Comments on: Sometimes I can’t even.

By: Dwayne

Dwayne — Sun, 27 Jul 2014 23:04:28 +0000

uncommon@child.fascinated” rel=”nofollow”>.…

ñïñ!!…

By: peevish mama

peevish mama — Sun, 25 Aug 2013 19:47:59 +0000

Oh, SuperGirlFan – you are so right. Aaaah. Makes me well up just thinking about her. Hard, hard stuff.

By: SuperGirlFan

SuperGirlFan — Mon, 19 Aug 2013 19:24:15 +0000

This has been such a sad summer for our little school community. Last month, while helping to create picture boards for the funeral of an amazing woman who leaves behind three lovely daughters who do not deserve to lose her, she again taught me something valuable. When you are volunteering at school, don’t just take pictures of the adorable children in the classroom, take pictures of your friends. Lots of them. Lots of pictures of the amazing parents and teachers in front of you who are enjoying sharing their time. You will want them. Even if just to look back together and share the memories.

By: Court

Court — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 03:18:20 +0000

just.beautiful.words. xoxo

By: peevish mama

peevish mama — Tue, 04 Jun 2013 03:15:55 +0000

Oh Heathie,
Beautifully put. And you better believe Heidi was in my thoughts that day. You guys are magical aunties to those kids. She is at least lucky for that. The rest is just too sad.

By: Crackerjack

Crackerjack — Sat, 01 Jun 2013 15:08:30 +0000

Beautiful blog post, beautiful comment….thanks for the reminder!

By: Dolly

Dolly — Fri, 31 May 2013 19:57:34 +0000

I know of which you speak. When Heidi died, or rather when she was dy-ing, I came to realize that my grief, although multi-faceted, would rest mostly with her. Not my sadness over missing her, but what she would miss. Sure, the immediate and most prevalent attention is showered on the children because it is they who are seemingly the most vulnerable. Who can fathom a little boy growing up without his mother? I mean, are you fucking kidding me? Sign me up for carpool, play-dates, ANYTHING to make me feel like I’m doing something for this family that is one hair away from spiraling out of control.

But then there is the mother. The dying mother. The mother who knows she is dying. To any other mother, THAT is unfathomable. One afternoon, Heidi said out of the blue, “I won’t see any of my children graduate from high school.” That awareness takes my breath away today, and it is what you touching on. There was nothing I could do to take that burden from her. It was hers, and she carried that deep in her heart. About 6 weeks before she died, she was hospitalized on Ash Wednesday. We brought the kids up to see her, and her then 9-year-old said, “Mom, I wish you could give up being sick for Lent.” Oh, how she wished that too.

You didn’t miss the boat on helping this young woman who was gipped out of 1000 beautiful moments with her children. That burden is hers. And that is what you are sad about. Nothing can be done, and sometimes you just have to sit with your sadness. But you may remember her spirit when you are swirling the peanut butter for the umpteenth time or driving all over the earth for a soccer game. We don’t have to do these things. We get to do them.

As you know, my sisters and I went to Emily’s nursing school graduation a few weeks ago. As I was dancing in her house, beer in hand, arm in arm with my now giant nephew, the pang in my heart tightened its grip and the lump in my throat swelled. I thought to myself and then quietly said, “Your mom would have loved this.”