization that provides a team, a support and a passion which portrays a symbol of unity, strength and perseverance. I watched my mom for eight years battle, fight, scratch and claw for every breathe. I witnessed surgeries, chemotherapy treatments, radiation treatments, sicknesses caused by these treatments and an everyday, full fledge war on cancer fought by my mom. Yeah she got pissed sometimes, yeah she cried and yeah she got knocked down a time or two, but never once did she feel sorry for herself or even think about giving up. There were times of joy and happiness I saw in my mom through this hell. Her happiness came in the ways of seeing her two sons’ pursue their passions and dreams. She loved watching me play baseball and my brother dominate every aspect of every activity he was involved in. We were her fuel to live and to fight on. Baseball wasn’t a game to mom; it was her little boy’s passion. Now it’s time to pass that passion on…to the world.

There are no sports organization that their team’s sole purpose is to raise support and awareness for a disease. I can’t even imagine the feelings and the emotions I, myself, will feel the first time The Cure Baseball team takes the field. But what’s even more incredible to think about is the feeling a cancer survivor or what a person who is battling cancer will feel when they see The Cure Baseball team take the field. A team of young men taking the field, battling for them, not playing a game but providing hope for complete strangers. These two groups of people who have probably never met before, will go into the battle to find a cure for cancer together. The game will provide tears of hope, joy and strength. The team will provide a fuel, a passion and a determination to keep fighting. NO ONE deserves to have to battle cancer; no one deserves to face death in the mirror on a daily basis.

After the lights have turned off on the diamond, the battle continues. The fight to survive isn’t measured in outs or innings. It’s not measured at all, cancer patients don’t give up, they don’t tuck their tail between their legs, they fight with every ounce of strength they have and more. A month before my mom died she told my dad she would not die before Christmas. She made is through one more Christmas for her family. She gave it everything she possibly had. That is the will I have for this organization. I will do anything to ensure it is wildly successful. This is WHY I will not fail, and WHY I want to do this for people who I have never met. No one deserves to be affected by cancer, but everyone who is affected deserves to know people are willing to fight for them.

That is WHY I started The Cure Baseball….FOR YOU!

I have talked a lot about my life over the past few blog posts, and have truly tried to paint you a picture of my experience with cancer, growing up and dealing with the death of my mother. But what I haven’t talked about is the death oh my “Pap” just a month and a half before my mom died. It’s sometimes harder for me to talk about his death because it was so unexpected and so tragic for me. I want to use this post as a tribute to him and a tribute to all grandchildren and grandpa relationships.

Pap was my go to guy. Since I was born we had a special bond together, unlike any other relationship I ever had in my life. He was the grandparent that drove 6 hours just to come to Grandparent’s Day in first grade, and a field trip the next day. He was tall, bald and about as Ukrainian as they come. We share a lot of the same personality traits; we can love with the best of them and be mad as hell with the best of them too. But what made our bond so special was our passion for the greatest game in the world, baseball. We loved it; we couldn’t get enough of it. Pap was an amazing baseball player back in his day. He had try outs with professional teams, but had to go to war in Korea. He was a left handed first baseman, and from what I have been told he could run and hit like a beast. Pap lost both his parents at an early age. You could tell that he never fully got over that pain, and growing up without the love of his parents.

Obviously when I came into the world Pap’s playing days were long behind him. He had taught his only son and child the finer points of the greatest game in the world, and had already seen one grandchild be born. But I like to think I came along because he still had so much passion and love for the game and wanted to keep sharing it. My dad was a decent baseball player, my brother wasn’t much of a baseball player at all, but I completely immersed myself in the game from the time I was 3 on. Pap and I had a completely different love for the game than anyone else I knew. We loved the game within the game; we loved the strategy of each inning and the race to the World Series. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times we sat in my grandparent’s basement in North Huntington, Pennsylvania and watched the Pittsburgh Pirates. This was back when the Bucco’s were good. Watching guys like Barry Bonds, Bobby Bonilla and Andy Van Slyke. We loved them, and we just loved baseball. Pap would always teach me little tricks and tips about the game, and we would try and guess which pitches were coming, and when they were going to try and steal. He’d show me which hitters to watch and which ones not to watch. Pap favorite player was Roberto Clemente, “Sweetness” as Pap use to call him. Whenever I was out visiting my grandparents in Pennsylvania and an old game was on TV with Clemente playing, there was no question where Pap would be. He just thought the world of Clemente, and you can’t blame him, the guy was amazing.

I grew up in Zionsville, Indiana so whenever it was baseball season and Pap and I weren’t together we would always talk on the phone about different games and great plays we saw on ESPN. As I grew older my love for the game continued to intensify. One of my greatest memories of my entire life is when I was about 8 years my grandparents came to Indianapolis to visit. Everyone was out doing stuff and Pap and I were at the house alone together. It was a really nice summer day, and Pap told me to grab the bucket of baseballs, my glove and bat. I didn’t really know what we were going to do, but I was excited because I knew it had something to do with baseball. We loaded up the car and took the short five minute drive to Lions Park in Zionsville. I asked what we were doing and Pap turned to me and said, “We’re going to take some batting practice.” I was so excited. My Pap, my best buddy and my ideal was going to throw me, his eight year old grandson, some live batting practice. I must admit it was the coolest feeling in the world to have Pap, my 68 year old grandfather, throwing me some quality BP. The first couple pitches were a little wild, but after that it was like riding a bike, perfect belt high, middle-away quality batting practice pitches. By far one of if not the most awesome experiences of my life. Then after I got my hacks in, Pap said to me, “You think you can get a few over the plate?” He wanted to take some swings as well. So I got behind the L screen, and threw some in there to him. He had a solid swing for not touching a bat in nearly 40 years. It was just one of those days that you wish would never end and cost nothing to do. It was all about that connection we shared for the game of baseball. (Defiantly shedding some tears remembering it)

As the years past, and we moved from Indiana to Wisconsin, my life began to change. Mom got sick again and things were just getting increasingly rougher. Pap always stayed by my side. He was always there to talk, always there to laugh with and always had some baseball tips for me. When Mom got sick for the final time in May of 2001 Pap and grandma spent a lot of time in Wisconsin to help us out. One day Pap was at home with Mom, and Mom got up to go to the bathroom or something, and she lost her balance and fell and hit her head. She had to go to the hospital and get some stitches in her forehead; we think Pap may have had a small heart attack when he saw my mom fall. Things would stay pretty constant for the next few months, but I started to notice that Pap was sleeping a lot more than he used to. He had a bout with Prostate Cancer earlier that year, so everyone just thought he was still recovering from that.

As summer was coming to a close I had one last double header before school started and the season was over. It was a hot August day in Wisconsin, and we were playing at Case High School in Racine. Pap and grandma were still in town to help take care of mom. So my dad, my mom, my brother, my grandma and Pap all came to the double header. I had an awesome day, played amazing and had the best feeling in the world knowing I played so well in front of my family. Not knowing this would be the last baseball game my mom and Pap would ever watch me play. They would never see me play a high school or college baseball game.
Pap suffered a massive heart attack days after we had a huge birthday party for him on September 4th, 2001. He actually lived through that heart attack, and fought to stay alive for two more months. Pap died on November 4th, 2001. I always knew Pap would never be able to go to my mom’s funeral. He loved her like his own daughter. My mom meant the world to Pap. So instead he was there to welcome her. The next month and a half would be extremely difficult for my family. This year marks ten years since everything happened. It’s hard to believe, it’s still hard to understand and I still miss Pap and Mom everyday more than ever.

RIP Pap.

The first time my mom was diagnosed with cancer I was in second grade. I was a kid, and really had no idea what cancer was or how serious it was. I just remember the day she got the phone call from the doctors confirming that she had cancer there was a lot of tears. This was the first time I ever saw my dad cry. I was eight years old so I just had no idea why everyone was crying, and there was no internet at the time so I couldn’t just google it or ask a friend at school.

I remember my dad sitting my brother and me down as he tried to explain to us that Mom was sick. I assumed that cancer was like have a cold or a stomach ache. I thought she was going to be fine in a couple days. My brother, Adam, was only 10 at the time so he really didn’t know too much about cancer either. Dad explained that Mom would need our help more than ever, and we would be responsible for more than a lot of other kids our age. But even after this talk and everything I still just did not understand what cancer was. I honestly remember not really knowing how to feel.

A couple weeks after my mom was first diagnosed, I was in the kitchen with her while she was making me lunch. She had a glass of lemonade, and instead of pouring myself one I just took a sip out of hers. She turned and said, “Alex, don’t drink out of my glass.” I quickly responded with, “Why? Am I going to get cancer now?” Mom instantly stopped making lunch and went upstairs to her room. I walked up about five minutes after her, and found her in her room sitting on the floor sobbing. I felt so horrible. I asked her why she was so upset, and she asked me to sit with her, tears still rolling down her face. She turned to me and said, “Alex, I’m scared, I don’t want to be sick!” This was the first time I truly realized cancer was not just a like having a cold or a stomach ache. Cancer was serious, and Mom was sick with it.

Over the next year she would undergo a Mastectomy on her breast, Chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Nearly a year after Mom was first diagnosed; doctors deemed her cancer to be in remission. This meant she had beaten it! She was no longer sick. Almost four years after Mom’s bout with cancer the company she worked for at the time, Dow Brands, was bought out by S.C. Johnson. S.C. Johnson was headquartered in Racine, Wisconsin; the Paluka family was about to become cheese heads.

We moved to Wisconsin, but something just wasn’t right with Mom again. Upon arriving in Wisconsin Mom started to develop this cough that would not go away. Doctors first thought she had developed asthma caused by the different climate in Wisconsin or an allergy to something that was related to Lake Michigan. She went to specialist after specialist and they could not put their finger on what was causing this cough. During the fall of 1998 Mom could no longer take the constant coughing and not knowing what was causing it. She scheduled every test in the book.

It was a rainy and cold fall Wisconsin day; I played soccer in middle school because all of my friends did. We had a game at school, and I remember seeing my dad pull up in my mom’s car, but only he got out to watch the game. I just had this really bad feeling inside me throughout the entire game. As soon as the game ended I walked over to him and asked where Mom was. He said, “She is in the car.” I immediately walked over to the car and got in the back seat behind my mom. I said, “Hi Mom!” She said, “Hi Alex.” As soon as she said hi I could tell something was really wrong again. I asked her what was wrong, and she could barely get out the words. All she could say was, “I’m sick.” I asked, “Is it cancer again?” She softly said yes and I just lost it. I was now in seventh grade and fully knew what cancer was, and the affects it has on its victims.

This time there were no talks, just tears by everyone. I was so scared. I knew I could lose my mom forever. When she got sick for the second time, I took a real interest in the medical field. I went with her to Chemo treatments. I asked her doctors’ questions and researched cancer on the internet. I just wanted to know Mom was going to be ok. Again she battled, fought and beat cancer. She was deemed to be in remission during the late spring of 2000. We all thought we were in the clear, we could finally put this horrible disease behind us, and we could go on family vacations again and just be happy.

But something was different this time during Mom’s remission. I remembered the last time she was in remission her hair grew back full and all in unison. This time her hair grew back patchy and thin. It just always got to me. I ask Mom a couple times why it was growing back like this and she didn’t know either. She was just so happy that the doctors deemed her to be in remission. Mom never really gained all of her strength back this time. She was always tired and always seemed to be very fatigued.

Then I received the worst phone call of my life in May of 2001. I had slept over at my good friend Brian’s house the night before and his mom wake me up and told me my dad was on the phone. It was like 8:30 in the morning. I got on the phone and my dad just said, “Get your stuff ready, I’m picking you up in 15 minutes.” I asked why and dad just said, “Your mom is sick.” As soon as he said that I knew exactly what he meant. I held it together while I was still at Brian’s house, but as soon I got in the car I just broke down. This was the third time in eight years Mom had been diagnosed with cancer.

Mom and Dad didn’t tell Adam and I how serious it was at first, but then about a month before Mom passed away; dad sat us down one more time, and told us to start preparing to say goodbye. My questions about why her hair didn’t grow back were answered. The cancer had spread to her brain, lungs and bones. It was stage four terminal cancer. I was just a freshman in high school, about to begin my first basketball season. A few weeks prior I had just went to my first homecoming, and now I had to prepare to say goodbye to my mom. I wasn’t ready, I didn’t want to believe it, but it was the truth. The next month was just a waiting game, just a ticking time bomb.

Mom passed away December 26th, 2001. This December will be the ten year anniversary, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish for one more hug, kiss or to see her beaming smile.

I love you Mom, hope I’m making you proud!

Life as we know it is all about timing and odds. These odds are made to give us a sense of how possible something is, or how likely it is that something will happen. When I was a senior in high school I was asked to put down a quote that would appear under my senior picture in the yearbook. This picture was depicting a lost, searching and hurting 18 year old boy; still so shocked and unsure from the death of his mother. The first thing that popped into my head was my mom. Was it something she had said to me, something I thought about when I was with her, or was it something she lived her own life by? Then it came to me, “Beat The Odds.” It was so perfect, it was exactly how I lived, and it was what my mom showed me every day she lived.

But what are odds, and who the hell knows what chance I have against the rest of the world. Odds do not take into account heart, soul, drive, determination or will. Odds are numbers just like grades are letters on pieces of paper. Yes, there is science and math and probably even some history that goes into making odds, but does any of that truly outweigh a person’s will to live, to accomplish and to “Beat The Odds”? I just can’t believe that a number will determine matters of our hearts and souls. A story that sticks out to me like a sore thumb is the time I was talking with my grandma about how sick my mom truly was, and how the doctors only gave her a few days to live and she ended up living over 3 months more than anyone had expected. That’s just it, nobody knows when it’s their time, or when they’re about to a do something that no one else thought they would even come close to doing. That’s why the quote, “Beat The Odds” is so perfect because in every aspect of my own life I’ve been up against unfavorable odds. And as I sit here today typing this blog, the odds are still so stacked against me with starting this organization, but just because people say you can’t and the numbers aren’t in your favor doesn’t mean you should put your tail between your legs and get back in line. That’s not me, and I hope it’s not you either. Its people that take a step out of line and truly follow their heart and soul that end up touching the hearts and souls of so many other people.

Life is an experience, it’s a journey, and you’re undoubtedly going to take a few wrong turns, fall down a couple times and maybe even shed a few tears. But it’s these experiences that shape who we are and what we want. Our heart is our leader, our vision is our light and our own two feet is how we’re going to get where we want to go. No odds, predictions or norms will ever shape me or this organization. For every cancer patient whose ever been told they have a certain amount of days to live, or they’re never going to be cured, this blog is for you. And for everyone else who has ever been told you can’t do something, or you’ll never be something, this blog is for you. Too many times in our lives we’re told how we’re supposed to do something a certain way, and we’re told it’s not the right time. We’re hardly told yes, go for it and you can do it right now. People very close to me, who I respect and love with all of my heart, tell me every day that I need to take a step back and truly find a “real” job. I can’t help but ask how is changing the world, and changing people’s lives who find what could be their last happy moment in life through this organization not a “real” job. How can you tell someone whose passion which may help save someone you love one day, that what they’re doing isn’t a “real” job?

People need to become more passionate in life and understand that they are the creators of their own paths, and their life is what they make of it. And the biggest thing to always remember…YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT. I’m sorry but I didn’t watch my mom fight to stay alive for 3 months so our family could have one final Christmas together, and I didn’t go with her to watch her sit in a chair for 3 hours and have every cell in her body get wiped out just so she could wake up and be with her husband and sons the next day for people to tell me this may not be the right time to start this organization. People, life is going to present you with situations that look to be absolutely the worst thing in the world, but it’s how we approach these situations that in turn shape who we are. There are so many stories in athletics about people who were up against it and fought with their life to make it, whether they made it for themselves, their families or their race, religion or creed it doesn’t matter. What matters is they made it and so can you. Everywhere you turn there are going to be people telling you, you can’t do this and you’ll never accomplish that. But just remember this blog, and this line….It’s YOUR life, it’s what YOU make of it and YOU control YOUR destiny.

Beat the odds people…It’s why they’re made.

Most of us have vivid memories of bed time stories with our mom’s and dad’s. One of my most memorable bed time stories I shared with my mother was the night she read the book; The Giving Tree. The Giving Tree is one of those stories you hear when you’re a child and you look at the pictures and hear the words, but don’t truly grasp the concept. I have to be honest with you, there weren’t too many concepts outside of sports I grasped when I was young. But for some reason I remember the night my mom read me The Giving Tree like it was yesterday. The story, the pictures, the way my mom held the book and the way she looked while she sat on my bed and read to me. I feel now that this bed time story was truly describing the story teller, my mom.

When you read The Giving Tree you are introduce to two characters a boy and tree, throughout the story the tree provides the boy with every possible thing a tree could give a person. The tree does not always have exactly what the boy wants, but always provides a means for the boy to get what he wants. The tree wants nothing more than to see the boy happy and enjoying life to the fullest. The tree gives up his apples, his branches and his trunk all for the boy to have money, shelter and a boat, which is what the boy thought he needed to be happy. Then when the tree sees the boy at the end of the story, the tree feels as though he has nothing left to give the boy. At this point the boy has grown and aged to an old man, but it’s at this visit the tree gives the boy what he needed most; a quiet “resting” spot.

As I reread this book and tie its teachings and meanings into my own life. There is only one person I can think of who can be my “tree”, and that’s my mom. From the time I was born, she gave me opportunity after opportunity with her own hard work and determination. She was always looking out for her “boys”, my dad, brother and I. She never settled for mediocre, she tackled the corporate ladder, fought Breast Cancer three times, went through countless chemotherapy and radiation treatments, but never once batted an eye, thought twice or asked why me? She continued to give when giving seemed impossible. One of the most amazing gifts she ever gave me was our final Christmas together. Her body was littered with cancer, and so defeated she couldn’t even move. She willed herself to stay with us all and make it through one last Christmas day. That Christmas was so tough, but so special all at the same time. My brother opened all of her gifts for her, just as she would, gently removing the wrapping paper, reading the “To” and “From” sticker and as he got to the gift itself he would tell my mom exactly what it was, who it was from and then he would take her hands and rub them over the gift so she could feel every one of her presents.

Mom died the next day, but just as the tree thought he had nothing left to give, the death of my mother gave me the biggest gift of all. Through her death she has given me the opportunity to change the lives of so many other people and families who have been affected by cancer. She gave me the will and strength to realize that I can do anything I want. She gave me the idea to give the world The Cure Baseball.

As I continue to grow and become a man, I wish nothing more than to be a “tree” for many people. I want the fruit of this organization to bring happiness and a sense of comfort as the tree did for the boy. I want to be able to be a part of the solution and at the end of the day I want to make sure people know they’re never alone in their battle. So it is my hope to now transform from the role of the boy to now be the tree and to spread my branches of love, hope and happiness through The Cure Baseball. In becoming the “tree”, I want my mom to become “the old person” at the end of The Giving Tree; I want her to find her “peaceful resting” spot under her baby boy’s branches.