Earth Angels

 I don't even know their names. They were just two women camped out in the visitor lounge outside the palliative care unit of our local hospital. I would learn that they were sisters and that their mother was in the room next to my daughter Jaime's. Jaime, after being diagnosed 9 years earlier, at age 20, with melanoma caused by her tanning bed use, had been a "guest" of this hospital for 5 weeks, and within a couple hours, she would leave us and her pain and suffering behind.

I had left Jaime's bedside for a short break. I went to the lounge and curled up in a recliner, physically and mentally exhausted, with my world taking a deep dive into the darkness that only a mother who has lost their child can know. 

My husband came in and gently asked -- "Are you okay?" I snapped back out of my fog with the fury of an injured wild animal -- "My daughter is dying, and you ask me if I'm okay???" My husband, who needed consoling himself, was just lost in my anger and couldn't respond.

Then, as if it had been choreographed and rehearsed to perfection, those two women pulled up chairs on each side of me and took my hands in theirs. One told me the story of how her teenage son was in a horrible auto accident and died in her arms. She told me how painful this was going to be for me; she told me that I would want to die every minute of every day for a very long time. And she told me that it would be the most painful thing I would ever face but that I would survive. She was right about everything.

I returned to Jaime's room, knowing that what was about to happen would be the best thing for my little girl but would rip my heart right out of my body. A few minutes later, the nurse came in with a small stuffed lamb that she said the women next door wanted me to have. 

Such a loving gesture ... one that had even more meaning to me than they could ever know. Years before that, Jaime's nephew, my grandson, had died when he was a week old. I had put a little stuffed lamb in his casket with his tiny body. And here I was once again clutching a little lamb for comfort.

You might think all this is coincidence, or fate, or an accident, or maybe pure chance ... but I believe it was more than that. I think people are sometimes put into our lives for a specific reason. I don't know how this happens, but it just does. I am so grateful to those two strangers and have thought about them often over the years. We had a bond, a special moment in time, and I don't even know their names. But I call them "Earth Angels."

 

 Melanoma Mama (Jaime's mom, Donna)

http://www.facebook.com/donna.h.regen
http://www.facebook.com/jaime.regen.rea (Remember Jaime)
https://www.etsy.com/shop/sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)
http://stores.ebay.com/Sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations) 

 http://www.facebook.com/BanTheBeds (Pull the Plug on Tanning Beds)

Ding Goes My Heartstrings

A Facebook friend of mine who lost her young daughter to melanoma posted about a broken alarm clock that somehow would occasionally sound its alarm, like when the family was all gathered around the Thanksgiving table with the dreaded empty chair or when the conversation turned to memories of their daughter. I responded that this didn't sound at all unusual to me ... because since the death of our daughter Jaime at age 29 of melanoma, we have a chatty ceiling fan.

This is the ceiling fan in our bedroom. Looks like your typical fan, right? Well, on occasion, it becomes, believe it or not, Jaime's means of communication ... her way to say hello or in some cases, not often but more often than we like, to keep us awake all night.

You see those two short chains with the metal bobs on the ends? Somehow she gets them to knock against the glass globes, causing a loud DING. Sometimes it is just one ding (and I can smile and say "Good night, Jaime! I love you" as I roll over). 

                      (You may need to turn up the volume on your computer to hear the dings here)

Other times she is chatty and keeps it going with DING, DING, DING, DING, DING, DING ... (and I guarantee that in the middle of the night it is not so entertaining!).

Sometimes she goes for a long time without showing off her talent -- months or even years; sometimes she makes it happen several times a week. Sounds weird, right? We just say "Jaime's here! Hi, baby girl!" and let that ceiling fan warm our hearts with Jaime's DINGY thing!!! Bizarre is our new norm!
 
For you doubters, the dings came at all times of the day or night, in all seasons, in all weather, with windows open or closed, with fan on all speeds. My engineer-minded husband has tried to logically figure it out but had to conclude that it was Jaime.
 
The last time we heard the dings was over a year ago. I remember the last time because her dinging did not stop. It seemed that she was really excited about something or really agitated. The dinging continued throughout the day and the night. I told her that we needed our sleep ... yes, I'm the crazy old lady who talks to ceiling fans ... but it continued through the second night, at which time my husband flipped the switch to turn off the fan. Finally, sleep!

But when we turned it back on the next day, only quiet came from that fan. And that is all we have heard from it for more than a year.  I don't know what she was trying to tell us, if anything. I don't know if we pissed her off by shutting down her means of communications. I do know that I miss those dings, and every day I hope for their return.

[UPDATE July 2022: It has been a few years since I wrote this blog and another before that (When Angels Speak) since Jaime's last ding. But I'm more than delighted to report that in mid July 2022, as I was recuperating from my final chemo treatment for breast cancer, my husband and I heard one single ding come from this fan. Just one. But to me it said so much. It said "I'm still around and always will be. I've watched your struggle with cancer and I'm proud of you. Can you feel my love? Can you feel the strength I'm sending you?" Yes, baby girl, I can ...]


Melanoma Mama (Jaime's mom, Donna)

http://www.facebook.com/donna.h.regen
http://www.facebook.com/jaime.regen.rea (Remember Jaime)

http://www.facebook.com/BanTheBeds (Pull the Plug on Tanning Beds)
https://www.etsy.com/shop/sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)
http://stores.ebay.com/Sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)  

https://www.facebook.com/jjemcreations/ (Jjem Creations)

February Was Once "Fear"uary

February is always a difficult time of year for me. 

Not only is it dreary and cold but it was during February in 2007 that my 29-year-old daughter Jaime walked into the hospital not knowing that she would never walk out. 

I took her to the emergency room for pain management for her Stage IV melanoma, not an uncommon thing for us to be doing at that point in time since the cancer had spread everywhere. 

Usually we both fought for her to not be admitted (one time I even smuggled her out against doctor's orders) ... just get her pain to a manageable level and let us go back home ... but for some reason neither of us balked this time when they wanted to keep her overnight, that turned into just for the weekend, that turned into 5 weeks, that turned out to be the rest of her life. 

That time was a nightmare for Jaime, me, and our family, knowing where we were headed but not wanting to believe it. 

We were out of treatment options, which years ago were few; there was nothing left to try ... yet Jaime refused to quit fighting. When the doctor offered her hospice, she responded with, "Will they work to make me get better?" When he sadly shook his head no, her words were sharp and direct -- "Then hell no!"   

We were in a free-fall, unable to control anything, feeling so helpless and hopeless but at the same time needing to stay strong and positive for Jaime. It was the ultimate conflict, but we wore our happy masks (I still have mine and wear it frequently!) for our girl. 


We had successfully fought off this evil beast of a cancer for 9 years, but Jaime's little body had taken as much abuse as it could and there would be no more surgeries, no more pumping poison through her veins.  As much as we all wanted to rewrite her story, in February 2007 the end was quickly approaching.

Somehow, no matter how hard I try to ignore these memories, every year at this time they creep back into my mind and remind me how much I HATE melanoma and how unfair life can be. I am reminded of that relentless fear that gripped us all that February, along with the love that surrounded us as we faced the stuff that horror movies are made of. 

But one thing I never need to be reminded of is how much I love and miss our beautiful baby girl!

Melanoma Mama (Jaime's mom, Donna)

http://www.facebook.com/donna.h.regen
http://www.facebook.com/jaime.regen.rea (Remember Jaime)

http://www.facebook.com/BanTheBeds (Pull the Plug on Tanning Beds)
https://www.etsy.com/shop/sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)
http://stores.ebay.com/Sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)  

https://www.facebook.com/jjemcreations/ (Jjem Creations)

Life Interrupted, 10 Years Later

Life has its ups and downs. You buy a new car and then have a fender bender; you graduate from college and then it seems like forever to get a job; you find the love of your life and then you discover that he/she is not your soulmate after all.

But imagine that your life involved climbing up the slope of a steep cliff with someone you love more than life itself, some times dragging them and some times being dragged by them and some times carrying them on your back ... only to reach the top and step over the edge into a free fall, losing your grasp on your loved one along the way.

That is kind of the way it feels to lose a child to cancer. And I've been in a free fall for the past 10 years.

My daughter Jaime was 20 when we heard those terrifying 3 words "you have cancer." It was also the first time we had ever heard the word "melanoma." She had been diagnosed with melanoma, an often-fatal form of skin cancer, caused by her love of tanning beds since about age 14. But everyone said "she was too young for cancer" -- and "she didn't look like a cancer patient" -- and "it was just skin cancer, right?" WRONG!

It's been 10 years this week since Jaime took her last breathe, and I feel I should have something important to share. I feel like I should have encouragement for those mothers who are also grieving but not as far down the road as I am. I feel like I should have some answers to all the questions that all of us angel moms ask. But I don't.

I hate to tell you, but it does not get easier; it just gets different. The grieving continues, but you do get better at wearing your mask, the one you put on whenever you are not alone. The unimaginable pain is chronic, but you somehow get used to carrying it and it is not as raw or heavy.

You will never be the same person you were before. Your life has been divided into your life with your son or daughter and your life after having them ripped from your arms. My "post-angel wings" life now is nothing like it was when Jaime was alive. As I said, I'm in free fall.

Ten years has been an agonizingly long time to be without my child and best friend ... honestly, much longer than I ever hoped I would be separated from her ... and at the same time, it seems like it was just yesterday that she came through the front door yelling "Mom." Jaime was always the center of attention and I was her shadow. Now I am just a shadow looking for its missing object.

That doesn't mean that my life has no meaning or direction. I still have a husband and 2 sons that I love with all my heart, but my direction has only come from a little voice whispering in my ear, giving me passion and commitment to fight the tanning beds that took my baby girl.

One thing I have learned in the past 10 years is that life is not fair. Growing up, my mom always would tell me that because I was such a bleeding heart. But now that I'm here and Jaime is not, I do believe that my mom was right. It's really not fair -- not fair at all! And don't assume that because you have gone through the unthinkable, nothing else bad will happen. You think you have paid your dues, but life just keeps happening.

Then there is the tremendous guilt. She was my child and I should have

been able to protect her. I should have been able to fix her. I've always been a fixer, but not this time. Why not this time? Then there was the guilt that I was not the same wife I had been before Jaime's death, and not the same mother. I realized how badly my family wanted me to be the same ... but that Donna was no longer here. She had died with Jaime. The guilt has been suffocating!

For the first couple years I had a never-ending loop running in my head of all the events leading up to Jaime's death. All the second guessing; all the what ifs; all the searching for answers when I wasn't even sure what the questions were ... playing it over & over & over. I finally came to realize that no matter what I had done or hadn't done, the final result would be the same. And as weird as it sounds, I haven't worn a watch or carried a purse since the day Jaime died and I have no idea why that is. I've just learned to accept that not everything has an answer, at least not one I understand.

At the beginning of my grief, I heard all the comments from people who mean well but just don't know what to say -- "she's in a better place," "it was God's plan," "at least she is free of pain," "I understand your pain because my grandmother died," etc. FYI: The best thing you can say to a grieving mom is "I'm sorry," "I love you," " He/she (and use their name!) will never be forgotten," or a story about the son or daughter, or even just a hug.

It was 3 years before I could look at Jaime's photos. And then it was not because I wanted to but because I was forced to as part of the video presentation on tanning beds that I had agreed to do. It was so very painful to dig through all the pictures from a better time, a happy time, but I did so with a lot of tears. The nightmarish memories from Jaime's death were just beginning to let the happy memories of her life come forward.

Somewhere along the way, I learned to recognize the warning signs that I was sliding into that deep dark hole of extreme grief and despair (you angel moms all know the place I am talking about) and eventually gained the strength to not allow my mind to take me there. The climb out was extremely exhausting. If you haven't been there, it's not someplace you ever want to visit.

It took me several years to feel comfortable about going out socially. Small talk scared the crap out of me. The question I feared most was the pleasant, simple "How many children do you have?" And if I got through that one without breaking down, there was usually the innocent follow-up "And where do they live?" I was also aware that people who knew about Jaime's death felt uncomfortable around me, like I had a contagious disease, and they were afraid of doing or saying something to cause me pain. Let me assure you that I was already in more pain than you can imagine. You couldn't make it any worse -- unless you tried to ignore or avoid it.

About 5 years after Jaime's death, I began to smile again and really mean it. It would be almost 10 years before I would hear myself laugh -- not a tears-running-down-your-face, pee-running-down-your-leg laugh like Jaime could provoke, but it was a laugh. And it was such a strange sound coming from me after so long that it actually startled me!

Ten years out and I can finally tell Jaime's story without sobbing ... at least some of the time. I don't think it will get much better, but I will not stop talking about how her use of tanning beds took her life at 29 because the killing has got to stop. Melanoma is a cancer that, in many cases, can be prevented ... and it must be prevented. I have a mission. I did not choose it but I have it. Some of the time I don't even like it but I have it. And I will continue on that mission until that little voice in my ear leads me in a different direction.

Ten years out ... and I can't tell you everything is fine or back to normal (whatever that is) or that the road of grief is behind me. I still find it hard to imagine that she is really dead. But I can tell you that, even after 10 years, Jaime hasn't left my heart or my side. I may be in free fall, but she is right there with me. That I do know.

Melanoma Mama (Jaime's mom, Donna)

http://www.facebook.com/donna.h.regen
http://www.facebook.com/jaime.regen.rea (Remember Jaime)

http://www.facebook.com/BanTheBeds (Pull the Plug on Tanning Beds)
https://www.etsy.com/shop/sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)
http://stores.ebay.com/Sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)

Stepping Back into the Fog

It is past time for a blog from me. I can feel it as if the page is nudging me. No problem, I think. Most of my blogs tend to write themselves. But now I put my fingers on the keyboard and get nothing. They just don't move.

I recognize this fog of grief. I don't want to but I do ... and I know it will take a while for it to lift and allow me to focus. You see, my mom died last week. Yes, she was almost 96 years old; yes, she had no idea who I was for the past 2 years; yes, her quality of life was nonexistent. Yes, it was time for her to go ... but the loss still hurts.

This foggy feeling is all too familiar from when my 29-year-old daughter Jaime died 8 years ago (although it seems like yesterday). Jaime was young with her whole life ahead of her, she suffered courageously for 5 years with end-stage melanoma, and she was fully aware that she was dying. It's not the same ... and yet it is.

Because here we are again ... left behind with the intense emptiness, the conflicting memories, the messiness of dealing with death, the missing link from our family chain. Another piece of my life, my past, my youth has been ripped from my grasp (see my blog There Goes Another Little Piece of My Life).


I know I am not alone in these feelings. Many loved my mom and are affected by her death. Not only our close family and friends, but over almost a century she touched a lot of people. My heart aches for their loss as well as mine.

Matter of fact, I'm sure everyone reading this has experienced grief, and we all deal with it in different ways ... but we all must deal with it. It can't be avoided ... it can't be ignored. We grieve because we have loved.

Death is part of life, but as part of the melanoma community, I see death visiting our group way too often. I see their pain, I know their pain, I feel their pain ... but it is their pain. Now this is mine once again ... and I don't like it.
 
This treasured photo is from around 1979. Three generations: my mom, my daughter Jaime, and me! There were three of us then, but now I am the only one left. The two most important women in my life are now gone. It wasn't supposed to be like this ... it is not the way I planned it.
 
My life has been changed once again, and I don't like change. I am angry that I am once again forced to walk this path of mourning. I don't want to because I know what lies ahead on this long journey, but I also am aware that I have no choice. The good thing is that I know I can do it ... and so I will.

But right now, I am fragile, not broken, just fragile. My thoughts are scattered and don't want to leap onto a blog page. My fingers don't want to move, and my brain is resisting every effort to find the right words.

So I ask that you be patient as the fog clears because I have lots of future blogs to write ... I just have to find them ... and me ... again.

Rest in peace now, Mildred Jane Fox Helm (Sept 26, 1919 - July 7, 2015) ... Mother, Nama, Jane, Millie, or Blondie. You will be always be loved and missed by many! Thank you for giving us 95 years ... and forgive me for my selfishness in wishing there were more! I love you, Mom!!

Melanoma Mama (Jaime's mom, Donna)

http://www.facebook.com/donna.h.regen
http://www.facebook.com/jaime.regen.rea (Remember Jaime)
https://www.etsy.com/shop/sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)
http://stores.ebay.com/Sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)

End-of-Life Decisions: Make Them BEFORE They're Needed!

I hate to be the one to break it to you ... but someday you will die! I absolutely guarantee that we all will eventually complete the circle of life and die, whether we like it or not and whether we are ready or not. But you can make that event more peaceful for you and your family by thinking about and discussing your end-of-life preferences ahead of time ... like NOW. Do it now ... before you are in the midst of an emergency or an emotion-packed situation.  


 Every year a date is designated as National Healthcare Decision Day, and that would be a great day to have THE discussion with your family. Or how about TODAY? Talk with your physician if you need more information ... but don't wait. It is something easy to put off because no one wants to think about or talk about your death or that of a loved one ... but don't delay it any longer. 

Death does not discriminate

The discussion you will be having now about your end-of-life choices with your family is difficult, but decisions made in the heat of battle are painful beyond words. Just trust me on that! 

You might think you are too young to be worrying about end-of-life stuff, but unfortunately you never know when it will be needed. Death doesn't just come to old people. The kids killed in a school bus accident didn't plan on dying so young; the kids killed in a high school shooting didn't dream that their lives would be so short; the young adults killed in a traffic accident didn't think their lives would abruptly stop. My Jaime didn't believe that cancer would end her life before her 30th birthday. 

Legal responsibilities and beyond

Whether you are perfectly healthy or have a terminal illness, whether you are young (but older than 17) or old, the time to get your legal affairs in order is NOW! You need to get a will, even if very simple. And you need to get power of attorney papers drawn up (medical and financial) that state who you want making your medical and financial decisions for you if you are unable to do so. 

It is also important to have a living will or advance directive, which should indicate how aggressive you want the intervention by medical providers to be and what type of limitations, if any, you want made on life-saving measures? 

Depending on your circumstances you may not be able to think clearly at the end of your life or you may not be able to communicate. So communicate your choices and preferences now. Remember that these legal documents are not written in stone and can be changed as your life changes.

Also, as part of your plan, let your family know about other end-of-life things that concern you, like if you want to die at home if possible; let them know how you feel about being placed in hospice or a nursing home. Have you considered whether you want to be an organ donor if that is possible?

End-of-life wishes for after death

While you are at it, since this discussion is emotional already, discuss with your family what you would like to happen after your death. Be sure to have someone write down your wishes so there is no confusion later. It will save your family from making these decisions during a painful time when they want so badly to do what you would have wanted ... but they aren't sure what that is. 

Do you want to cremated or buried? What would you like to happen with your ashes? Do you have a preference of where you want to be buried? Do you want the casket open or closed? Do you have any special preferences for your funeral, like songs, or flowers, or people to speak, or poems or scripture to be read? Is there some special clothing you want to be buried in or something special you want buried with you (a photo or memento, maybe)? 

I know this all sounds morbid and depressing, but your family will appreciate having these guidelines when the time comes, especially since all family members may not agree with some of your choices. Many families today are complex mixtures of different religions and cultures, with customs or beliefs that may not agree with your wishes, so it is important to make your preferences known. It is, after all, YOUR death. 

Why should you take action NOW?

I feel very strongly about this topic of end-of-life discussions and decisions because of my personal experience. Many of you know that my daughter Jaime died of melanoma when she was 29. She was diagnosed 9 years earlier so we had plenty of time to get her legal paperwork in order ... but she balked. She was not going to die, she would declare ... she was too young to die. Jaime was simply unable to face the fact that she might ever need these legal documents; it was part of her coping mechanism. Many times over the years we tried to convince her that it would not hurt to have these legalities taken care of and then filed away until she died of old age. But she resisted.

Finally in the hospital during her last few weeks of life, her oncologist brought the subject up once again because he needed a legal medical power of attorney. She was furious with the doctor because to talk about end-of-life decisions at that point, in her mind, meant she was giving up ... and she had no plans to do that. 

However,  her daddy and I knew it was necessary and asked our family attorney to come to her bedside. It was a horrible experience at its best!! I had to ask the nurses to withhold Jaime's pain medication until after the attorney left so she would be lucid enough to sign the documents. At this point in time, when she was not ready to give up hope, we were shoving documents in her face about her impending death. Everyone was in tears, including the attorney. Wow, if we had only insisted that she take care of this before things got to this point. 

Following that, Jaime and I were able to talk about her wishes for after her death, and I think she must have been happy with the special "going away" party that we arranged for her. I am so thankful that I had her guidance with that, but it wouldn't have happened if we had not had THE discussion, as painful as it was.


Please take advantage of National Heathcare Decision Day or whatever day you choose to make your end-of-life decisions. It does not mean that you are near death or even facing it in the next 100 years. It does mean, however, that you are smart and prepared and care about your family by taking that burden off their shoulders. Just do it ... make your plan and then file it away and move on with living your life.

Melanoma Mama (Jaime's mom, Donna) 
 
Twitter: @melanoma_mama
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/donna.h.regen
http://www.facebook.com/jaime.regen.rea (Remember Jaime)

http://www.facebook.com/BanTheBeds (Pull the Plug on Tanning Beds)
Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/shop/sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)
Ebay: http://stores.ebay.com/Sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)

Blowing Out Birthday Candles ...

March 16, 2007. It was a beautiful, warm and sunny Spring day. It was my birthday. It was a perfect day for celebration ... but it was to be the worst day of my life. On that date many years before, I had taken my first breath; on that same date 60 years later, my only daughter Jaime would take her last.

The nightmare begins

My baby girl was diagnosed with melanoma when she was 20 years old, after years of searching for the perfect tan with the help of tanning beds. She was a frequent fryer and paid the ultimate price. A mole on her back seemed to be where this cancer wanted to set up shop. That damn mole caused more pain, suffering, and broken hearts than I can find words to describe.

Initially she was determined to be in an early stage of melanoma, and we were told after 3 years that she was cured. NOT! I know now that you are never "cured" of melanoma. If you are lucky, it becomes inactive until something wakes it up at a later date. February 2002 Jaime's cancer awakened (see my blog With This Ring ...), and our nightmare began. She was in the final stage, Stage IV. Her cancer had spread, and there was no stopping it. Jaime faced this challenge with amazing strength and courage and a positive attitude, which she also demanded from those around her ... and always with a smile on her face. She was so determined that she would not die from this horrific disease that we were all convinced that she would indeed beat it. We chased it around her little body for 5 years with surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, every treatment option available ... until ... until March 16, 2007.

Sleep, my little one, sleep

Her last night was a good one, considering. Her brother Ben and I slept by her side at the hospital that night. I guess the word "slept" isn't really the best word choice. We watched her tiny body in the huge hospital bed move up and down gently with each breath she took, like I used to watch all my babies as they slept. She was curled up in a ball, just like she liked to sleep and hadn't been able to for many months because of breathing problems caused by tumors pressing on whatever they were pressing on. We listened to her softly chattering away. We couldn't make out what she was saying, but her sweet child-like tone was assurance that she was enjoying the conversation. And then she would giggle. And that giggle is the last sound I heard her make ...

The end of hope

By the following morning (Friday, March 16), Jaime had drifted into a coma. Her oncologist came to see her in her hospital room as he did every morning and evening. He wasn't on call that weekend, and without giving it much thought, I said, "Well, see you on Monday." He looked at me with the saddest of looks and shook his head no. The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, and it hit me ... we will not be here on Monday!  I think that is the first time that I really allowed myself to understand that we were at the end. All the treatments, medications, scans and reports, doctor office and hospital visits, clinical trials, barf bags, cases of Ensure, doctors and nurses, new friends made through this journey, old friends lost who didn't understand, a new melanoma vocabulary, the dark sense of humor we had developed to help us cope, all the fear, all the pain, all the tears, all the prayers had lead us to this point. There was no more room for hope ... the hope we had clung to for 9 years; the hope Jaime demanded that we have.

Happy Birthday, Mom

Then my son gently reminded me that it was my birthday. I told Jaime that I would love for her to open her eyes and wish me a Happy Birthday ... but if she couldn't, then the best birthday gift she could give me would be to leave her melanoma-battered body behind and just fly away. And off she flew ...


But Jaime's story doesn't end there. I am not telling you her story to solicit sympathy but to make you aware of the torture that tanning beds and melanoma has caused our family and friends. I am telling you Jaime's story because she can no longer do so ... and it is a story you need to hear. Her story has been featured on local and national TV news, radio, magazines, newspapers, public service announcements (http://t.co/YrV1At9qTD) ... and even in theaters. Almost every lawmaker across the country in any state considering tanning bed legislation has heard her story, along with the FDA and the CDC. Her story is told on Facebook and Twitter and at melanoma walks and events. A scholarship at her alma mater University of North Texas has been started in her name, and her professors tell her story to their young students. Her face has even smiled down from melanoma awareness billboards! Don't count her out because she is not done yet.

On March 16, 2007 ... like blowing out candles on a birthday cake, the light of a young life, my sweet Jaime's life, flickered and was gone. And all our lives have been darker without her laughter, her joy, her courage, her love, and her light. We miss you, Jaime girl, with every beat of our hearts!


 Melanoma Mama (Jaime's mom, Donna)
Twitter: @melanoma_mama
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/donna.h.regen
http://www.facebook.com/jaime.regen.rea (Remember Jaime)

http://www.facebook.com/BanTheBeds (Pull the Plug on Tanning Beds)
Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/shop/sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)
Ebay: http://stores.ebay.com/Sweetpea321 (Jjem Creations)