True Friends...

I can't begin to tell you how healing the past month has been for me, or how good it feels to feel good.  Somehow, some way, I know that I have turned a corner. My soul has been touched, and some of the gaping wounds in my heart have been closed up. Sometimes I just sit and reflect in wonder and amazement at the difference, at why there has been such a difference, and at the difference one person can make.

True, some things still hurt. Some parts of my heart still feel new and tender... but I think that there is nothing wrong with remembering the pain, for it makes us appreciate the love and healing more fully.

I have truly been blessed, not once, but many times, with the "cream of the crop" as friends in my life. You have each taught me something... but some of you have been there for me and helped me in more ways than you could ever know, and more ways than I ever could have dreamed or asked for.

To my particular friend from years ago, you know who you are... thank you for believing in me more than I believed in myself. Thank you for pointing me in the right direction. Thank you for loving me, and through that, helping me see the things I needed to see. I miss you.

To my brother Joe, his wives and children. You are the ones who have never left my side. Thank you for loving me fully and truly. Thank you for your encouragement, your love, and your help. I am so proud of you, and also still a bit incredulous that you count me as a close friend in your life.

To the friend I never expected to have. You deserve more love than you could ever imagine, and more than you could ever hope for. The people in your life that don't know that, just don't know you - and they have missed out on so much.  Thank you for helping me to forgive.  Thank you for helping me feel, for the first time in what seems like forever, that I wasn't broken anymore. You are truly a gift and one I treasure.
 
And last but not least, to Ryan, my best friend, the one who knows me inside and out ... and yet loves me still. Thank you for choosing me again. Thank you for making sure I know I matter, for making sure I know you care.  You've held me together when I've been shattered to pieces. Your heart has wrapped around mine and kept it beating more times than one. You've never given up on me and I don't understand why - but I'm grateful. Father in Heaven knew what he was doing when he blessed me with you, you are exactly what I need. I only hope I can be as much to you and more, because you deserve it.   I love you without end, and just when I think I love you as much as I could ever love anyone, I fall in love with you all over again.  Thank you Ryan. LYM.

Rachel

Missing you...

What hope once bound with love anew 

Is crushed and bleeding, love withdrew.

Yet a glimmer of hope still beckons true, 

Indeed, this story is not yet through.

For when we walk with courageous steps, forward, upward, from our depths, 

We'll find an energy renewed from conscious effort aft review.

And when friendship's fragile hand no longer reaches to our land, the memory of its tender touch 

Will either hurt, or lift us up, to greater heights than previous knew.

Will we walk with steadfast faith, 

That love's great labor, once engaged, will find our heart again, and true.

For still, my heart is missing you.

Unloading...

Do you ever get to the point where you have so much rolling around in your heart and brain that none of them have an outlet? You try to write and you end up erasing your sentences and changing your topics as fast as you can type and delete?  I went to write a Facebook status update and ended up typing and deleting about 8 of them before I finally gave up.

It's not a matter of things being to difficult to process... or even xtreme in their need for processing, but more just the sheer number of things going on in my head at once. All of them important. All of them evoking emotion. All of them, all at once.

I'm trying to narrow it down to just one at a time so I can think it through, identify, process and resolve.

Easier said than done.

But I've got to do it... and all of cyberspace doesn't need or especially want to hear about every detail.

Things I Can't Say...

Tears fall and I can't help it. My heart aches and it hurts to remember, to feel, and yet 

I can't stop feeling. 

I've tried over the years to not let this part of my heart hurt, or remember... 

but how could I ever expect it to forget?

And so, when it is three days after my own daughter's birthday...

five days after Ryan's...

the 20th of July, October 6th, each January, every August...

always when it is the week of Thanksgiving... 

and with every Cowboy Christmas Tree I see...

and again tonight, and so many nights, when I have just looked through pictures of her boys with their grins and girlfriends and new fiancee, and her daughters with their beautiful faces, beautiful hair and beautiful eyes...

I cry. 

I cry, I cry, and I cry.

You see...

many years ago I had a friend, a beautiful friend. She was good, and strong. She was determined, and worked hard to do what she felt was right. She was a good mommy and fiercely protective of her babies. She put up with me because I married her husband's best friend... and then as time went on, there came a time when she actually loved me for me, and was a friend as friends should be. 

And then, 

her heart broke.

How could it not? Her babies went to heaven and part of her heart went with them. 

But what she didn't know was that my heart was broken too. 

I loved her babies, I loved her children. I loved her, and didn't know how to help her, didn't know how to take away her pain. How could I? How could anyone? 

Nobody can understand the pain a mother feels who has lost a child until one of their own returns home to heaven's arms. And nobody could understand my friend's pain, for she lost three. 

And so, as much as I tried, I didn't help her. I couldn't help her. And the more I tried, the more I hurt her. The more I reminded her that her babies were gone, and mine were still here. The more I reminded her that she was hurt, and that there was no way I could know, could understand, or could ever be enough of a friend.

She had been there for me through some of my own tough times, and now she needed a friend and 

I wasn't enough. I couldn't be.

In fact by trying, I pushed her farther and farther away. 

Her memories are different than mine. She remembers I put my baby down in front of her, hurting her more, twisting the knife that was already slicing through her heart, searing her with pain. 

I remember I left my baby home, even arguing with my husband because I refused to bring the baby with us. He didn't think it would matter, but I knew it would. 

I didn't want to hurt her, and so I wouldn't bring the baby. 

But in her memory, my baby was there anyway. 

She remembers that I left dishes in the sink, laundry on the floor, and folded the towels wrong. 

I remember that I cleaned the kitchen counters, folded the baskets of clothes, and cleaned up after 

her baby was born.

She remembers that I upset her kids, ruined her mop, and was tempted to leave my marriage, my love.

I remember that I babysat so she could have a break. I held her little boy while he whimpered in pain with a tube in his belly, praying for Jesus to help him know how much he was loved and to ease the pain. I remember that I worked hard to mop the floors and have her house clean when she came home, so that she could rest some more before their family came over to barbecue.

I remember that I didn't leave, that I learned to love more, and that 

I never once gave her reason to be ashamed.

I can't change her mind. She never thought to ask what I remembered, why, or what I was thinking. 

It doesn't matter.

But it does hurt. Still. 

How can I change her memory?

How can I take away that pain?

How can I take heal those hurts? They are bigger than me.

I tried. Believe me I tried. I tried everything from talking to her, to not talking to her, to reaching out to her, to staying out of her way, and everything I could think of in between. 

And that seemed to work the best. To stay away. To just stop coming around. To say hi from a distance, if we happened to meet. To stay away from her memories, away from her pain. To leave her to her hurts, her healing, and her new friends. 

And she has healed. She is still healing. 

She still loves, she still aches, but she is happy.

She enjoys life. 

She enjoys her kids.

She is still a good mommy.

And still fiercely protective. 

She is healthy, and beautiful, and loved.

Jesus brought her peace. He rocks her babies, and holds her heart in His hands when it feels like shattering. At least, that's what I believe.

She still doesn't understand me, and still doesn't believe that I didn't bring my baby to the viewing. 

In her memory, I still taunt. 

I still represent pain. 

I would suppose seeing me brings back waves of emotion, but I know better. 

She is past me. Past my friendship, however weak and meager it may have been. 

But there is one thing I cherish. A card she gave me with a floral wreath 

made into the shape of a heart, before her babies went to live in Heaven. 

Before I caused her so much pain.

Inside, it simply says, "Just because I love you. Thanks for being my best friend."

And if there is one thing I could say to her still, it would be this...

"I love you too. 

Thanks for teaching me so much.

I am glad you are happy. I am glad you found peace, and smiles, and joy. 

 I miss you."

With love,

Your Friend

Scratch Before Baking

Many years ago, my sweet-as-pie aunt, known for making things that tasted good and looked pretty, told me a secret to baking enviable desserts, breads, and cakes - from scratch.


"Rachel," she said as I waited eagerly to hear the secret that made her delectable sweet-and-moist-in-every-bite cornbread so delicious, "Always be sure to scratch the box before you open it. Then, follow the directions on the box."

I laughed. And for many years, I have taken her advice to heart. Tonight was no exception.

I have an extra 9 kids here this weekend, cousins, and we are having a blast! Spent the day at the lake, soaking up the sun and enjoying 80 degree water and warm sandy beach. We played Duck Duck Goose, Motorboat Motorboat, Ring Around The Rosie, Water Spider, and more... all in the water. Lots of splashing, lots of smiles, and lots of fun. But after hours of enjoying Sand Hollow, the wind began to pick up and it was time to go home to celebrate a birthday this evening.

What I really wanted to make was a Brownie and White Chocolate Strawberry Silk Torte. But with 16 hungry children, there wasn't a lot a lot of time to throw the ramen noodles in the pan, change everyone out of their swim clothes, or shower off the pound of sand brought home in my hair - let alone put together an elaborate cake, or go to the store for missing ingredients. So... I fell back on Auntie's trusted advice.

I scratched the box of the chocolate cake before I opened it, mixed it up, and threw it in the preheated oven.  And then - I grabbed the can of pink frosting floating around in my cupboard, bought as a precaution for a day like this, and (after scratching the lid, of course) opened it and whipped it up to be even fluffier and lighter than  it already was.

The four round cake pans were cooled in the freezer while I took the last remaining cup and a half of powdered sugar I could find in my pantry and made a half batch of Fudge Frosting. (This delicious concoction is the ONLY thing I made tonight that I didn't have to scratch before I pulled it out of the box.) After everything was cooled, I carefully layered the cake, strawberry frosting while my daughter looked on.

"Mom," she said.

"Yes?" I asked.

"You do realize this cake is for a BOY right?!?"

"Of course dear. Why?" I say, as I think to myself "I'm pretty sure I know whether that kid that popped out of me 12 years ago was a boy or a girl. I did change quite a few of his diapers, after all!"

"It's PINK!" she exclaimed.

And so of course, we had to cover up the beautiful pink layers of fluffy strawberry frosting sandwiched between the four layers of cake. My powdered sugar was gone, and so as I stared at my pantry trying to decide what to do, my eye rested on a box of chocolate pudding mix.

Voila! I hastily scratched the box as I ripped it open and whisked in the milk, making a thick, goopy chocolate paste that I carefully smoothed around the edges of the cake. After dumping the fudge frosting on the top and letting it drip down the rim of the cake, I stuck it in the freezer to firm up a bit more while the kids finished eating their ramen.

The result?  Fabulous. It was six inches tall, covered in chocolate, and paired perfectly with the Cookies 'N Cream ice cream that was halfway melted before we got through dishing up for all 18 kids at the party.

Happy Birthday Big T.  Love you more than you'll ever be able to comprehend.

(PS... the recipe for Sweet Cornbread is below.)

SWEET CORNBREAD RECIPE - delicious to the last crumb. 

1 box of yellow cake mix
2 small boxes or bags of cornbread mix
1/2 cup sour cream

Add the cake mix and cornbread mix together. Make as directed using ingredients for both mixes, replacing 1/2 cup of water or milk with 1/2 cup sour cream. 


Bake til golden brown and top springs back lightly. (Or at least doesn't leave an indent!)

1000 Page Views

Thanks to all my readers... I have over 1000 page views on my blog.  I'm flattered... though I still can't figure out why anyone takes time to read it! But I'm glad you do.

So, my question to you is... what would you like to see me blog about?

Lukey

These cuties are two of Ryan's nephews... both named Luke. I hadn't had the chance to meet them until a couple weeks ago at a family breakfast in Salt Lake.  Both of them are just adorable, and so much fun!  Enjoy the pics... I'll be posting more from this weekend in the days to come, I'm sure. 

This little guy has a ballplayers arm.  Watch out for him in the NFL as the star quarterback!

And this little guy is already following in his Momma's footsteps as an awesome photographer. Everytime I turned the camera sideways, he would do the same. He stood there taking pictures of me while I was taking pictures of him. 
Too cute!

 

 And here he is with Tiff... one of heaven's angels still on earth.

 Too bad my camera's not quick enough to catch this without the blur.

Two of my favorite people in the world!

 Luke's big sister Jaden and my son Taliesin were best friends when they were younger. Moving 8 hours away keeps them from seeing each other very often... but not from being best friends again as soon as they are together.  Taliesin was doing everything he could to stay out of pictures that weekend... and so this is Jade holding him down so he has to be in a picture.

Visitors

A week ago, the kids and I came back from a long trip away from home. Anyone who has seven kids and has been gone for a week knows that you have a lot of clean up, sorting laundry, and work to do when you  finally get home. Well... we hadn't done all the work yet, and the house was still a mess. In fact, a little before we got home, Jonnie piped up in his carseat and said,  

"Mom, I'm pooped."

"Okay," I said, "We'll change you as soon as we get home."

"You're not going to throw me in the bathtub," he said worriedly. (He hates to bath!)

"No. We'll just change your diaper, okay?"  

Well, he was asking if I was going to give him a bath for good reason.  We went to get him out of his carseat and realized he had done more than just filled his diaper - he had a poop explosion!  It was everywhere!  We spent the next half hour cleaning everything up, and then I jumped into the van again and ran to a job interview. By the time I got home, I was exhausted. The kids were exhausted. I decided we would clean the house the next day.

BAD IDEA. The next morning I let the kids sleep in, and as I'm sitting on the porch couch enjoying the peace and quiet of the morning, here comes a big shiny suburban pulling into my long driveway. "Who is that," I wonder. Pretty soon, out pops our good friends Mark, Paul, Steve, and their Dad.

Now, let me paint this picture a little more clearly.  I'm sitting on the couch on the front porch, lounging while I look up job listings on my laptop. I have no bra on yet, I haven't combed my hair, brushed my teeth, or put my makeup on. The porch is crowded with furniture we are storing for someone as a birthday surprise, and EVERY room in the house is messy. Every. Single. One.  In fact, when I came home, I had dumped my suitcase on my bed frantically trying to find something I needed from it before I left for my job interview.  I came back from the interview and shoved everything onto the floor before I fell into bed, exhausted. The room was bombed.  I'm not the world's best clean freak housekeeper to begin with... but that day, every room looked awful.  The food storage we had relocated to the playroom while we were working on a project was all still sitting there. The huge beanbag full of foam squares had broken the week before we left and since I didn't have time to sew it up, the kids had them scattered everywhere downstairs.

Mark gives me a hug hello and walks into the house to see how the basement turned out, which he had helped us do the drywall on. He goes downstairs, where Amanda is still sleeping.  I awkwardly give the others a hug and excuse myself for a minute while I go get my brassiere on. When I come back, Steve says he wants to see the house so I start showing them around, cringing at every room we walk into.  We go upstairs, and meanwhile Amanda comes up to the main floor, oblivious that we have visitors. When we come back down, she is sitting at the dining table in her nightgown eating a bowl of cereal, totally unaware they were even here.  They all want to see the work Mark did down in Amanda's room too... and Amanda is freaking out because her room looks about as good as my room.

Ugh. Normally, I love visitors. But sometimes I think I need to get one of those signs on my door that says...

"If you come to see me, come anytime.  If you came to see my house, make an appointment."

I can just imagine the stories they had to tell their wives when they got home.

Oh well....

Dishes, Laundry, and Dinner

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

SLAM!

That's the sound of love coming from my 11 year old right now.

Get the dishes done, or go to bed. That's all I asked. Dishes that I've been asking you to do since 5:00.  Dishes that you should have had done this morning without me asking.  Dishes that are piling up even worse because you won't get them done. Dishes you only have to do two days a week!

No. Stomping and slamming doors is soooo much better than just getting the job done.

Am I asking too much of my kids?  Are they better off just doing nothing around the house and me not having to deal with slamming doors? Sometimes I wonder. Please tell me I'm not the only Mom who deals with this.


Anyway....

Socks. Socks on my hands, that's the trick to doing laundry.  Has been since I was little.  I know, you can start laughing now at the mental picture you just formed in your head.  Me with mismatched socks on my hands bumbling around in the laundry room,  head cocked to one side as I try pathetically to remember which one is the washer and which is the dryer. Disoriented stutters as I try to sort darks and lights.

Well, thankfully it's not that bad. Really. At least not most days :)

I just can't handle the thought of sticking my hands into the laundry hamper and having the germs clobber me as I load the dirty clothes into the washer. Given the smelly treasure we found in the load of little boys pants we washed yesterday, I probably have good reason for that phobia. So, I put clean socks onto my hands as I reach into the hamper and throw the laundry in.Then I throw the socks in too.

Well, the dryer isn't working right now, so despite the rainy weather, we have laundry hanging from baskets, couches, chairs, and whatever else we can find all over the house while we wait for it to dry.  Fun times!

... Not really. There are times when being here alone without my handyman Ryan to fix everything really stinks. Literally. After all, 7 kids create dirty laundry faster than the clean laundry can airdry. That's all I'll say.


And the last thing on my mind right now, but not the least, are my friends. My anxious heart. And my choice of self-medication. Which leads me to dinner.   What???

Yes, Dinner.  (Come on now, keep up with me!)

But, I'll post separately for that. This is too long already. :)

There's No Place Like Home...

I woke up yesterday in a tiny town on the west border of Kansas where the cattle outnumber humans 1000 to 1. I'd been staying with Ry for a couple days while he worked. He drove home to Utah for Thanksgiving, and then I drove back with him to Leoti.  It was wonderful to see him, and talk and laugh with him.  We definitely needed the time together. While I may be used to having him gone for long periods of time, it is an understatement to say that I am certainly not cut out for a long distance relationship.  Alas, all good things usually come to an end, and so after eating breakfast together, I drove home yesterday without him.

Driving long distances doesn't bother me, in fact it I actually like driving alone for long distances as long as the roads are dry.  Give me a great audiobook, a roadmap, a pack of gum, some snacks and I'm good to go.

Vail pass was icy and snowy when Ry and I drove out on Wednesday night so going back, I decided to take Highway 50 across Colorado.  Sayanora Dorothy.  See ya later Toto.  Goodbye Kansas.  I miss you already Ry.

The drive went well and the roads were dry. The long, flat roads out of Kansas pass by peaceful fields of dry, brown sunflowers with drooping heads bereft of their fullness. Tall grain silos and small clusters of farm houses and aging barns along the way gave a feeling of warm, rich life in contrast to the silent, empty fields. I found my self wondering about the people who lived and worked there, what patterns their daily living followed, and the fabric of their family's lives.  I also wished I had my camera with me.

The cool weather turned warm as I sped across southern Colorado where the once straight roads now twisted and curved as they began to wind along the Arkansas River.  As I climbed up Pauncho Pass, snow appeared along the sides of the roads, and ice crackled over the bluish-gray water.  The car followed the curving road up and then back down the San Juan mountain passes, the wind whipped and the sky began to darken with sullen clouds. Sunlight faded, and inky darkness prevailed.

It was cold, dark, and windy when I stopped to refuel in Grand Junction.  I looked forward to crossing into Utah where the silent mountains formations that make up Central Utah would surround me as I traveled across to I-15, and then finally south, and home.

It was refreshing to me to just be alone for a long time. Perhaps I'm a bit odd that way, but driving alone calms me. No expectations. No requests from kids. No dishes or laundry staring me in the face. Just me, my thoughts, and the open road.

I watched the gauge showing the outside temperature climb as I dropped down past New Harmony and into Toquerville, and then into town. It was about midnight when I pulled in the drive, parked the car, and carried in my bags. Mercy was stretched out on my bed snuggled next to Jonnie, and as I put the bags down on my bedroom floor, I noticed a package and a handmade card sitting on my nightstand.

Rachel,

I hope you have a great birthday. 
It has been fun getting to know you and your cute family. 
I have enjoyed your friendship. 

Happy Birthday!

Camille


Inside the box was a beautiful "WillowTree" figurine, a brown haired woman breathing in the aroma of the bundle of flowers in her arms.  Graceful, simple, and perfect.

My eyes misted as I read the card, but when I opened the box, I sat and cried for 20 minutes. How did she even know when my birthday was?

Thank you Camille, more than you know.

And thank you to all of the rest of you who sent me such wonderful birthday texts and messages as I drove.  I had a nice birthday chat with Danielle and Mom, and one with Joe the night before. Plus Amanda sang me a Happy Birthday song on my phone messages, and Mercy, Alex, and Kenzie sang to me as well.

The kiddos must have missed me too, because before the morning light filled the sky, there were four  of my kids in my bed, and I had to get up and move to one of their beds to get any sleep!  They showered me with wonderful homemade cards and notes this morning when I awoke, and later Amanda and my sweet friend Sheila both gave me gifts as well.

Thank you all for being a part of my life, and for touching my heart.

It was definitely a Happy Birthday.

Stillness

Tuweap overlook of the Grand Canyon, photo by me, of course.

Fun fact for you - I'm afraid of heights. 

No, that's not true. 

I'm petrified of heights. Yes, I think that says it a little better.  

Have you ever driven on a mountain road when it's zig-zagging up the side of the mountain and one side is up against the side of the cliff and the other side is a sheer drop off and every time the wheels on the car spin they shoot a bit of gravel off the side of the road and you can watch it fall gently down the side of the mountain as though it hasn't a care in the world nor does it know that in a moment it will be pummeling into the earth below and as a result will probably no longer even be a rock but a bit of powder for the wind to blow away? (And yes I know that was a run on sentence but that's about how much goes through my brain every time the wheels on the van turn, so pretty please, bear with me.) It scares me to pieces and I really prefer that Ryan drive on these roads, when I am asleep, and never tell me we ever drove on that particular road in the first place. 

But I'm straying. Fear of heights is not what this is about today.... it's about our outing to the Grand Canyon, which thankfully did not entail a drive up a zig-zaggy cliff. 

So, lucky us - and I mean that - we had friends and family come visit us for the weekend and they took us on a drive out to Tuweap (or Toroweap as you sometimes see it spelled).  This particular view of the Grand Canyon is stunning, and totally worth the long-ish drive to get there.  The pictures I took really don't do it justice. 

Ryan and Jonnie, overlooking the Colorado River

So imagine this. Me - petrified of losing someone over the edge, and 15 kids -  7 of whom are mine, all running loose at the edge of a 3000 foot drop off. My idea of a fun time!

For the first 20 minutes, I panicked. A lot. And told myself to breathe. A lot.

Because otherwise I was a little bit out of my mind.

But after they got all their wiggles out from the car ride and got tired of looking over the cliff, they started running around inland. Then, I was finally able to enjoy it. 

The Grand Canyon is breathtaking, to say the least. I simply cannot wrap my brain around 

how this river cut so deep into the sandstone, and between the wind and rushing water, the canyon was 

formed.  It's incredible. 

It's also peaceful. And still.  That is probably what struck me most - the stillness.

After the kids all went back to the truck for lunch and I knew that Ryan had Jonnie, I had a few moments to just sit. And look. And as I sat on the ledge looking northward, I knew that somewhere down below branches were rustling in the wind and a bird was fluttering by. There were probably even chipmunks running around, or a lizard lying in the sun. But I couldn't see any of it. Everything was still, and being there helps your mind become still too. 

Enjoy the pics.  I hope that just for a moment, you can imagine being there, and enjoy the peacefulness and stillness that we need in our lives every once in a while. 

Hugs,

Rachel

PS... there are some other shots of the kids there.  Thanks for coming to visit us y'all!

Laura, sitting at the edge of the drop off.

See the boat in the water near the bottom of the picture? Yes, it's there. Look again.

Here it is "up close". Now, I have a super zoom camera, and this is as close as I could get to the boat. 

Hopefully this gives you a perspective of how deep and wide the canyon and river are at this point. 

(There are deeper sections of the canyon.)

And a few more just for fun. 

Ty, Ta, Ash - three buddies.

Boston, enjoying a nice cold root beer. 

Jonnie and Braelin in the "peek-a-boo" rock.

My cousin Kaitlyn stayed the weekend and went with us.  Fun to see you Kait!

Friends

Originally posted February 4, 2009

Christmas morning, best friends.

Have you ever imagined life without friends?  I told you this blog was partly to answer the question “how do I do it?”  I can tell you - the only way my family has made it through the past two months is because of help and love and support from friends.  So this post is a tribute to them.  Thought it seems woefully inadequate for what we feel in our hearts -- Thank you, thank you, thank you.  I am humbled by the love and friendship you have all given me in so many ways, and by the grace of God that I have so many friends when I feel so undeserving.

To Alina and Ellen, for rescuing my house, taking such a tremendous load off of Ryan, and helping me laugh. 

To Rich, for giving Ryan a much needed break.

To Nan, for loving me and caring. 

To Joe, for being the best big brother anyone could ever ask for. 

To Vicki, for taking me to the sunshine, and reaching out to me with so much understanding.  

To her kids and family, for letting her and Alina leave for so long!

To Becky, for letting me get some much needed naps!

To Cicile, for the VERY well timed treat of pizza for dinner!

To Valena, for caring and understanding. 

To Sil, for giving me a hug and reminding me sometimes a mother’s love doesn’t always have to come from my mom.

To Vana, for sending hope along with the sweet letter.

To Carmen, for stopping by and asking questions, and for your sweet concern. Thanks.

To Danielle, for calling to see if I was okay, and calling again when I didn’t answer the phone. 

To Val, for not freaking out when I was freaking out.

To Natalie, for being a friend without needing to understand.

To Laura, for babysitting and being so willing to. 

To Mercy, for smiling and being my right hand.

To Taliesin, for rocking Jonnie and taking care of Brae.

To Tyler, for missing me.

To Valena, for letting your girls come help clean the house.

To Grandma Nancy, for the blanket of love and sweet note.

To Jill for taking over the regional presentation - and for helping me talk through my fears. 

To Shauna, for picking up what I had to drop, and not making me feel bad for it.   

To Laura and Heather for picking up the pieces of my team.

To Rebecca, AnnMaree, Tina, Susan, Heather, Laura, Shauna, Bobbi, Valena, and everyone else, who have emailed your love and support.

And to all of your families too!

And last but not least, to Ryan.  Thank you for not leaving me alone, for holding me when I cried, and for helping me take it one day at a time.  You’ve been amazing.