I am honored and flattered and strangely speechless about being the first feature in my friend Erin’s new series, Show Me YOUR Roots.
The prompt is to write about what brought you to the place you are in now — personally, professionally, in regards to your blogging/writing.
I hope you’ll click over and read. Erin is a brilliant writer and I’m sure you’ll want to add her site to your reader as well.
Did you read the title like the beginning of LOST? All dramatic and mysterious?
If not, go back and try again. I’ll wait. I’ve got nothing better to do.
So today finds me sick and grumpy.
I KNOW, right? I’m never grumpy. But I am today for some reason. The kiddo is being good(ish) and is playing and watching TV and generally being lazy because it’s too hot to do anything else. School starts in 10 days and both of us are oh-so-ready.
We’re just jamming to Phineas and Ferb sing about how much they love and miss Perry the Platypus. Eating biscuits with butter and blueberry preserves. Trying to stay cool and sane. Watching the Chipmunks (Who thinks that Chipmunks going to school is normal? They just carry on like it’s no big deal that furry rodent things are roaming their schools in monogrammed sweaters) and doing budgets.
The exciting news today is that I’m syndicated on BlogHer!
It’s my maiden voyage over there and I couldn’t be more thrilled! See my cute new button over on the sidebar? That’s my badge of awesomeness.
Some of you will recognize part of the post but it IS different.
Without further ado…
Playing the Hand I Was Dealt on BlogHer!
**Even though this is a birthday post, I must put a Kleenex warning on here for some of y’all. Be warned but know that I’m actually smiling while writing this post. Why? Because he’s sitting on my shoulder while I do it.**
Eight years ago, you were tucked snugly inside my giant (not kidding) belly.
Eight years ago, the future lay open in front of us like an atlas on a table.
Eight years ago, there was a nursery waiting for you.
Eight years ago, you demanded to come out early.
Eight years ago, after much pushing, crying, begging and pleading, you arrived 4 weeks early. At 9:19pm on May 21, 2003. Weighing 6 lbs, 11oz. All 19.5″ of you.
Eight years ago, our lives were filled with a love that we had never known could exist.
Eight years ago, time stood still and we were a family of three.
Eight years ago, you opened your eyes and looked right in mine. Your daddy and I commented that you looked wiser than a baby should.
Eight years ago, you knew.
Eight years ago, there was innocence. And hopes. And dreams.
Eight years ago, your little round head was perfectly perfect.
Eight years ago, there was blue all around. Forever called Charlie Blue.
Eight years ago, you were given a name bigger than you would ever physically be. But not bigger than your spirit and imprint on the world would be.
Charles Fleetwood Anthoine
Our first son.
Henry’s brother.
Our guardian angel.
The cards are dealt. They’re turned over and fanned out and read. Everybody has their poker face on. My face has tears streaming down it.
It’s right there in front of me. I was dealt THE HAND. The dreaded “You’re going to be the mom of the baby that died” hand.
How easy it would have been to fold. To turn my cards over. Give them back. Say, “I quit.”
But how was I to know that somebody else didn’t have scarier cards than me? Or the same cards as me? What if they all had a worse hand and mine was the BEST one of the bunch?
I choose to keep my hand I was dealt. I choose to embrace it. I choose to use it for good. I can’t ask for more cards. I have to take the ones given. For better or for worse, they’re my cards. I own them.
I will play them.
Photo: jannemei, Creative Commons License
Why am I writing this today? The last week has been filled with exciting things. Things that if I hadn’t been dealt that hand, I wouldn’t be experiencing.
Band Back Together is growing exponentially. We’re working 12 hours a day (or more) on it and have finally gotten some others to help us. It’s exploding and helping more people than we can imagine.
I’ve gotten to share Charlie’s story with no less than four people (and that doesn’t include those who just read it here and are impacted). I don’t know why, but it seems to happen like that. One was with a mom of Henry’s friend who didn’t know. We were talking and it was just time to share it. If we’re going to be friends, she has to know. It’s who I am. It’s who we are.
Another was a girl who wrote in to the GBS group with an almost identical story as Charlie’s, as most late onset Group B Strep stories are. We’ve been emailing back and forth this week and she has had some wonderful questions. Questions that honestly, in nearly eight years, I haven’t processed the answers to. I’ve thought about them, but have never dug deeper to be able to tell someone my answer. I think they may be another post, but her biggest question was basically, “How did you go on?”
My answer to that is, “I just did. We just did.” We weren’t given a choice. Nobody asked me if this is the hand I wanted, was this ok? If they had, I certainly would have told them, “HELL FREAKING NO, it’s not ok.”
But then I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t be talking to people and helping them heal. I wouldn’t be running a site that is helping SO many people deal with their demons and burdens and heartaches. I wouldn’t have an understanding of what it’s like to live without part of your heart and soul.
But I also wouldn’t know what it was like to have an all-time guardian angel sitting on my shoulder, going with me everywhere I roam.
And for those reasons, I won’t fold. I’ll play my hand.
In fact, hit me, dealer.
I have writer’s block. I’ve been sitting here pondering what to write about and can’t come up with a THING. So I headed over to Mama Kat’s and grabbed a prompt. This is the first time I’ve used it and I’ve gotta say, she’s got some great ideas!
The prompt that stood out to me today was writing about five times in my life that “I’ll Never Forget.” So here goes!
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1. I’ll Never Forget… the day the Challenger launched. And exploded. It was 25 years ago today (January 28, 1986). I was sitting with MMB in 4th grade (Mrs. Brett’s class) and watching it live. It was monumental because of the teacher onboard — Christa McAuliffe. Several days after the disaster, Ronald Reagan spoke at a memorial for the astronauts and I remember very vividly watching replays of it and hearing him say, “Sometimes, when we reach for the stars, we fall short. But we must pick ourselves up again and press on despite the pain.“ Every year, whether it’s in the news or not, something on this day reminds me that it was a tragic day in US history.
2. I’ll Never Forget… The smell of New York City 3 months after 9/11. Jason and I went to NYC just a few months after 9/11 and even though time had passed, the city still smelled of dusty death and despair. Lower Manhattan was still covered in ashes of buildings, industries, entire companies, innocent victims and fear. The silence was deafening around Ground Zero and is a memory I wish I could rid my brain of. (Sidenote: As I’m typing this, it is 9:11am — strange)
3. I’ll Never Forget… The minute I said “yes” to Jason’s proposal. And then my first question was, “It DID come from Herbert Jewelers, right?” Real romantic, huh? (and yes, it DID come from Herbert Jewelers — my family’s store, for those of you who don’t know that)
4. I’ll Never Forget… The buzz in my head and the muffled voice I was hearing when Dr. Clark told us that our Charlie had no brain function and wouldn’t live off of the life support machines and that we needed to make the decision of when to discontinue care. The buzz was so loud and it sounded like he was talking in slow motion and I was being attacked and stung by 20 million buzzing bees. But I knew what he was saying. It just couldn’t be real.
5. I’ll Never Forget… The day that joy was brought back into my life. November 2, 2004 at 2am, after far too many hours of labor and an emergency c-section, Henry Love (yes, his middle name is Love) came into the world full of spirit and hasn’t slowed down since. There were tears of fear and sadness thinking about what had been, and tears of joy and happiness thinking about what was to be. What was to be would never replace what we had lost when Charlie died, but it did refill our hearts with joy and hope and the ability to look to the future. I will forever be grateful for the quote I found in a book that said “You know you’re ready to try again when your faith in the future is greater than your fear of the future.” I’m so glad we didn’t fear the future.
