Award worthy site!

Our Walking with Angels website has made it to final voting on About.com for the 2009 Web Design Reader' Choice Awards in the Best Use of Images in Web Design category. Voting begins today and runs through May 22nd.

This little site was created as a way to explain why we participate in Relay for Life and route people to our fundraising page. Even if we don't win, the exposure in these awards could mean more people visiting the site and hopefully more money for the American Cancer Society! This mama's heart is full. Special thanks to the web designer, Red Lace Design for creating an award-worthy site.

What are you still doing here? Vote already!

Eternal life insurance

The second anniversary of Lillian's death came and went on April 4th. I thought about posting but I didn't have anything new to say. I thought this would get easier but I couldn't have been more wrong. I thought I was doing well but I forgot that grief is a roller coaster that can slam you face first into a brick wall without notice. Okay, I'll admit that analogy was muddled but still completely accurate. So forgive me if I'm a little melancholy.

The great thing about the cyber world (blogging, Facebook, Twitter, etc) is it's ability to make the world a smaller community. As I'm learning, that's also the difficult thing about the cyber world. The recent deaths of two children to prominent bloggers set the cyber world ablaze last week. Everywhere I turned there was sadness and anger and confusion and sympathy for these shell shocked families. And the outpouring managed to fuel the fire of sadness in my heart as well. I know all to well the difficult journey unfolding before these heartbroken parents and thus my soul aches for them. So forgive me if I'm a little withdrawn.

And then there's work. The Powers-That-Be are locked behind closed doors as they plan our fate. A few months ago, they announced the intention to layoff 3% of the work force. Needless to say, there has been an anxious vibe ever since. But now that it is obvious the layoff planning is reaching critical mass, the anxiety is palpable. So forgive me if I'm a little worried.

The cumulative effects of these events have crept into every corner of my world. During the busy moments, I move about happily taking each second as it comes. But during the quiet moments, my mind succumbs to the sadness and the worry. It's at those times that I pray. Beseeching God to give me peace. To heal my heart. To show me His plans for my future. But all I hear is the sound of my own desperate pleas.

This relationship between God and I has become lopsided. I ask and ask and ask, yet my Bible sits unopened and I haven't set foot in church for nearly a year. I haven't truly listened for answers.

Then it hit me. I'm treating God like my Eternal Life Insurance policy. By accepting Jesus as my Savior, I was issued a policy that will provide heavenly coverage for eternity, payable upon death. So I stick the policy in a drawer, glance at it every once in a while just to make sure everything is up to date and renew my coverage when I need to.

Okay, that's an exaggeration...but not by much. Today especially, I'm reminded of the willing sacrifice God made for me. And yet all I seem to focus on is the last word of that sentence...me. Shouldn't there be more to this relationship? I know God will give me strength when I am drowning in sadness. I know I will see my angel in heaven again. And if I lose my job, I know I will be okay. Because thankfully, God's love and grace are more steadfast than mine. And maybe I needed these events to remind me of that fact.

New shoes

Getting shoes on the kiddo is torture. Like most 1 year olds, just getting him to sit still for 5 seconds is a challenge in itself. It's like performing some sort of circus act to simultaneously sing him a song, hand him a toy and persuade a shoe onto his foot. So when the shoe WON'T GO ON, I'm understandably annoyed.

At first I thought he was curling his toes when I stuffed his foot into a shoe. Then I realized he just has a high instep (aka - fat foot). So I got him some non-skid slippers for around the house since those non-skid socks are pretty darn slippery and the wood floors are pretty darn cold. And really, he doesn't walk around much outside just yet.

When a few rare occasions demanded actual footwear, I remembered a terrific bag of hand-me-down shoes just waiting in his closet. I did the "mom sizing" method and held up the smallest shoe (size 3) to the bottom of his foot. Too small. So I dug through the bag and found some size 4's and repeated the mom sizing method. Perfect. Until I tried to push his little foot in the darn thing. Shove and pull and stretch as I might, it was not going to fit. So I tossed those aside and grabbed an adorable pair of size 4 Chuck Taylors from the bag. I opened the laces as wide as they would go and managed to squeeze a foot into a shoe and tighten the laces before he made his escape. Sweating, I once again wrangled him onto my lap and crammed the second foot into the shoe. Success!

Like a good mom, I realized that shoes should not be this difficult to put on. I pushed on the toe box and determined that he had plenty of room. But I thought I would print out the official Stride Rite online fit chart just to be sure. Try getting a 1 year old to stand on a piece of paper in just the right spot. And then try getting the same 1 year old to continue to hold still while you wrap another piece of paper around the ball of his foot to check the width. Just take my word for it, it's not worth the effort. The fit chart confirmed that he was a 4 medium. Then why is it so hard to get the right size shoes on his feet?!

The hubby announced a hatred for the slippers and cannot get the Chuck Taylors on the kiddos fat foot. So off we went to Nordstrom to cash in some of Mommy's precious credit card points. But with service no where to be found and a mediocre selection at best, we opted to journey down the mall to the Stride Right store. The same store where Nana & Papa bought his big sister her first pair of real shoes.

The lovely sales associate greeted us warmly, measured both feet and declared him to be a 5.5 EXTRA WIDE. Um, what? No wonder those 4 medium's were so hard to get on! I picked a couple of styles as the kiddo wandered to the Leapstart table to play. An older girl joined him making happy small talk with my child who has only recently uttered his first consonant. The associate returned with three acceptable choices, I wrangled the kiddo away from his new friend and easily slid his feet into his new giant shoes.

While I won't bore you with the details of my heart palpitations as I signed the receipt for these shoes which will likely only last 3 months, our story doesn't end here. As I handed over a ridiculous wad of cash, the kiddo toddled off to say hi to his new friend. Being new to the shoe game, he barely made it over to her before wobbling and falling gently to his booty. I remember the same awkward steps when his big sister tried out her first shoes as well. Before I could reach him, his friend wrapped her arms around his waist and hoisted him to his feet. Smiling at her sweetness, I thanked her and said good-bye. As we turned to leave, I heard her remark to the sales associate "hi, I'm Lily and I'm five."

Of course her name is Lily. Just like his big sister.

Christmas Memories

Christmas marked our 6th consecutive day of being confined to our house by a snowy jailer. In many ways, it reminded me of that Christmas two years ago when Lillian had just finished her 2nd round of chemo. We were stuck at home then as well and spent a quiet Christmas, just the three of us. But back then, that stifling feeling of confinement was outweighed by overwhelming gratitude to be home instead of in the hospital. How's that for perspective? Suddenly, another day at home doesn't seem so bad.

As if those similarities weren't enough, Ian spiked a 101 degree fever on the big day. And the fever was soon accompanied by spots and whining. (Poor kid!) Yep, this Christmas definitely brought back some memories. Fortunately the doctor on call today says it's likely just a viral infection. Little did we know at the time but that quiet Christmas at home was perfect for our sick kiddo.

We're counting our blessings today and holding our sick baby tight. It looks like a few more days at home are likely in our future but that's all right with me. Sometimes these are the little reminders we need to slow down and enjoy the moment.

Even the tree gets an extra dose of Christmas cheer this year...

What? You mean to tell me you're still watering your tree?

Another Angel Birthday

Happy birthday Lily-bean! You would have been four years old today. That seems impossible. You will forever be my little two year old. Frozen in pictures and memories. I sure wish we had taken more pictures. More videos.


Oh, who am I kidding? If we're wishing here, I wish for more time with you. Then I wouldn't need the pictures and videos to remember you. I'd have your squishy cheeks right here to smooch until they turn pink. Ian's cheeks do the same thing you know. We slather him with lotion after bath time, just as we did with you. It seems to help with the "kiss rash." Sure, we could ease up on the kisses but that wouldn't be any fun!


I'm blowing kisses up to heaven for you right now. Are your cheeks turning pink yet? Are the angels singing "Happy Birthday" to you? I'm sure there is cake. And if there isn't, don't tell me. I need to believe that there is cake in heaven.


I never found out what your favorite flavor was. Or your favorite color. I know that you loved to read books. And go for rides in the stroller. Oh, and that pacifier! You sure loved your pacifier. I was not looking forward to helping you give up that thing. But I'm so glad you had something that brought you comfort throughout all the pokeys and other yucky stuff.

Ian's getting some pokeys today. Nothing serious. He's 9 months old today so it's time for some pokeys. I know you'll be there watching over him as you always do. I wish he could have known you in person. I tell him all about you though.

I tell everyone about you. I'm putting on a fancy dress on Saturday for a party to raise money for other kids with cancer. I'll be thinking about you the whole time. And in a couple weeks, I get to share your story with another group of people. I get to tell them how brave you were. How special you were. How much I miss you.

Lillian, I'm starting to forget some of the details. The sound of your odd little laugh. The feel of your sweet hand in mine. I know you don't mind. You're happy and healthy and worry-free. But I mind. I don't want to forget a thing!

I know I'll see you again in heaven. I'll hear your odd little laugh. I'll feel your sweet hand in mine. And the details will come back to me. Until then, I will never forget how much I love you sweet pea. And that's what really matters. Happy birthday angel.

Uncork Joy: RiverGala

I have the pleasure of assisting with an amazing event "Uncork Joy" 08 RiverGala for the Children's Cancer Association. I've been so focused on securing auction items that I forgot to invite you! So here are all the juicy details...

Why am I involved in this? Children's Cancer Association is near and dear to my heart for obvious reasons. (See Lillian's Legacy for more details.) During Lillian's numerous hospital stays, the Music Rx program provided by the Children’s Cancer Association brought her great joy. As the volunteer sang and played guitar, Lillian would rattle an egg shaker and for a moment the beeps of the machines that surrounded her would be drowned out by their song. This is just one small example of the support that CCA provides for children as they fight for their lives. Though my primary fundraising efforts go to the American Cancer Society, I am always pleased to have an opportunity to help CCA and try to payback their generosity a little.

What is it? Hosted by Thirst Wine Bar, this fantastic event includes a mouth watering menu created by Executive Chef Jon Sodini, wine, wine and more wine, live music, a fine art auction and a fabulous (if I do say so myself) silent auction.

When is it? Saturday, October 18th, 7pm. Black Tie Optional (totally swanky cause that's how I roll people). At Thirst Wine Bar at the Riverplace Esplanade on the Willamette River in downtown Portland.

I know what you're thinking..."how do I get a ticket to this exclusive event?" Well I'm glad you asked. You can purchase tickets here for $100 each. Hey, I know the economy sucks and money is tight. So if you can't swing it, I completely understand. But if you can, dig deep and join me for what will be a terrific event. Aside from supporting a great cause, I'm sure you will get your money's worth in tasty grub and fine wine.

This is where the end of cancer begins

We used to have such crazy dreams.
The kind of dreams that brought us together, made us not mere mortals, but a movement.

We used to dream we'd get to the moon.
And we were crazy enough, fanatical enough, relentless enough, to get there.

We dreamed we'd split the atom.
Make smallpox and polio whispers from forgotten history books.
Make technology infinite, individual.
Connect the world.

All the unbelievable and the impossible,
all the can't do and the never will, we overwhelmed them, we overpowered them, we conquered them.
They said no and we, well,
We said yes.
We stood up.
We stood up and changed the world.

Stand up when everybody else sits down
Stand up when it's easier to turn away
Stand up for everyone who can't rise anymore

When the answer seems impossible, stand up
When the dream is right within our reach, stand up
When the powerful refuse your call, stand up

The moment is now and the time has come to stand up.
One out of every two men
One out of every three women
will face these diseases we call cancer.

Our sisters, our brothers, our fathers, our mothers,
our husbands, our wives, our children.
Our very best friends and those we've yet to meet.

One person every minute, one person in a moment gets lost, gets stolen, gets taken away.

We are a tapestry of lives touched and brought together by a terrorist we can actually find. And in the time it's taken to read this, three more Americans have died.

Unforgivable.

This is where the end of cancer begins.

When together we become a force unmistakable.
A movement undeniable.
A light that cannot dim.

When we take our wild impossible dreams
And make them possible
Make them true

When together we rise as one
When we stand up
When we Stand Up To Cancer.

This is the manifesto of the organization called Stand Up To Cancer. Tune in tonight at 8pm on NBC, ABC and CBS to learn more about them. The cure is coming!

Fountain of Remembrance

The day after Lillian died, Jeff and I set out to find the cemetery where we would lay our sweet girl to rest. A heavy task with simple requirements. We wanted her to be buried with family. We wanted her grave site to be an easy drive from our home. And we wanted an indoor facility that could hold around 100 people for her memorial service.

First we drove to the cemetery where Jeff's mom is buried. It is the closest to our home and we loved the idea of these important ladies in our lives being together. Unfortunately there was no facility for the service so we kept driving.

Our next stop was the cemetery where Jeff's nana is buried. We both loved his nana dearly and chose Lillian's initials to honor her. As we parked in front of the facility, I raised my head and saw the beautiful fountain. Though the fountain had long been a part of the grounds, they had recently converted the surrounding area to accommodate crypts beneath large boulders. When I saw this "Fountain of Remembrance", I grabbed Jeff's arm and whispered "this is it."

Lillian loved to throw rocks in the water and watch them splash. Such a simple pleasure. What better place to remember her than a rock edged fountain?

We entered the large facility and as we waited to be helped, I saw a container of leaflets for Children's Cancer Association.

The gentleman who assisted us with the planning told us that he too lost a son to cancer at age 4.

He showed us the chapel which could easily seat 100.

He gave us a map and let us choose the perfect boulder for our family.

God was not whispering. He was clearly guiding us when we needed it the most.

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I don't visit her boulder by the fountain that often. I prefer to visit her in my memories. But today I was drawn to her. I arranged flowers in her vase, tossed a rock in the water and blew her a kiss. And then I turned to leave. There, a few yards away, two fawns walked to a grassy area and nibbled at the trees. I caught my breath and whispered a prayer of thanks.

As a deer-sighting may not seem all that unusual, I should explain further. Another reason I love this Memorial Park is it's proximity to the highway. You can see the traffic and hear the rush of the cars from the cemetery. While this would be a turn off for some, I love being able to see her fountain and to blow her a kiss as I pass by. But the adjacency to this busy highway is also what makes the presence of these young deer even more remarkable.

Every single time I visit Lillian's fountain, God gives me something. Sometimes it is hearing a special song on the radio. Sometimes it is seeing a gift someone else left for my angel. This time it was seeing two little deer in an unlikely place. It's in these desperate times that God chooses to shout instead of whisper. And for that, I am forever grateful.

Thank you Father. Thank you.

More Helpful Hints

Remember when I wrote this? My bullet point tutorial on what to say/not to say to a grieving parent. Well gwendomama has written the extended version with such wisdom and grace that I had to share.

On the flip side, I need a tutorial on how to respond to the oft uttered "I'm sorry." Thank you doesn't seem to cut it as evidenced by the awkward silence that typically follows. Someday I'll figure that one out.

This Post's For Me

How do you transition from a post about "Mamma Mia" to a post about grief? Not gracefully, that's for sure. I hesitated to write about this at all but then remembered that this blog is about me and for me. Yes I tap dance like a trained chimp just to entertain you at times. But then something happens and the sadness crashes over me like a wave. That's when I just have to get it out there. Even if it's just for me. So here goes.

Sometimes little things remind me of my sweet girl and make me smile. Other times they make me cry. Often these little things come in rapid succession and morph into one very big thing. I'm at the tail end of one of those times. I hope.
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We took Ian to the play class at Gymboree for the first time a couple of weeks ago. As I pulled off three name tags adorned with that loveable clown, I started to write Lillian's name. I had barely gotten the down stroke of the L before I realized my error. Sucking the air through my teeth, I finished the name tag with an A and an N for Lillian's little brother. The class opened with everyone introducing their child. Easy enough. Then the teacher asked us if we had been to Gymboree before. "This is Ian's first class but we have been here with our daughter," I responded. No big deal. Later in the class the teacher dropped by and asked how old our daughter was. Again, the wind was knocked out of me as I quickly muttered that she passed away last year. Ugh.
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Fast forward a few nights and Ian was a very cranky boy. His acid reflux continues to plague him. The acid blocker he is on typically does the trick. But our big boy has a tendency to out grow his dosage before his next doctor's appointment. So every few months, he gets atypically cranky and we know it's time to up the dosage. This was one of those times. Unfortunately it takes about 24 hours to really kick in. We tried everything but he would not be consoled. An hour past his bedtime, I finally decided to rock him to sleep. I watched as he slowly transformed from screaming to whining to silence. His little bald head once flailing in defiance now released in exhaustion. I felt the weight of his tense body turn limp as sleep overtook the fight. Without warning, I was suddenly back in the hospital room holding my angel's lifeless body and kissing her sweet bald head for the final time.
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Before Relay I decided to download Randy Pausch's "Last Lecture" audiobook on my ipod. Listening to the wisdom of a man dying of pancreatic cancer seemed like the perfect accompaniment to the many laps around the track. I barely scratched the surface at Relay and have been listening to the book on my commute ever since. It is filled with humor and intelligence and common sense wisdom. It's about dreaming big and breaking down walls that stand in your way. It's a summary of everything he wants to pass on to his three young children. And we are privileged enough to share in it as well. Get it. You won't be sorry.

Last Friday on my way home from work, I glanced down at the ipod and was saddened to find I was nearly at the end of this little treasure. The rest would have to wait until Monday. A treat to brighten my commute to work!

As I was turning off the television later that night, I saw Randy Pausch's face light up the screen. At age 47, Randy died of complications from pancreatic cancer. Obviously I never knew him. But hearing his words fill my car each day somehow made this loss personal. Maybe I was still reeling from the earlier blows. Or maybe my heart was aching for his wife and kids. Or maybe his death is a reminder that life can change in an instant. Whatever the cause, it hurt.
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It's the little things that get you. They don't add up, they multiply. As quickly as the flood rises around you, it recedes into normalcy. I don't know which is harder. The flood or the aftermath.

Oblivious Babies R Us Lady

Jeff and I were in Babies R Us on Wednesday buying a cartload of bottles, diapers and onesies. Neither of us could remember how many bottles we needed so I did the quick math. Let's see, they eat every 3 hours so that's 8 bottles per day. HOLY COW! How quickly we forget! But I digress, that's not the story I wanted to share.

While browsing in the health care aisle, I said to Jeff "I think we need another pair of nail clippers."

"You're kidding," he replied.

"Well, they get dull pretty quickly."

A young woman with a petite baby bump holding 2 pair of nail clippers and looking a little lost said, "do you already have a child?"

"Yes, we did." I reply cautiously.

::Silence::

"She actually passed away last April," I add.

"Oh, well did you get to clip her nails?" she asks. [Ed note: Clearly she has a one-track mind.]

"Yes, of course."

"Well, do you really need these clippers or can you just use what you've got at home?" she asked.

"Well, you can certainly use what you've got at home as long as they're small enough to cut tiny fingernails and big enough to get a good grip. It's kind of hard to hold on to squirming little hands and nail clippers at the same time."

"Oh." She still looks perplexed.

"When are you due?" I asked, trying to be polite.

"I'm 36 weeks along." she replies beaming.

Stunned that this adorable little bump could house a 36 week old baby I regroup and reply, "Wow, not much longer then huh? You'll have a great Christmas present."

"Yep, we're actually hoping for Thanksgiving even though my doctor is going to be on vacation."

"Good luck!" I say encouragingly.

"Thanks. When are you due?" she asks.

::Silence::

"Uh, we're adopting so it could be anytime."

"Oh great! Congratulations! Good luck!!!" she responds with enthusiasm and rounds the corner out of view.

Clearly I need work out.

Individual Appointment

On an interview or first date, you try to put your best foot forward and in doing so, you show a tenth of the person you truly are. You reveal just the parts that you think the other person will be attracted to. But sooner or later, things "stop being polite and start getting real." (You like that MTV Real World reference?) We don't want that reality to hit with a birthfamily after a baby is born. We want to find a mutual attraction right off the bat that builds into an organic relationship. We don't want to find ourselves forcing visits to meet our contractual agreement. We want to truly enjoy each other's company. So we looked forward to each meeting with our counselor as an opportunity to reveal more of ourselves.

Last time we were anticipating these adoption meetings, it was with a great deal of apprehension and uncertainty. I think we expected that we were being judged. Like our counselor was taking some sort of uber-complete inventory of our parenting abilities that would culminate in the delivery of her verdict.

With a slight nod of her head, she proclaimed "Yes, you have been deemed to be fit parents. Here is your baby now go forth and parent well."

Fortunately that couldn't be further from the truth. Our individual meetings were as painless and invasive as all the prior meetings. Our counselor used the historical information from the last adoption and just asked us questions where she felt there might be updates. She asked us about our parenting experience and our grieving process.

In my individual meeting, we reached the end and I was silently patting myself on the back for holding it together despite these emotional questions. But just as quickly as she said "I think that's it," she changed her mind and said "oh, just one more thing." Darn it, so close! Then she dropped the bomb. "The answer to this question might be different than last time. What are you most proud of? Or what is your greatest accomplishment?" And with that, the floodgates were opened. LILLIAN!!!! I'm most proud of my beautiful, strong, brave little girl!!! Nothing else in my life compares to the joy of being her mommy. Now I can sit through entire meetings and carry on productive conversations with tears streaming down my cheeks so I'm completely used to this by now. Sympathetically, our dear counselor told me to take a minute. Oh boy, a minute is never quite long enough. So I told her that we were gonna have to power through. And with that, the individual meeting came to an unceremonious end. Oh well, that's the way this roller coaster goes!

The good news is she thinks we will be in the pool in just a couple of weeks!!! We can't believe how quickly things are moving this time around. And as I told Jeff, I have been holding back on the baby shopping but once we're in the pool, we will need to re-stock the necessities. Just diapers, formula, bottles, etc. but even those simple supplies will be such fun to buy again.

Guilty Pleasure

After Lillian passed away, when people would ask me how I was doing, I was careful to say "okay" or "not too bad". Every once in a while I would slip and respond with the traditional "good". Which inevitably would be met with "good as can be expected I suppose." Instant guilt. I know that wasn't the intention but grief is a strange thing. One minute you're a weeping wreck and the next minute you're actually doing good. Not as good as can be expected but good. Granted those minutes are few and far between at times. It was interesting feeling guilty about feeling good.

As Jeff and I get excited about a new baby, it too is not without a fair share of guilt. It's as though we're not supposed to look forward to a future without Lillian. I wish with all my heart that Lillian was here to join us in welcoming a new brother or sister. Because that's the way I'm looking at this adoption. People have commented that we can't replace Lillian and that is true. But like any parent with more than one child, we can find room in our hearts to love another baby. And that baby will be Lillian's brother or sister even if they won't have a chance to meet on this side of eternity.

So I am wrestling with how to tie the past and the future together. How do we tell this new baby about their big sister? Do the pictures stay up as though our beautiful two year old is frozen in time? How do I remember all the moments with Lillian while new memories are forming everyday with a new baby? While this adoption feels so right, I am praying for wisdom in how to make this transition.

My Birthday Quilt

Not quite in the mood for a celebration yet, I thought this birthday would slip quietly by. But apparently you all had other plans. Who knew Hallmark had so many different ways to say "Happy Birthday"?!

I tell you, you've left me positively speechless. Normally I can write a blog in a few minutes but I've been sitting here for 10 minutes completely unsure of what to say. How do I thank you for making me smile? How do I thank you for making my day? How do I thank you for being my friend?

I guess all I can truly say is a humble "thank you very much." By honoring me, you have honored Lillian. Because without her, I wouldn't even know many of you. And because through her God has drawn you close to me and enveloped me like a beautiful, comforting quilt.

Strangely Quiet

I don't know how other parents handle the death of their child but I can guess. For some, seeing the toys is hard. For others, the photos. For me, it's the little, intangible things. Like Monday would have been her 2 1/2 birthday. I know, I know, who cares about a 1/2 birthday? But since we were in Emmanuel for rehab for her 2nd birthday (just 8 days post-resection), it wasn't much of a birthday. Just a few family members huddled around a table in the hospital cafeteria. I was hoping to use this 1/2 birthday to make up for it. And whooo-hooo, don't get me started on my big plans for her 3rd birthday!

Or my first solo trip to Costco to pick up pictures in preparation for her memorial service. Costco has always been the diaper, formula and book store for us. Our first Mommy-daughter outing after Lillian was born was to Costco when she was just 5 days old. Later Jeff and Lillian would look at the books while I raced around throwing the other items from our list into the cart. Last week the cart seemed to want to steer itself to the book aisle until I regained my senses.

And last night Jeff and I returned home after a week in Palm Springs. We rented a home with a pool for some anti-social relaxation and reflection time. I know so many of you would give your right arm for a week of fun in the sun but it was very strange for us. Being a parent means very little personal time and being the parent of a sick child means no personal time. So a week with nothing to do was just plain weird. It was nice, don't get me wrong, but I'm glad to be home. I know it's irrational but as we de-planed in Portland and walked through the throngs of waiting loved ones, I found myself looking around for Lillian.

I guess all this is to say, it's hard but we're hanging in there. Though these little things knock the wind out of me on a regular basis, I'm perversely glad they do. It keeps her memory alive. In fact, I think I'm more scared for the day when seeing "The Wonder Pets" on tv doesn't reduce me to tears.

Thank you all for your prayers and cards and for keeping Lillian alive through your memories as well.