So I was going to write this post about the sad death of my friends son. I was going to talk about sweet Austin and how at 19 he fought a battle against cancer for two years that would had brought grown men to their knees. I was going to tell you all about the sweet boy who in the middle of the night would walk his sister, Sandra home after she had stayed out past curfew at my house with her best buddy, my son. I was going to tell you of the nights that my son, trying to be a gentleman would walk Sandra home only to have Austin walk him home because he would be too scared to come back by himself. I was going to talk about my friend Heather talking to me about how she was writing down the songs her baby wanted played at his memorial. I was going to talk of their amazing streghth during a horrific experience. I was going to be poetic and insightful. But I’m not. I’m going to use every ounce of my being to be thankful and grateful that I have one more day with my kids.