On this Christmas Eve, I am tucked into my humble little home immensely grateful. I lay next to my sleeping infant, healthy and breathing so soundly in dreamland. I give my girls breakfast and enjoy the chill of the air next to the sweet smelling Christmas tree. It's hard to imagine Just 6 short years ago we were nowhere near this calm and peace, but overwhelmingly more grateful; I was finally able to hold and nurse my tiny 2 month old baby Madeleine after her first brain surgery. How unimaginable! So stressful! Indescribable in words the emotional weight and complexity of those days surrounding her first Christmas.
How we miss her and do not miss those days- we do our best to block the pain of that turmoil. But today, I remember to give reverence to the blessings surrounding me this day. And to acknowledge the thousands of parents today in hospital rooms, surgical waiting rooms, or mortuary rooms giving every ounce of themselves for their child fighting for a life too short lived, praying to God for more time. I honor and respect them, pray for their children and their journey. Give thanks this Christmas for your blessings and truly remember life is worse for someone else out there. Love yours and tell them, for another Christmas is not promised.
Please excuse typos. Sent from my iPhone
Sunday, December 24, 2017
Thursday, July 7, 2016
Thinking of you
Madeleine, my love for you is so so strong. I try to imagine you running around with bouncy curls as a 4yr old. I wish these could stay happy thoughts, but it crushes me. And in your physical absence you make me a better person. I know you are with me, you see me, you touch me, comfort me. This is an never ending journey and challenge. Love Never Ends.
Monday, April 18, 2016
I'm dying to blog again!
It has been a long time. Too long. And it's not that I have a ton of time, because I don't; it's the therapeutic and hopefulness aspects that I miss.
When Madeleine was first diagnosed, it was before our Facebook group of AT/RT parents, before her diagnosis actually, when I was researching the many "rare" brain tumors and I stumbled across a blog (I will not mention their name). As a parent looking for hope, I felt my heart literally being tortured; being pressed through a grater and ripped to shreds as I read about this sweet blue-eyed boy and his father's immense sorrow in losing him. I pressed on, because I thought there has to be some sunlight in this very dark place I was reading. Nope... there may have been one or two small rays of light, but for the most part it was just ANGUISH. Debilitating heartbreak. I pulled myself away but clearly, have never forgotten this man's account of loss.
I made a decision. Although I too feel how this father felt, and there are times that I want or need to let something out, I need to focus on the HOPE. For me personally, if I spend too much time in the hurt, it doesn't benefit me or the living children I have that need me. There are too many obstacles in this life that command one's attention in the present to live in the hurtful, debilitating past. I see it this way: I have kept the best of Madeleine with me. I wear her memory daily and I speak to her daily; my daughter talks to her and about her daily; her smile is a focal point each and every day. I have chosen to love her and let that love warm my skin like the sunshine that she is on a sunny day.
From this sunny day in Los Angeles, I have decided to write again. I may change the name of the blog, but M will always be a HUGE part of who I am and the identity of our family. She is still very much a part of each of us, of our daily life, and who we are all learning to become as individuals. So in Madeleine's honor, we will press on.
When Madeleine was first diagnosed, it was before our Facebook group of AT/RT parents, before her diagnosis actually, when I was researching the many "rare" brain tumors and I stumbled across a blog (I will not mention their name). As a parent looking for hope, I felt my heart literally being tortured; being pressed through a grater and ripped to shreds as I read about this sweet blue-eyed boy and his father's immense sorrow in losing him. I pressed on, because I thought there has to be some sunlight in this very dark place I was reading. Nope... there may have been one or two small rays of light, but for the most part it was just ANGUISH. Debilitating heartbreak. I pulled myself away but clearly, have never forgotten this man's account of loss.
I made a decision. Although I too feel how this father felt, and there are times that I want or need to let something out, I need to focus on the HOPE. For me personally, if I spend too much time in the hurt, it doesn't benefit me or the living children I have that need me. There are too many obstacles in this life that command one's attention in the present to live in the hurtful, debilitating past. I see it this way: I have kept the best of Madeleine with me. I wear her memory daily and I speak to her daily; my daughter talks to her and about her daily; her smile is a focal point each and every day. I have chosen to love her and let that love warm my skin like the sunshine that she is on a sunny day.
From this sunny day in Los Angeles, I have decided to write again. I may change the name of the blog, but M will always be a HUGE part of who I am and the identity of our family. She is still very much a part of each of us, of our daily life, and who we are all learning to become as individuals. So in Madeleine's honor, we will press on.
Monday, December 15, 2014
Just Thoughts
It seems ridiculous that a pop song could bring a grieving
mother comfort. Although I have to admit, that is the truth.
This is the part when I say I don’t want ya
[the sadness]
I’m stronger than I’ve been before
This is the part when I break free
‘Cause I can’t resist it no more [my living life]….
I only wanna die alive [not from my grief]
Never by the hands of a broken heart
Don’t wanna hear you lie tonight [the devil in my ear]
Now that I’ve become who I really am [ a survivor]
When it came to Madeleine’s 3rd birthday this
song got me through that period because I did – I felt stronger. I felt
unbroken by my grief. I felt like it is ok for me to want to live for today,
for this life, for my family in my care. And true to the grip that is grief, I
am weaker now than in October. September and October are brutal – Childhood Cancer
awareness month followed immediately by her October 2nd birthday. It’s
a daily – near hourly – pounding into my head and heart why my child is not with us, and
then the feeble attempt to recognize one of the most glorious days in my life –
the day I gave birth to her. Followed by what seems to be the slow motion of the
family holidays – Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. We love her so much, and
miss her nearly as much. Right now I’m struggling to find the strength to feel
ok this holiday season.
Annalise brings me so much joy – her smile, just staring at
her while she’s doing something she loves, completely unaware that I’m drinking
her in to my memory, cherishing every curve of her face, every quirky lick of
her lips, every blink of her long, thick eyelashes. I am so in love with my
child and I thank Jesus every day for giving her to me to love, appreciate and
teach, as often as I stumble and try not to fail.
My mom said it beautifully the other day – Madeleine was
just too perfect for this world; and I appreciate those words so much. At the same
time, Daddy and I will never understand or make sense of what happened; why she
suffered so much in this life. Life is not fair: no one knows that statement to
be truer than a parent who has lost a child.
For whatever reason, today is tougher than others. Today I miss her terribly - not that that changes from day to day, but today hurts just a little bit more, a little more sad.
For whatever reason, today is tougher than others. Today I miss her terribly - not that that changes from day to day, but today hurts just a little bit more, a little more sad.
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