As serious as a heart attack
Hearts are complicated matters.
My father’s wanted to stop working, blocked and barely providing his body what it needed. The surgeons opened him up on Thursday, cracked his chest and gave his heart new paths to function. A 5-way bypass that would give him a new lease on life and an opportunity for many years.
They fixed his heart.
His pain is awful right now, he looks fragile and vulnerable and I look forward to when all the healing is done and he can enjoy that newly strengthened heart.
Oh how I wish I could wheel Heather and Mike into an operating room and know that when they came out they’d be hurting, but they’d be on the road to recovery…better than ever.
The pain would fade day after day, leaving them more energized, more alive.
The memories of the surgery would start to dim over time and they’d never remember how bad they felt to start with.
The agony would be a bad dream.
I wish all problems of the heart could be repaired as easily as my dad’s.
Still hoping you’ll donate to sponsor me as a member of the Friends of Maddie team for the March of Dimes Walk.
Experienced, but no wiser
If you’ve never attended the funeral of a child, I consider you to be blessed beyond measure.
I never fathomed that I could experience so many emotions at once…grief, pain, relief, joy, guilt, anger, shame, faith, doubt. Not the day of my wedding, the births of my children, the deaths of my grandmothers have I ever felt so much bubbling turmoil peak in one moment.
I wish there was a point where attending the funeral of a child no longer shook me to my core, threatening the strength of my heart, feeling like my soul is dripping from me, tear by tear.
I’ve attended nine. Nine beautiful, terrible, reverent, shattering funerals.
I have YET to find that point.
I’m going to fly out to LA and Maddie’s funeral will make it ten.
I will, again, stand back and feel stupid and useless, totally helpless in the face of overwhelming emotion. I want nothing more than to be there for Heather and Mike on this day, to let them know in some tiny way that their daughter had an incredible impact…even on those who never had a chance to meet her.
Because, in the face of such a tragedy, there is NOTHING you can say or do to make it any better, make it right again, make them whole, make it anything but the WRONG it will always be.
Perhaps in the same way I felt a burning need to find a way to not be helpless when Peyton was diagnosed, I am going to do something.
Something in memory of Maddie, something to honor the fight in her spirit and the laughter in her eyes. The parts of her that resonated so deeply within me as I recognized Peyton’s kindred spirit.
Fighters don’t always win, but they never give up.
It’s nothing that helps Maddie now, but hopefully it will help a family in the future. Maybe it’ll be the technology, the knowledge that makes the world a safer place for premature babies and give them a chance at a longer life than Maddie got.
I started a team for the March of Dimes (Heather is and always will be a March of Dimes mom) in honor of Maddie. I encourage you to join and walk with us on 4/25 at the University of Tampa and to donate to our fundraising efforts.
But even if you can’t join or donate, take this opportunity to remember Maddie and to be appreciative of the countless blessings in your life.
**I will link to the Spohr’s site when it stops reeling from the influx of wonderful people sharing their condolences.**
Maddie Spohr
I met Heather online through her blog and from the very first moment her beautiful baby girl stole my heart. She of the huge eyes and wide smile. The laughs Heather and I shared over Maddie and Peyton was the beginning of a special friendship.
Maddie.
My heart shatters into a million pieces to know that the world has lost Madeline Alice Spohr.
The world is an emptier place for it.
If you’d like to honor this beautiful child, please donate through Heather’s site to the March of Dimes.
All my prayers and love to Heather and Mike Spohr.
I traded in my HAWT for stow-and-go seating
This weekend I had a soul-shattering, earth-rattling, ego-smashing moment of gagtastic midlife epiphany.
It doesn’t matter
- how good a hair-day you’re having
- how well-applied your makeup is
- how pretty you may be feeling
- how good you know you smell
- how snazzy you feel in your no-kids-around outfit
- how LOUD you blare your inappropriate music
- if you DON’T actually have any kids with you
You ARE, in fact, STILL driving a minivan.
It’s just never the same, ladies.
