Getting our Fall on

When one is pregnant and mainly nauseated or snoring on the couch, it pays to have another pregnant friend in which to rely on for survival.

Or to rely on for maintaining a sense of tradition or fun or experiences for our daughters. Because you better bet your biscuits this mommy isn't doing much of anything lately to advance Linley's life experiences. But if you get me and my best friend and our girls and send us north to pick apples and find fall fun with the promise of apple cider slushies and funnel cake and a few giggles...well, yep, we are in it.

We went to Ellijay, about 2 hours away and it was worth all the fears of puking I saw on Miriam's green face as we saw the beautiful north georgia foliage. She has a 9 and 5 year old, while my Linley falls right between them at 7. It's never forgotten that my Piper should have been the 4 th little girl in our party. We are both expecting this spring and are both napping a lot.


This is why we rely on each other to get out of town and create memories with these sweet little faces. There was a jumping pillow, a huge slide, apple picking, a horse and wagon ride, a playground, a zip line and pedal cars.

By the time we spent 3 hours there and were almost sufficiently filled up on apple cider slushies and apple donut samples...we almost needed a chauffeur to haul our tired bodies back to the city.

It was lovely and it was memorable and we probably will be ever the more tired next year doing it with these 3 sweet faces plus a 6month old and a 9 month old.

Home

About 30 minutes from my current home is another home that once my small family resided in.

This home was the last home I felt unconquerable in. The last home I slept without fits and the last home in which I had two healthy daughters. In this home, I picked figs with Linley for snacks, I planted mint and dahlias and confederate jasmine on my pregnant knees. It was here I have pictures of my belly swelling and my four year old daughter painting the rocks we would find. Where I brought my second born home from the hospital and rocked her to sleep. Where I prepared sliding contest for Linley and her friends across the old antique hardwood floors with pillows and blankets. At night we would leave our windows down and listen to the cars pass us by and feel kept. And hopeful for this new season and the growing relationship of two sisters and the redemption of a marriage gone awry.

The last night I slept there was simple. Small talk of Piper and her appointment the next day to check out her fever and the diaper rash she continued to have. Chatting over dishes, I imagine. Laying out pre-school clothes for Linley and filling up diaper bags. Chad offering to take the morning off and to go with me to the doctor...me accepting.

The next night was spent in a room at Athens Regional. Test were run, Chad and I traded off waking with the wee one and Linley slept happily with her Nana. All was still well, in our minds.

The next day all was rocked.

And the simplicity of fig trees and white rockers and doing evening dishes by hand was long gone.

Never to be retrieved again.

That home never housed one of us again. Our heads never found peace in the pink and yellow and orange and red walls that I had so (over eagerly) painted with Chad and my dad.

Today I drove to that town for the first time since Piper has died. I realized that I had not gone to that area since Piper had died about 15 minutes into the drive. At that time tears began to fall and I sobbed the whole way there.

I did my sobbing and then I did my shopping at the gardening outlet where I picked up some crocus and tulips bulbs for spring and some pansies for immediate gratification. And then I drove. A little aimlessly, though I think my heart knew the plan. A left here and right there and next thing I know I was passing the little home of my past.

It looks much the same. I know who lives there now and she would happily let me in, if I were to want to walk the floors and touch the walls again. But the walls are surely her own colors now and the floors haven't seen my daughters tread in many, many months.

This home was important to me. It held a beautiful possibility for us. It both saw my marriage crumble and saw it redeemed. It saw me cry for the wanting of a sibling for Linley and it saw me walk in the door with the perfectly created Piper. It housed parties and children and laughter and a crazy mess load of dishes to hand wash each night. I bumped against the walls with Pipers glider as I soothed her to sleep and it heard me sing "the blessing song" to Linleys sleepy self.

This home is impossible for me to move back into. Physically yes, but mainly emotionally...I can never get back to that place of earnest optimism. We have been tainted by our grief and our experiences and our loss.

When I drove by today...I sobbed.

I drove by 9 times before I felt the tears let up and I finally took a left and went back to this new home I have. The pain stays...the memories sustain...there is always the hope for tomorrow...for this new life in me and for the 7 year old who holds my hand...for the spouse who holds me as I weep and who weeps when I hold him.

But that little home will always remind me that once, we had it all.

Childhood Cancer Awareness

Three years ago in September my second daughter was diagnosed with cancer.

At 10 weeks old.

I remember thinking that her pediatrician was surely kidding. I remember being thrust into a world that I had never even acknowledged existing. I remember pure fear.

At the time I had no idea that September was recognized as Childhood Cancer Awareness month. I surely didn't know that my daughter was one of the average 46 children diagnosed each day and I sure as hell would never have comprehended that she would someday be one of the average 7 children who die each day due to various cancers.

Never.

Now I know and its worse than you will ever allow yourself to imagine.

I could go on and on about how very much I miss my daughter. How unfair it is. How God became real in my tears. How painful it is to hold your daughter as she breathes her last breathe of air. How difficult it is to even get out of bed six mornings out of seven...

But I won't.

Because that gets us nowhere.

What I will do is to shamelessly ask you to give money. Give it to organizations that focus solely on pediatric cancers; research and treatments both. (May I suggest curechildhoodcancer.org) I'll ask you to learn about Donna, whose mother Mary Tyler Mom is blogging about the 31 months of Donnas treatment over at the Huffington Press throughout September. I'll ask you to not close your eyes to lives being lost. Mothers are no longer able to kiss and tuck little two year olds in bed, Daddies are no longer dancing with their second borns to bluegrass music and sisters are wondering just how to draw their family minus the little sister who should stand next to themselves.

This is reality. It's not a sad movie or only someone else's struggle. It's 46 children a day who will loose their hair while their families cope. It's seven children who will be damn strong but will not be able to overcome this beast.

My daughter is gone. I miss her dearly. And I know that she is only one of many beloved children who are gone too soon. When I think of the parents who will someday have to walk in my footsteps, I grow weak. It's a burden and fear and it will always haunt me.

Donate.

Read.

Do it for my sweetest Piper, for Paxton, for Tyler, for Abby, for Mikiya, for Pyper, for Bo, for Ricky, for Merrill, for Reagan and for the others who fight no more.

Presidential elections and the Needham

  Presidential elections and the Needhams...

  They go hand in hand.

  Didn't know this little fact?

  Now you do.

  Because every four years this great country listens, choses and stands in line to elect a gentleman to lead us.  But apparently this is not the only trend rolling around town every four years...


  No sir...

We are so very overjoyed.

"Oh love that will not let me go"

Today at church we sang one of my favorite hymns.

If you'd have asked me a few years ago what my favorite hymn was, I'd have looked a little confused then probably blurted out "Amazing Grace"...as that is the only one I knew. But nowadays we sing hymns each Sunday and each Sunday I am struck by the simple pleas and prayers that each word will evoke. Beautiful.

But now I have one. Now, each time I see "Oh love that will not let me go" on the program I know I will have to choke back tears. That I will have to confront the immense knowledge that we will survive and thrive this sadness ( and others) because of only Gods great love. This great and strong and constant love.

"Oh love that will not let me go"
George Matheson

O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.


My favorite line is "oh joy that seekest me through the pain, I cannot close my heart to thee" for obvious reasons. It reminds me again that joy will be my strength and that I am incapable of turning my back on the One who holds me closely. And while I feel often how difficult and sad this place I emotionally reside at is, I also am put to ease that another human felt some sort of great sadness and chose to claim joy, write it down and put a melody to it so that I can sing it on a Sunday morning when I hurt.

Yesterday, a year later.

Yesterday, last year, my Piper relapsed. She did it stealthily and quickly and not for lack of fight. Pipers first relapse was devastating...although I dare say a large portion of the past three years were devastating though I never allowed myself to think of it as so. Much like Pipers initial diagnosis and her second relapse, this first one came out of no where and knocked us to our knees both literally and figuratively.

My knees still hurting for the falling.

I remember so many things so vividly. I remember driving on the loop on the way to the ER for her fever and feeling absolutely frantic...trying to call my mom, wishing Chad didn't have to go to class, trying to sort out just why this trip (of hundreds) was rattling me so. I remember Piper perking up as soon as she was given Tylenol and I remember sharing a popsicle and watching Sesame Street. I remember asking about blood work...over and over and over again. I remember my mom meeting me there. I remember Chad meeting me there. I remember calling my friend and asking her to get Linley from school and keeping her for "just a little while" that would turn into 72 hours. I remember Chad stepping into the bathroom and taking the call from Dr. George and feeling my entire body go cold, then numb, then the sound of rushing. I remember hearing of "suspicious cells" and "don't worry quite yet" and "come tonight or first thing in the morning". I remember beginning to shake and seeing Piper who was watching me and reminding myself to get it together already. I remember the drive into Atlanta, again one we had driven hundreds of times before. I remember sitting next to Chad and thinking how different the sunniness of this drive was different to the raininess of the drive to Atlanta after her first diagnosis. I remember getting settled into our room and the parade of nurses who streamed in with tears in their eyes for my little girl they loved. I remember so many little details and I wish they were never mine to have.

Despite me remembering this date, I am terrible at anniversaries or birthdays or anything that I should know. Even so, this date and week is deep within me. The day before Pipers relapse, a dear little boy died. The day after, a dear little girl died. These were two of my closest and sweetest families that we had walked with. I was surrounded by sadness and tears and I was overwhelmed and I was beyond blessed when that little girls
Mommy came into Pipers room, late at night, after saying her final goodbyes to her own little girl. And she spoke to me of Hope. Of fighting...and trusting God.

I often mentally thank this mommy for refocusing me. For reminding me how much my God loved both me and Piper, that her future was not in my hands and I would be better equipped to love her if I trusted God. I'm
Thankful for that, for remembering that.

Mainly right now at 12:28 in the morning, I am remembering being given the choice to take Piper home or to attempt to fight. Again. And I am so glad we fought. I am so glad to have had the moments and laughter and bonding with my girl. Even the moments that sucked the joy right off of my face were beautiful for they were the result of a warm and sweet and spunky and utterly desired and missed little girl.

One year and one day later and I can clearly remember so much.

2nd grade, here comes Linley!

This morning was the first day of 2nd grade for my sweet Linley Coe. She woke excited and confidently walked into her classroom and kissed me goodbye. When I picked her little self up at 2:30, she chatted my ear off about all the fun things have was going to learn, the great friends she had and how much she loved her shoes.

I am so blessed to be this girls mommy.

I was reminded this evening after dinner with new friends how blessed I am to be able to place Linley in the school she is in. That they love her has been apparent since she first walked through the door this time last year. Through the crazy upheaval of the past year and the effort they put into supporting us as we learn to raise Linley once again, as an "only".

She is loved by her mommy and daddy and school. And Jesus, which is so obvious and important to us.