It's okay to take a professional pause, remember you are human, have a personal life and be vulnerable.

I would like to begin this very personal article with a heartfelt thank you to each member of my LinkedIn community who have taken the time to reach out to me personally and offer so much compassion and support for my family as we fight the battle against pediatric cancer for my grandson Parker. As many of you know, almost 7 months ago to the day our family received the news that our sweet Parker has cancer. I still cannot put it to words what (Grandpa) Paul and I felt that day. More difficult for me is ability to find the words to describe what my daughter and son-in-law felt and thought on that day. Cancer of any kind is awful and unimaginable, but pediatric cancer, a 4 year-old with cancer, well that is a devastating and horrendous diagnosis to receive as a parent, grandparent or family member.

I never thought or wanted Ewings Sarcoma to be two words in my personal vocabulary but here I am and here they are. I know these two words, all too well. I know the devastation. I know the fear. I know the physical, psychological and emotional impact. I know the uncertainty these two words have created. I know these things and I am just the Nana.

As close as I am to my family and my daughter Tori and I see how she and Chris handle having a child with cancer every minute of every day, I cannot begin to explain, describe or understand how these two words have truly impacted them, our beautiful Parker or his little sister, my sweet Indy.

Cancer is an ugly diagnosis. Pediatric cancer is uglier in my opinion. It robs (even temporarily) children and families of the fundamental experiences and memories that every parent expects when they bring children in to the world.

It has a profound and many times irreversible impact on the family well in to the future, even when there is a positive outcome (which I know in my heart will be the case for Parker).

To say that I am angry is expected, I am sure. To say that I am scared of the unknown and of not being in control is understatement, but I refuse to live in the dark place.

As a mom, my job has always been to protect my family. I have taken this job very seriously as does my daughter. Tori and Chris have had to face things no parent should ever face. Explain things to a "almost 5 year old" that no parent should ever have to explain.

They have had to watch their child cry in pain and know they are unable to do anything about it other than offer the comfort of their hugs, voice, love and kisses. Watch their child experience treatments that would bring most adults to their knees and do it with encouragement, positivity and love.

They stand by and watch as people they do not know care for the most precious thing on earth, their son. They put trust in medical treatments they are just learning about themselves and know they have little control and there is little they can do to create the outcome they desire. It is a parent's worst nightmare. It is this Nana's worst nightmare.

Parker handles all of this better than me. Probably better than most of the adults around him. His laugh is infectious. His attitude is positive and what you might expect from a "almost 5 year old". While he misses daycare and his friends and he misses the life he had "before cancer", his personality, sense of humor, laugh, strength, bravery are no match for this heinous disease.

I will continue on my path to do all that I can to help, support and fight for pediatric cancer research, fight for the families and kids going through this. This is in my control. I have just begin and have so much to learn about how to influence and make an impact. I can certainly do my part and do more. My learning journey has just begun and will continue while I do what I can to ensure that families do not have to experience what my family has. I will make it my life's work to educate, support, listen, learn and fight for the science and treatments these kids need. I refuse to live in the dark place. I will only live to make a difference and find the light.

The last 7 months have undoubtedly altered our family forever however I strongly believe, no, I know that our future will not be shaped by pediatric cancer. Parker will thrive, our family will thrive.

We refuse to live in the dark place - we will live in the moment, we choose to live life as if cancer is not a part of it. While there are moments of sadness and difficult emotions to manage, we will pray hard, play hard, laugh hard, support each other, support Parker and support the medical professionals who we have entrusted his care. We will thrive. Parker will thrive.

Today he will receive an MRI, the first since his diagnosis and very invasive spinal surgery. Today will be a good day!!! I know it.

I extend my thanks and gratitude to each person who has reached out, supported, offered prayers, kind words and encouragement to my family through this time. Your support has had a profound impact on me personally and having this support has truly been a blessing.

I post this for those going through the same thing or something similar, for the parents, grandparents and family who may feel alone and unsure. I post this because it is important to show you the positive when your family is facing the unimaginable. You are not alone.

I write this today because before we had professional careers and we worked so hard to achieve our goals, we had (and still do) personal lives, families, personal triumphs, challenges and tragedies and these things are what make us who we are as people and professionals. I write this today because sometimes we need a reminder of what really matters in life and how our personal lives shape the professional lives and accomplishments we hope to create and achieve.