I’d thought she’d made it to the other side of cancer, but cancer rarely behaves as expected.

Deanne (pictured right) described a new regiment of chemo — three days in a row, every three weeks — that hopefully will send the cancer back into remission.

From her home in Maine, she writes, “I’m wrapping my mind around the fact that my life will be shorter than I always thought. Yet, two old friends from Tampa recently succumbed to unexpected, quick heart attacks so who EVER knows about these things?”

Who ever does? I’ve lost count of the number of conversations I have had with people who are, financially, driving on fumes. They are down to the last eighth of a tank in their savings account, wondering what is going to happen when they spend that last dollar. It seems so hopeless. But then I read what Deanne wrote and it hit me that all any of us can do is LIVE. Find life and joy in our days, regardless of the challenges we face. Besides, I guarantee you that any life challenge is minimal compared to a re-occurrence of cancer that has moved into the lungs.  

Deanne writes that, since she needs to gain weight, she’s chowing down on ribs, brownies and ice cream.  She’s seeing friends and family who are getting her through these challenges.  She finishes by saying, “Thanks for being part of my journey. I am at peace in a place I love.”

Faced with what is ahead of her, she still radiates light, strength and perspective. She has learned that all she can do is live her life — whatever that life may be. The challenge is the same whether you are facing terminal cancer or financial problems. LIVE, regardless. Connect to the people you love. Don’t surrender to the negative. Hang onto hope.

God bless Deanne Roberts.

Fawn Germer is the best-selling author of five books and an international corporate speaker focused on leadership and performance.

To be sure, this is not a story of hard times turning a once stellar professional into a homeless drug addict. She has a history with depression and mental illness. Severe mental illness ran in her family.

I don’t know what triggered her fall, but it breaks my heart to read that this beautiful woman has spent nights curled up on the streets, being beaten up or urinated on by men.

Most reporters have written at least a few stories about once-successful professionals who fell down and became street people and crack addicts. I have never known a journalist to actually have the same experience. It seems so unlikely. She was too intelligent. Too beautiful. Too exposed to the consequences of drugs. But, she’s still suffering, and I wonder if she will ever traverse the chasm between lost cause and respectability.

I hope she will write a book about her experience. Sure, there have been other stories of people who have suffered the same ordeal, but she can write. I wish she’d remember and use her talent. I wish she could come back to a safer, saner world. As it is, it’s too sad.

I have two brothers: One is blood, the other one should have been. My blood brother has been a source of great heartache, but my “chosen” brother has brought me as much love, security and friendship as any blood brother could have offered. I’m so blessed.

Five years ago, when I moved to Clearwater, Fla., I met Doug and Teri Swift at a neighborhood Fourth of July party. When Doug mentioned he had a subscription to Star magazine, I knew we were destined to be friends. Just like him, I have an insatiable appetite for Hollywood gossip. So there. Now you know what intellectuals we are.

I call Doug my “brother” because, if I sent God a list of what I would want in a brother, it would  be him. He watches out for me. He’s always got some kind of adventure for us. We never run out of things to talk about. It’s the most amazing friendship –  one that extends to his wife, Terri, who is a sister to me. It is hard to explain what she has come to mean to me, except I keep thinking of the word, “home.” She’s a safe place. She’s the thoughtful, reasonable one in our bunch. She’s an absolute, true friend.

Family sometimes comes to us in passing, rather than by birth. I could sit here and lament the disappointments from my real sibling relationship, but all I have to do is look to Doug and Teri and realize that God sent me the best brother and sister in the world — even though we aren’t technically related. There is nothing better than double dating with the Swifts.

Last year, I completely renovated the pool, deck and landscaping in my back yard. Two days after the deck was down, I woke up to a half-empty pool. It was leaking, and one end of the deck had to be ripped up so the pool could be mended. I was crushed. The project had already consumed way more time and cash than I’d been told to expect. The men who repaired the pool left the bricks from the north end of the deck in piles. My office is right next to the pool and an hour later, while I was working, I heard tapping out back. I turned around and saw Doug putting the deck back together for me. He knew how stressed I was and just stepped in to help. It made me cry.

Then there was the day I turned around and looked in the pool, only to see Dougie floating in the lounger with his People magazine.

Teri is a great listener who has great advice. She hears my heart, whether the issue is relationships or work or whatever happens in the news. She gets me.

Every time I get an electrician or a plumber, Doug comes over to see what’s going on and make sure nobody rips me off. The morning after I closed on an investment home last year, I showed up to begin the renovations and found Dougie had beat me to the site, already fixing things. When I bought a pontoon boat and couldn’t get it on the trailer, he got it on the trailer.  When the water department realized my sprinkler system was hooked up wrong, guess who fixed the problem before I even asked for help?

The cool thing about Teri is that we get to check back in with her and report on our latest shenanigans. I love when she rolls her eyes or goes, “Oh, God.”

The point of this is that so many of us have difficult family relationships that cause us great pain. I am lucky because I have the most incredible, loving, devoted parents in the world. But, there is that brother… And while I could go into a loop wondering why that relationship is so tortured, I don’t anymore. Maybe my “real” brother was put in my life to help me learn that I am part of a much larger family, and that gives my life a richness and dimension that is far more real than anything I ever hoped to have.

Let me explain: I am a new boat owner and, as a captain, I suck. I suck to the point where, on a four-hour excursion Saturday, I  beached my pontoon boat on a sandbar, got us stuck in forceful cross-currents that required all of us to jump out and pull with all our might to free the boat, nearly ran out of gas and continued to stall out repeatedly for the day. The stalling out was the engine’s fault. The rest of the blame is all mine.

If I ask you to join me for a leisurely ride to the beautiful coastal islands near Clearwater, Fla., do the smart thing and go to a movie. Saturday, I putted out of the marina with three of my very best friends. Thank God my friend Art was there to use his boating skills and muscles for one disaster after another. And, thank God that, on every previous trip, I was joined by my friend Doug, who is the closest thing to a true brother that I have ever had. Doug’s tried to teach me what I need to know, but so many crazy things keep happening.

I fear I sound like some sort of a ditz. How hard can it be to drive a pontoon boat, right? If you spend 20 minutes at any boat launch, you will see that there are a lot of good boaters around, and a lot of them don’t seem to have much going on upstairs in the brain department. Now, if they can figure all this out, why can’t I?

After I stalled out in the middle of the channel, Art quietly scooted me over and took the helm. And, as a good feminist, what did I do? Did I say, “NO, let me handle this!” Heck no. I grabbed a Diet Coke and my cell phone so I could call Doug and tell him to meet us at the marina to help us tie up the boat. Even less work for me.

Now, I hate looking like a helpless female. But, if these guys feel better about themselves by taking charge and saving the day, who am I to stop them?

Is it that I am a helpless female or a hopeless boat captain? To be honest, I wouldn’t care if the person taking charge of my boat were a strong man or a strong woman or a chimpanzee wearing a tutu. I just wanted to be back at the dock.

Fawn Germer is the best-selling author of five books. She is one of the nation’s top speakers on leadership and performance.

It isn’t pretty. She says it’s a matter of weeks before she bottoms out.

This year, we are learning to redefine “bottoming out.” I have had several friends give up their homes, spend down their savings and drain their retirement funds.  On paper, they have nothing. But, they are showing a resilience that is profound. They are finding out what they are made of, and counting on support from people who love them. As bad as things get, they still hang in there to fight another day. At some point, the days do get easier.

We’ve learned so much about loss and sacrifice this year, particularly when it comes to a concept like “security.” Most people deluded themselves into thinking their secure jobs meant secure futures, but their jobs were not secure. The only thing any of us can really count on is our own resilience. Let go of the things that don’t matter and build your own security once more. There is security in the knowledge that, the less you have, the less you have to fight to protect. You can downsize yourself out of a lot of headaches.

Sure, the future is uncertain — but, it always was. Just get up every day and have faith. It’ll all work out.

I’ve already written about the fact that the newspaper where I worked for eight years died a terrible death in late February. One of my friends sent an e-mail updating me on what my former colleagues are doing on the rebound. It’s sad, but it is a testament to resilience.

download brother bear online The former managing editor is going back to school to get a master’s in public health. The former city editor is taking classes to become a phlebotomist. An unbelievably talented photographer is cooking at a Panda Express. Some are writing or editing free-lance. A Pulitzer-prize winning photographer is working on a landscaping crew for the city. Others are trying to find something to do.

I wonder if they are bitter or hopeful.

I started reporting for my local paper when I was 15 years old. It was the only thing I’d ever wanted to do. It was a business that demanded passion and originality and commitment. It was so much fun when it was fun. Later on, I knew it wasn’t enough for me anymore. I wrote my last news story for U.S. News and World Report in 2003 — and that was only because my editor pleaded with me to go out there one more time. I haven’t written a story since, and have never missed it. Not at all.

ideal husband an dvdrip But, I made the decision to get out. These people were forced out — and many of them wanted to continue doing that kind of work. But, there’s no job market for them. It’s gone. So, this is what’s left. And, it is sad.