Recently, I read a blog entry by a woman who’s lost a child about how abandon she felt by her friends after the loss of her son.  I could identify with her.  After meatball passed away, there was a palpable awkwardness when other people were around me.  I knew that they didn’t know what to say.  I also knew that my presence dragged down the people around me.  There was no denying my sadness.  There was no putting on a happy face and pretending I was fine.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:  It’s not only the worst pain I’ve ever felt, but it’s the most public pain I’ll ever endure.

In my pool of friends, the cream rose to the top in the following months.  A few real stand outs, but the one who got me through the most  was hands down, my beautiful Rock.  I will forever be indebted to him, because he helped me more than perhaps he will ever understand.  Through my grief, he literally was my lifeline to the world.  When I am traumatized, my instinct to to hide in my turtle shell and shut out the world until my wounds have effectively scabbed over.   But he held me accountable.  In the first few painful weeks, he emailed me daily.   He also called me in the late night hours, around 10 p.m., when he knew the world had gone to bed, and I was alone with my thoughts.

I stayed with my sister-in-law the first 2 weeks after Meatball’s death, because I wasn’t ready to return to my home.  To my bed, where Meatball died.  However, late at night, I began to go over to my own home, and started clearing out Meatball’s things, and painting Monkeyface’s bedroom.  I wanted her to have a new, exciting bedroom to return to.  A place that wasn’t filled with sadness and reminders.  Rock stayed on the phone with me until 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning, even when he had to go to work the next day.  He knew I didn’t want to be alone, and he was there for me.

He grieved with me.  He let me cry to him, he let me share little anecdotes with him.  He reminded me of my own humanity, and he made each breath a little easier to take.  I shared so much with him about my little baby Meatball, that I truly felt like he actually knew him.  Because of his generous heart, he gave Meatball’s life greater meaning.  There is no greater gift.

After that period of acute need in me, he has remained by my side through some pretty rough times.   He supported me when I left Texas and moved to Portland, terrified.  He made me believe in myself, because he believed in me.  He had dinner with me after Handcuffs and I broke up, and he cuddled with me, giving me the gift of his time, and his touch, as I struggled to reconcile the loss of my mother, my grandmother, and the pieces of my broken heart.

He makes me laugh at every available opportunity.  Life is easier to manage with him in my corner, and he is the measuring stick by which I compare every other man in my life.

Every day that I lived in Portland, when I got ready for work, I would spray on my perfume, and then I would take a little drop of his cologne and put it on the inside of my left elbow.   Not enough that other people could smell it, but enough that I could, if I put my nose close to it.   It was comforting to me.  When life got scary or hectic, I could smell him, and know that I would be okay.   We jokingly referred to him as my “Dumbo Feather.”    Even in moments, when he wasn’t aware that he was doing it, he got me through.

Lots of things do.  I hang with some seriously funny people, for sure.

Here’s a conversation A-M and I had recently:

A-M: lol

A-M: I’m watching this show on TLC about conjoined twins and them applying for their driver’s licenses

ME: Why do they BOTH need one? Shouldn’t just whichever one is on the left need one?

ME: I mean.. unless they go overseas..

A-M: lol

A-M: so how do they go about dating?

A-M: they both have to agree on somebody?

ME: LOL

ME: Where are they joined?

A-M: looks like they have one body but two heads coming out of the top

A-M: i started watching in the middle of the show

ME: So just one vagina?

A-M: that’d be my guess

ME: I would think yeah, they have to agree on someone..

A-M: only one set of arms and one set of legs

ME: And … not to be an asshole, but…

ME: I imagine their choices are a bit limited.

ME: 1 vagina, and 2 opinions? Fat chance finding a man to put up with that.

A-M: inorite!

ME: My vagina barely gets me out of trouble my opinions make, and I’ve just got the one mouth to run.

ME: … this conversation just made me snort. haha

A-M is typing…

A-M: lmao

That totally made me laugh.

And, as a bonus, this video always makes me laugh.

My most treasured material item?  Umm..  probably my laptop, cause that’s where all my friends live!

Hmmm..  treasured.  Probably my dining room table (set) …  that counts, right?

My dining room set belonged to my Great-great-grandmother.  It’s beautiful.  Solid Mahogany and very, very heavy.  There is a table (with extensions), 4 chairs, and 2 intricately carved buffets.  Aside from being beautiful, the memories it holds for me are priceless.

• I can remember my maternal grandmother sitting at it, playing solitaire when I was a small child.  She died when I was 5 so these are probably some of the earliest memories I have, in general.
• I can see the scarring on the top of the table from where my mother sat her glass of Pepsi when she, too, played solitaire in the mornings.
• Through 2 generations of pictures in my closet, I have countless photographs of my mother’s family, and the only thing familiar to me about them, is that they are sitting at MY dining room table.  It really IS my link to her side of my bloodlines.
• I look forward to the day that I can pass it down to Monkeyface and all the memories that it will hold for her.

If you could trade places with someone for just a day, who would it be?

Mine would be Monkeyface, for sure.

Her view of the world is amazing, and I’d love just the tiniest glimpse of that innocence, and the love that she feels for everything she encounters.   But more than that – I’d love to view myself as a mother through her eyes.  I put all that I am into being her mother, but what are my real shortcomings?  I can analyze as much as I want from my own perspective, but what is it like from hers?  Are there ways that I could serve her better?  Are there things that I could do for her that would help her grow as a person?  Do I hug her enough?  Too much?  What example am I setting for her?  How do I appear to prioritize from her perspective.  These are the questions I’d give anything to know the answers.

I’m doing my best by this kiddo, but how do we really know if we’re doing a good job?

As I said in yesterday’s post…. my children have given me thousand of memories.  However, in today’s post… I am the child.  It is about my father.

 

I am an only child, and a Daddy’s girl my entire life.  When I married, I was 18 and I got married on December 8, just a couple of weeks before Christmas.  For Christmas, my parents drove up to our tiny little apartment in Alabama.  They got there on Christmas Eve, around dinner time.  The Ex and I were so young, and so broke.    We didn’t have the money for a Christmas tree, so I’d bought a little 1-foot decorative tree and decorated it with homemade little ornaments and put it on the Baker’s Rack in the dining room.  The bottom shelf was “under the tree,” so that’s where we put the little presents for each other, and for my parents that we’d scraped together money for.  It was a largely “homemade” Christmas that year.  I made my parents a quilt and some new pillowcases, I made some cookies for my Daddy, and crocheted him a scarf in the colors of his favorite football team.  There were a couple of little store bought things, but mostly.. I handmade all of the gifts.  For the Ex, included.

When my parents showed up that night, my dad was carrying 2 large black trashbags full of presents for us, and the ones that they would exchange between each other.  It was like Santa had come to town!  I was so excited to see presents for our meager little Christmas!   I made dinner that night, and my mama was going to help me make my first Christmas dinner the next day, because we were having company over.  It was great.

Christmas morning, when we all assembled to open presents, I divided them into little piles of joy, according to the nametags on each.  There was a little tiny box under the tree that the Ex was just ITCHING to give me, and he insisted that I open it first.  So, I did.  Inside the tiny little box were tiny little diamond stud earrings.  1/4 carat.  TINY.  I was so incredibly grateful and squeed with joy, jumping into his arms and hugging him, and showing my parents..  Showing my Daddy.  My first diamond earrings!  I didn’t know how the Ex had managed to scrape up the cash for them, he must’ve saved for months.  I put them on immediately.

In the hooplah of excitement, my Daddy slid a little package out of my pile of gifts and sort of set it off to the side.  I said “What are you doing?”

He said, “That’s for your grandmother.  I don’t know how it got here, your mama was supposed to mail it off with the rest of her gifts.”

I didn’t think anything of it, and went back to putting on my new, amazing little earrings.

We opened the rest of our gifts, and the holiday was beautiful and wonderful.

Nine months later, my father died of a heart attack, 3 days after open heart surgery.  When I was at my parents’ house, my mother told me to go through his things quickly, his shirts and jewelry box, etc.  To pick out whatever I wanted, before she invited his siblings to do the same.  My father’s jewelry and treasures were mostly mixed in with my mother’s in her jewelry armoir, so I went through the drawers carefully, looking for things that were his.  In the bottom drawer, I saw that little package he’d taken away from my pile at Christmas.  Except the gift tag had my name on it, not my grandmother’s.

I took it to my mom.  ”Mama.  What is this?”  She put down what she was working on and sat down with me.

“Open it,” she said.

I unwrapped the box, and opened it.   Inside it were 1 carat diamond stud earrings.  I immediately sobbed.

She didn’t have to say anything.  I knew.  She spoke and said, “He was so excited when he brought those home.  He picked them out himself.”

I was his little girl.  His princess. I am an only child, and he had been my hero my entire life.  Yet, in that moment, the sheer magnitude of what a big man he was overwhelmed me.   He’d picked out those earrings for me.  He’d wanted me to have them, and he’d wanted to be the man to give me my first pair of diamond earrings.   However, just a few weeks after he’d walked me down the aisle and given me to another man to love, he stepped aside and allowed that man to have the spotlight.   He’d watched as I poured my love and gratitude onto someone else, after he’d had it exclusively to himself my entire life.  Instead of trampling on the moment with bigger diamonds, he’d faded back and let me be in love with my husband.

No one has ever, nor will ever, love me the way he did.  His love was selfless and beautiful and pure.  He’d been my hero my whole life, but never more than in that moment.

Naturally, when I think of favorite moments, favorite nights, etc…  My first thought is something to do with my children.  The night that I laid in the hospital, the day before Monkeyface was born, and felt her moving inside me, listening to her heartbeat on the monitor, knowing it was the last night I’d share that special bond with her, and that I would get to kiss her little face soon.  That was  an amazing night.   The nights that Meatball would lay in bed with me, just him and me, and I could feel his sweet little breath on my neck as he slept…  I will never forget that.

But for the sake of levity, let’s talk about a particular night from my youth.

I went to high school in Japan.  It was an Air Force base in the north, and I was a bit of a wild child my senior year.  Miss V and I caused quite a ruckus and miraculously, didn’t destroy either of our lives.. ha!  In Japan, if you were old enough to reach the counter, you were pretty much old enough to be served alcohol.   So, while most people get all their oats sewn and partying out at 21, mine was a bit earlier than that.

A few days after graduation is when I moved back to the states, and the night before I flew out of Japan, I went out partying, drinking and carrying on with a group of friends.  There was one guy in particular that I’d wanted to go out with us.  His name was Nate, and he was in the Air Force.  We’d only ever been friends, but he was adorable.  I called his room and left him a message letting him know we were going out and where we were going to start, knowing that it would be a pub crawl, in essence.

He didn’t show all night, and after the first couple of drinks and the first bar, I’d pretty much gotten over it and commenced to having a great time with some great people.  The night was long, and around 6 a.m., we were at a Ramen house, filling our drunken tummies with some noodles and hot broth before heading home.  It started to drizzle outside, so we figured we’d better head back home before it started to pour.  A girlfriend and I were walking toward home in this alleyway, going from awning to awning, to avoid the rain, which was starting to let up a little.  I heard someone call my name and I looked out of the awning we were huddled under, and there was Nate.  He was across the alley, under a different awning, and he had a friend with him.  They came over to us, and we talked for a few minutes.

He’d had duty.  He came home at 5, heard my message and immediately gotten dressed and come out to see if he could find me.  They hadn’t been drinking, so they had his friend’s car.  His friend suggested that he drive us home, but Nate suggested that he drive my friend home, and Nate would walk me home, if it was okay with me.  Of course it was okay, so my friend took off with his friend, and Nate and I stood there, in the alleyway, waiting for a few, talking.  I don’t think either of us was in a hurry to start walking toward my home.

Eventually, though, we had to.  So, we started walking, and in the middle of that alley, he turned to me, and said “Before we head home, can I do something I’ve wanted to do since the moment that I met you?”  I said “What’s that?”  And he said, “Can I kiss you?”

My heart pounded in my chest, and I think I nodded.  He was facing me, and stepped in closer to me, his eyes never leaving mine.  As he stepped in, it opened up and rain started to pour on us.  There was surprise and a little giggling, but not a whole lot we could do about it.  So, with the rain soaking us both, and the only light coming from the breaking of daylight, he leaned in toward me.  For me, it seemed like that moment just froze in time.  I could feel my heartbeat, I could feel his breath against my lips.  It seemed like a lifetime before I finally felt them on mine, but when I did, my head swam.

His lips were soft, and warm.  I could feel the raindrops on my face, dripping from my hair, and they only intensified his touch.  It was a sweet kiss.  Tentative and pure.  There wasn’t sex in the air, just…. youth.  He tasted like cinnamon, and his tongue was hypnotizing.  It felt like he was drinking from my mouth, leaving me melted in his wake.   Before I knew it, time had started again and the kiss was broken.  He looked down at me, and there was longing there.  Wistfulness, maybe.  We’d likely never see each other again.  He smiled at me, took my hand, and walked me home.

The entire walk, my head was dizzy.  The rain had stopped by the time we reached my house, and when we did, he gave me a great big hug, pressed his address into my hand and asked me to write to him.  I promised I would and went inside.

Somewhere in the move, I lost his address.  I never wrote to him, and I never saw him again.  Somewhere, he’s out there, and I hope his life has been lived with as much hope and passion as I glimpsed in that moment.

…  I can’t pick one.  So, here’s a little peek:

…  Eternally?  Friends.  I watched every episode of this show on its original airing.  I watched it in the hospital the night before I gave birth to Monkeyface.   This show is the reason she wasn’t named Emma.  (That was my first choice, but when Rachel named her baby Emma, I knew it would become FAR too popular for my suiting.)

I tend to be a late bloomer when it comes to TV shows.  I rarely get hooked when a show debuts, and I find myself 3 or more seasons behind, and then I watch a massive amount via the internet or DVDs, often after the series has been cancelled.   Firefly, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, and Kitchen Confidential were series’ I watched after they’d been cancelled..  and loved all of them.   Weeds, Dexter, True Blood, and 30 Rock are shows that I came into way late into the game, and enjoyed the marathon of those, as well.

… In my current line up?  Not a lot, really.  Umm… Survivor, Criminal Minds, and…..  *takes deep breath* …  Jersey Shore. *hangs head*

So, yeah..  only like 3 or 4 people who know me know that I watch Jersey Shore, because… THEORETICALLY…  I’m against it.  I mean, I know it’s stupid.  I know it’s an hour a week of my life I’m never going to get back and have gained nothing from, but …  I just can’t help it.

I’d never seen it until Handcuffs and I broke up.  I spent 3 very dark days, following that breakup, where I did not eat, I did not sleep, I pretty much did nothing productive, I just sat and felt my heartbreak.  I sat on the couch with my laptop, and searched Netflix for something to mindlessly stare at.  I came across Jersey Shore, and figured… Hmmm, this might work.  The sheer volume of episodes and continuing storyline were a draw, because it was a LOT of hours I could mindlessly medicate with.

So, I tore through all three seasons.  (2 on Netflix, 1 on MTV.com)   They are absolutely ridiculous, but truth is – they make me laugh.  So, there you have it.  A confession. It’s liberating, really.

…  Don’t judge!

Yeah yeah..  I know it’s not Day 2.  Life grabs me sometimes and I get tossed around a little.  I’m still here, though

 

So…  The person I’ve been closest to the longest.  That would be Miss V.  (I wrote about her once upon a time here.)    When I was a junior in high school, it was yearbook time, and mine was being passed around, collecting signatures.  I lost track of it for a few periods, and then when I got it back, she’d signed it.  She was kind of new to our school and I had only spoken to her a handful of times.   As I was perusing the messages and signatures, I saw this:

J,

You do not know me very well yet, but you will.  I do not know you very well yet, but I will.  This is my one and only warning to you.

- Miss V.

It was love at first…. yearbook message.  I loved that she was bold, I loved that she made me laugh..  I just loved her.

So, we became friends in the last part of our junior year of high school.   Fast friends.  I fell in love with her family, who took me in and treated me like one of their own.  My mother had recently separated from my father (they later reconciled, 1 year later), and so I was a little lost….  her mom readily stepped up to the plate and kept me grounded.  I smoked in high school….  which was a HUGE strike against me in a lot of parents’ eyes.  Her father smoked, as well…  and when he found out I did, it was at the dinner table.  (Her little brother told on me… haha.)   He said “You smoke?”

I said “Yes.”

He said “Does your father know?”

I said “Yes.”

He said “Well, alright.  Join me on the balcony.”

Once, he asked me if Miss V smoked, and I truthfully told him no.  He then asked if I would tell him if she did, and I truthfully told him no. heh.  He was respectful of our bond.

Miss V and I have been through a lot together.   She taught me to drive when I was 16 and getting my permit.  I got her drunk for the first time ever.  (Man, I sound like an awesome influence, don’t I?!   I feel the need to point out that I was a straight A student and she copied my homework a few times.  Ha!)  In college, she drove to Alabama from Mississippi (AUBURN > MISSISSIPPI STATE, V!) … to spend Spring Break with me.  We’ve lived apart since high school, but she’s been there for some pretty significant milestones for me..

She was the Maid of Honor when I got married…  She drove into town unexpectedly when Meatball passed away.  At his funeral, I looked in the back of the chapel, and there she was.  She’d gotten there just in time, and her presence broke me down.  I needed her.  I hadn’t told her I needed her, but she knew.  It meant everything to me.

She’s recently gotten married and is the proud stepmama to 3 beautiful boys.    She’s so dedicated to them, and her husband.  I love her little blended family.

Recently, after this blog post, she messaged me on Facebook.  And we had this conversation*:

Miss V:  I’m reading.. gonna have to stop for a few, the tears are just flowing.   I’m so over tired, I just keep crying.

Me: heh.  Yeah, I’ve spilled my share of tears today.

Miss V:  So proud of her!!!  That’s the you in her…. always trying to make it better for everyone else.

Me:  It makes my heart happy to hear that you think of me that way, V.  You have no idea.  Thank you.

Miss V:  You have no idea how often I think of you, or wish I was more like you.  I know I have the same capacity.  You really do always reach out.  I want to be more like you.

Me:  Shush.  I have failures.  PLENTY of them.  You are an incredible person, and I am glad you are my friend.

Miss V:  Even as a mother, there are days I want to scream at E, and I take three breaths and say “what would J do?  How would she calmly approach this?”

Me:  LOL.  Are you kidding?  I yell sometimes.  I try not to, but we all do sometimes, I think.

Miss V:  Sometimes I still yell, but I try to explain to him why I’m mad and why what he did was wrong.  I got that from you.

Me:  heh.   I love you, you know that?

Miss V:  I love you too!!

 

It’s like that.  She’s amazing.  I love her.  If I could go back over the 16½ years we’ve known each other, I’d only change one thing:  I’d meet her sooner.

 

 

 

 

 

*edited for grammar.  You’re welcome, V.

 

Okay, so this goes around Facebook randomly every few months, and it’s meant to be for pictures, but I’ve never participated, because I don’t have time to track down all of those different types of pictures.

 

So, I’m going to adapt it and use it for the next 30 days of blogging.

 

Day #1: 10 facts about yourself:

1.  My left foot is almost a half a size smaller than my right foot.  My left breast, however, is almost a half a cup larger than my right breast.  I am completely convinced that these two things are related.

2. I am an only child.  Sort of.  By that I mean that I am the only child born from my particular parents, and I was raised as a singular child in my house.   Monkeyface is also an only child – sort of.  The parallel disturbs me.

3. I love Black & White.  Pink is my favorite color, but I think I love the combo of black & white even more.  Dresses, shoes, my bedroom, my bathroom, photographs..  All in black & white.

4.  My first kiss was at a fair from a boy named Cannon.  It was so disgusting it was another TWO YEARS before I attempted it again. (And with a different boy!)

5. I am naturally a redhead.  I color it darker and have for 15 years, but the temperament is still there.

6. I learned to ride a bike without training wheels at age 4. Sort of.  My best friend at the time, Anna Banana, was a year older than me and got her training wheels off one day and showed up at my house, so proud.  I was immediately infuriated and told her that if she didn’t teach me how to do it, too, I would push her off her bike.  (See?  Redhead, I’m telling you!)  She “taught” me as well as a 5-year old is capable of teaching, and I marched into the house and announced to my Daddy that I rode Anna Banana’s bike without training wheels and he needed to take mine off, too.  He got up and did so, although I’d left out the part where I’d actually only ridden about 3 feet successfully.  Later that night, my mama came home from work and found her only child with road rash all up the side of her face, and nearly flipped her shit.  That’s one in a long line of times I probably nearly caused a divorce.. teeheehee.

7.   My dad tried to teach me how to drive when I was 16.  His car was a standard, and the “instruction” took place in an empty parking lot and lasted approximately 5 minutes.  His patience with me was terrible, and after I slammed on the breaks and he spilled his drink on his white navy uniform, he promptly said “Get out of the goddamned car.”  He then announced that I’d better find someone else to teach me how to drive before I took my driver’s test, which was in 3 days.  My best friend, V was the one I conned into doing it, and she managed to get it done in 3 days, and I passed my test first go-around.  She’s now a Total-Loss claims person for a major insurance company – ha!  We’re both pretty big screw ups when it comes to some things, but  - we’re pretty darned good drivers!  Thanks, V!

8. I started having my nails done in a salon and wearing tips when I was 18 – because I was a nail biter.  It’s been 13 years, and I recently took them off so that I could start back up with the guitar, and – immediately, the habit was back, like I’d never stopped.

9. I am terrified of mice and caterpillars.  TERRIFIED.

10. I am a chronic organizer.  I love little bins and baskets and drawer organizers, etc.  The Container Store is like CRACK for me.

 

Up Tomorrow – a story about the person that I have been the closest to the longest!

I just put my beautiful Monkeyface to bed, and tonight I sit here, in my bed, completely in awe of her limitless, innocent love.

Today, her bus was 28 minutes early dropping her off from school.  TWENTY EIGHT MINUTES.  I am not entirely sure how that even happens, but it did.  I was at home, in the back of the house, and my cell phone rang.  It was the front office of my townhouse complex.  They told me that Miss Monkey was there.  I flew out the door to go get her, completely confused.  It’s only two buildings down, so she was already outside, walking toward me when I got out to the parking lot.

I asked her what happened and she said “I don’t know, I guess the bus driver found a shortcut.”  ….  ooh, my blood boiled.  I checked my watch, checked my phone, and then double-checked to be sure that I wasn’t seeing things.  Nope.  It was still 18 minutes until the bus was scheduled to arrive.

“Was it an early release day?!” I asked her.  No, it wasn’t.  ”Were any of the other parents at the bus stop?”  No, they weren’t.

OMG, there are two really little kindergarteners whose parents are always waiting with me.  “What about the littles?  Are they in the office?  Do their mommies know where to get them?”

“I walked them home, Mama.”

I stopped.

“You… walked them home?”

“Yes.  There wasn’t anyone at the bus stop.  The two sisters that ride..  they always walk home together anyway, so they were fine.  But the littles didn’t know what to do, so I held their hands and walked them to their houses.”

“How did you know where they lived?” I asked her.

“Well, I didn’t really.  I knew what building, but they knew their addresses, so I just knocked and made sure that it was their mama that answered the doors.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Well, I walked here, but the door was locked so I walked to the office and asked them to call you.”

…

Y’ALL.

…

I am SO VERY proud of her for being so responsible!  (Now, mind you – I called both the school and the transportation office and let them have an earful – the IRRESPONSIBILITY of dropping 5 children under the age of 8 off 28 minutes early with no parents present?!  Are you KIDDING me?!)   She is amazing.  She not only knew what to do to get herself home safely…  but she took these two babies by the hand and hand delivered them to their mothers, because they weren’t quite old enough to know what to do.   I am so, so VERY proud of her.

…

The other bit tonight that has me positively in tears is….  A girl that I went to high school with lost her 3-year old son tonight.  Saturday night, he fell into a pool and drown.  CPR brought him back, but he’s been in a coma since then.  The scans revealed severe brain damage and he’s been on life support.   Today they ran a final brain scan and there was no activity, so they had to let him go.   I’ve been praying for days over this little boy, and I continue to pray for peace for his mother and his 5-year old sister.  My heart breaks all over again as I think of Meatball’s new little playmate in Heaven.  There just aren’t any words in any language to describe the anguish of saying goodbye to your child for the final time.

Well, tonight we made dinner together, and as we were sitting at the dining room table eating, Monkeyface asked me why I was sad.  So, I explained to her that my friend’s child had passed away and how.  She said “Oh no.  That’s so awful.  His poor mommy, her heart will be sad like yours was.  But he’s with Jesus now, and he’s got a great life.  I hope she knows that.”

I told her that they were Christians, and that I’m sure she knew that, but it’s pretty hard to remember when it’s all first happening.

She said “Does she have other kids?”

I said “Yes, she has a 5-year old daughter.”

Monkey’s eyes got big and she said “That’s how old I was when Meatball went to heaven.   Can I write her a letter, mama?  And put it in the mail so that she will have something to know that she’s not the only one who feels the things she’s feeling, and it’s okay to be sad?  Maybe we could name a star after her little brother like we did for Meatball and send her the certificate!  Just like we have!  Then she can look up into the sky and see his star, just like we look for Meatball’s star!  Can we do that, Mama?”

….

Y’ALL.

…

Her selflessness and beautiful spirit just crumble me sometimes.  I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, parenting-wise, but I THANK GOD that her light shines so brilliantly and she teaches me.

She teaches me love.

She teaches me innocence.

She teaches me inspiration.

She teaches me perseverance.

She teaches me love.

The minute I looked into her chubby, squishy little face when she was born, she opened my heart and filled it fuller than it had ever been filled before.  And it’s moments like these that I know she’s not done filling me up with a love that surpasses anything else I’ve ever known.

Tonight, I will leave a light on for Heaven’s newest 3-year old angel, and I will say a prayer of peace for his family.

After that, I will say a prayer of gratitude, for God has blessed me more than I ever deserved.