"Avoid overthinking, overanalyzing, and complicating things. Keep everything simple. Life is much more beautiful and enjoyable this way."

Sometimes the tools to a happier life are right within my grasps. Yet, the struggle of knowing what's good for me, and training my mind to think positive sometimes feels impossible.

I truly admire those who do it so well that it has become an effortless art form.

​Just my Monday Morning thoughts through meditation after a mostly sleepless night. Sometimes the best motivation is knowing that small steps are ok and you're not the only one who struggles to get it right. It's not always our accomplishments that need celebration, but our attempts as well.

"The moon is a loyal companion.
It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections."

New mom Kayla Kaydo wanted something beautiful and creative in her maternity pictures. She didn't want your typical black and white studio portraits. She was looking for a peice of art that she could share with her daughter and future grandchildren.

I came up with a plan that would not only show the gorgeous and powerful female pregnancy form, but also a glimpse into life of motherhood.

Kayla loves nature and wild things. We set her up a warm milk bath and laid flowers all around her. It was beautiful and relaxing. It showed off her round pregnant belly wonderfully. Six months later we shot again after her beautiful daughter, Aurora was born.

I hope everyone enjoys this set as much as we do.

Full Moon Energy Tonight 🌙 And it's the Hunter's Moon. 🏹

I am feeling all sorts of weird this cycle and am hoping it's going to close a lot of doors that need shut weeding out the last of the bad vibes that poured over these past couple if weeks.

The Moon’s name comes from Anglo-Saxon times but is also attributed to Native American tribes.

These tribes would monitor time by observing the moon patterns and four seasons of the year, a process later adopted by colonial Americans.

The Hunter’s Moon marks the start of the hunting season in which meats are preserved for the winter months, presenting a time of reflection.

The name is also said to come from the light of the moon enabling hunters to find hiding nocturnal animals.

Art by: Marina Molares 💕
Moon info via express.uk 📖

Life changing decisions will be made today that are out of our hands. I have to remind myself that this is in the hands of the universe now, and whatever will be... will be... I did all that I could to make it so. Poppy and I still lit our candle and set out our favorite crystals for good vibes. Please continue to send love, vibes, and prayer. Whatever you believe in your heart. I think just knowing my wonderful internet support friends are thinking about us makes a difference.

Something that I needed to hear today. My worst days in Illinois have been better than my best days in Pennsylvania. I needed to leave. I believe in finding your own peace and making the best out of situations. That idea of finding happiness where you are. However I have learned sometimes you need to break from the people who aren't allowing you to grow.

As a photographer, and self proclaimed artist (smile) my biggest coping mechanism has been taking pictures. Even as a child, I would stock up on disposable cameras and drive my grandparents crazy to get them developed for me.

I documented everything about my father's cancer journey in pictures. From the day of the diagnosis, to the emergency hospital stays, the treatment, the rehabilitation, the home hospice, and his death.

It's hard for me not to be emotional seeing these pictures. So many different thoughts and feelings that I experianced these last days. His last month of life.

My dad had gotten a cold that winter and it just would not go away. He was stubborn and would not let my sister or myself know just how bad he felt.

For a while his cold symptoms had even seemed to clear up. But by early spring he had developed a terrible cough again. A lump in his lymph nodes on his neck had began to form. He believed they were just swollen because of his cold, so he did not say anything to us.

My father was never the type of person to see a doctor. I was never fully sure if it was fear, or trying to avoid the financial burdens of medical care. He was always like this. As long as I can remember. Stubborn single father who always tried to put everyone's needs above his own.

When he finally let us know what was going on, his lump was as big as my fist. I was terrified, but I tried so very hard not to let it show as I knew it was my turn to be strong for my father.

We went to the ER and left with a recommendation for a cancer specialist. I remember before the official diagnosis feeling so hopeful. I had done a lot of reading online, and originally doctors believed he had hodgkin's lymphoma. A very scary cancer indeed, but it had really good survival statistics. We were ready to fight.

When my father went in for the biopsy he had a lot of trouble breathing and was admitted to the hospital. We waited a week for the results of that test. Rapid test showed he indeed had cancer, and doctors began to discuss chemotherapy with us. But we had to wait for the official diagnosis with the cancer type.

I was still very hopeful. I got to know his oncologist very well over this week. His nurse too. I was bugging them every day to see if they had results as the hospital we were in seemed to know nothing.

This week seemed to last a year. The wait. It was terrible.

I remember getting the call. The call. The life altering call. I was sitting in my friends car outside the hospital. I had been doing over night stays with my dad and was getting ready to go home, eat and shower. For whatever reason, the phone did not ring and went straight to voice mail. I played it on speaker. Right away I knew by my father's oncologist's tone that things were really bad. I had never heard sadness in a doctor's voice before. And he said he was sorry. So so sorry.

Up until this moment we never heard the words Lung Cancer. And I never in my life had heard of Extensive Staged Small Cell Lung Cancer. I knew nothing.

I later learned the 5-year relative survival rate for stage III SCLC is about 8%. SCLC that has spread to other parts of the body is often hard to treat. Stage IV SCLC has a relative 5-year survival rate of about 2%. My father discovered his in stage 4. Some doctors classify anything that has spread past the lungs as "Extensive Stage Small Cell Lung Cancer". It's a terminal cancer with very little treatment options.

I hid in the tiny bathroom of my dad's hospital room, I sat on the floor and I cried. I punched the sink. I felt like I was going to throw up. But I got up, looked in the mirror and said "get it together, Lopez... get it together, Taylor." Wiped my tears away, and went back to sit with my dad.

We agreed to do Chemotherapy to shrink the tumors to help with breathing and extend quality of life. We learned that this would not be a cure, and that they could not even properly give him a true estimate of time. Just that if we didn't do the chemotherapy, it would be very soon.

After chemotherapy, my father almost seemed to be getting better. His growths did decrease in size. And we were all feeling hopeful. We were told perhaps a hospice would be a great option for us. I don't think anybody was ready to hear that.

We were moved to a recovery room on the top floor. It was bigger, private and had a view.

The chemotherapy caused huge painful blisters all over my father's legs. A rare side effect. Something we were not ready for and would continue to worsen and grow until the end.

We were warned about his chances of pneumonia and infection. But were told to remain positive.

He went from the hospital into a rehabilitation center for a while to learn to use a walker and adjust to his new life. Things seemed great at first, but then my dad started to feel really sick.

That's when the ground was ripped from beneath our feet. Our worst fears had came true and my dad had developed pneumonia.

He was tired. He didn't want to fight anymore and asked me to call a hospice so he could come home. He hadn't been home for nearly a month. I think that in part made him want to stop fighting faster. He just wanted to come home. And decided against more hospital stays to treat the pneumonia.

He lived exactly one week from the time he came home from the rehabilitation center.

I have a long post about the spiritual experiences I had during the last week of my dad's life, and I will link it here: (Saying Goodbye To My Father; A Lesson In Faith) https://www.sugarygiggles.com/blog/saying-goodbye-to-my-father-a-lesson-in-faith

We had an amazing hospice team that I will forever be thankful for. I am not sure I could have done it without their amazing help and resources.

My father died at home surrounded by people he loved. I wish that we had more time, and that things would have went differently. I remember at one point in the hospital him telling me not to worry, because he was not ready to go yet either.

Not a day goes by that I don't miss him and that I don't think about him. Grief is truly a journey that we will go on forever.

I shared a lot of these images before in a collection, but I did not offer any real context to them. I simply said "my father's cancer journey in pictures". That's it. I really can't believe it has taken me 2 years to make this post. To clarify what all these images mean.

The endless medications, the breathing machines, the hospital stays... all of it. Even now, I feel like I have not put enough weight into my words and that I could do better.

I am posting this to let others going through similar know that they are not alone. That their feelings and emotions are valid. I don't think anybody can fully understand what it is like to have someone you love diagnosed with a terminal disease. Knowing that they are going to die.

We all need to be kinder and gentler to each other. We only get one life. And your time on this Earth is precious.

Every Halloween I see my fb feed fill up with posts about how it's ok to dress like a Native American... an "Indian" because it's all in fun. They share the same memes. Talk about the innocence. Compare it to movie characters and things on tv. Cry that people are ruining the holiday and turning everything into a cause etc.

I know it's wrong. I do. But I keep scrolling. Why? I try hard not to be combative on other people's posts. I try SO hard to let others have their opinions. A little voice in my head is like no Maggie, keep it to yourself. But as I get older... I realize that me not speaking up makes me part of the problem. And I don't want to be that person anymore.

In addition to the important message this image shows. Let's talk about this...All the white washing Christian Americans tried to do to thousands of Native American children. Taking them from their families. KIDNAPPING them. Not letting them practice their religion, wear their own clothing or speak their languages. Most were not allowed to contact their families.

So striping them of everything that made them who they are ... only to turn around and wear their clothing as costume now. It's disgusting. And I don't understand why anyone thinks it's ok.

I learned a bit about the Carlisle Indian School before I left the state, and recently dug a bit deeper after a conversation with a friend. It's terrible what Americans did. So many deaths. Sexual abuse. We are talking about children. CHILDREN. And FYI... these outrageous acts were not that long ago.

Here are some articles, but I encourage you to educate yourself and do your own research.

https://www.history.com/news/how-boarding-schools-tried-to-kill-the-indian-through-assimilation

https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=16516865

​https://www.indianz.com/News/2013/09/05/native-sun-news-death-rate-cov.asp

http://www.wkar.org/post/survivors-indian-boarding-schools-tell-their-stories

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/m/pubmed/8778083/