Recently in Friendship Category

Badger is my almost birthday twin. I was born August 20th and she was born September 20th. Go spread some birthday wishes over at her journal today.

While you do that I am going to make some photos of what is going on at the farm as fall rolls in. Yesterday I cleaned and tilled the fall garden spots. Today I am planting my fall veggies.

I want to tell you how meeting Mary was as natural as greeting an old friend that hasn't been seen in a number of years. We fell into comfortable conversation and laughter. She charmed my children and she brought them gifts. She settled into my kitchen just like back door friends should. Several times as she talked with my girls or played with Steven I could imagine how nice it would be to have her living close by. She could just walk over in afternoons and have a cup of tea/coffee or a glass of wine, daudling by the pool while we idled away our time waiting for husbands to arrive home from work. Or after a busy day at school I could offer her a(nother) glass of wine and tell her how lucky those children were to have her for a teacher. Yes, I played out an entire scenerio in my head. I also spent a huge amount of time regretting how messy my house was. Steve and I had spent the entire week getting the fields ready for the goats and my house fell to the wayside. I had spent the morning in the goat field. Then I hurried in to the shower and to make lunch. My house was also very messy. I kept telling myself Mary would understand and overlook the mess knowing we were trying to provide for the goats. While I could have bypassed the shower to do a little more cleaning she really would not have appreciated the scent of goat on my person. I was also hoping my cooking would impress her and she wouldn't have time to notice the dust bunnies, handprints on the glass doors and windows, laundry not yet in the washer and the unmopped kitchen floor. I plied her with diet coke, my zucchini lasagne, salad, red and yellow tomatoes with basil and fresh mozzarella, garlic bread and tapenade. Then I drug her outside to see the goats and my kids with the goats. I drug her through my chicken barn and watched the chicks peck her toes. I want to show her everything and tell her everything and the time passed so swiftly before I knew it she was leaving! The day was too short! (Read her version of the day here.) Mary is everything her writing lends you to believe. She is funny and smart. She is a shining light and her glow engulfs everyone around her. She is lovely and small framed and a tiny bit freckled with lovely auburn tinted hair that shined like brass in the sunshine. She has a wonderful rich voice and laughter. She looks very much like her brother. She is comfortable in her own skin. She is fiendly and outgoing. I can't imagine she has ever met a stranger. Josh is very lucky to have her. I did consider flattening her minivan tires and locking her in the cellar so I could keep her here with me awhile longer. How long could I have gotten away with that before someone noticed she was missing? In the end I let her go with a few jars of homemade jam and a long wave as she drove down out of sight. We have to find the time to get together again. Perhaps she and Josh need a weekend away in the country before school starts back. What do you say, Mary?

As you wait out the final days I must tell you this. Of all the journals I have read chronicling a pregnancy never have I read one that held so much anticipation, joy and devotion as you have written into nearly every post. You have shown so much dignity and respect to the miracle of life growing inside of you that I was more often than not left speechless and unable to respond in your comments. You so perfectly voice the beauty of becoming a new mother. I only wish I were able to write with that inner voice and emotion as you are able to do. You are going to be such an amazing mother I can almost see it all played out already. And this time next year? This time next year - Your baby will be climbing in and out of baskets (or boxes) too! You will know all the secrets that only a mother knows. I wish you health and lots and lots of happiness. If I may impart a tiny bit of advice - Find the joy in the sleepless night. Find the joy in hours of non-stop crying. Find the joy in feeling as if you might come unglued. Find the joy in not getting a morning shower and having milk stains on your blouse. Find the joy in all the things that might try to take away your joy. Those are the moments that make the mountain highs seem even higher. Those are the days where you earn your mommyhood stripes. Those are the days you wish you could have back sooner than you think. This time next year, your baby will be calling you Mamamamama and sharing sloppy wet kisses. How's that for the best present ever?

When Steven was born we were blessed with so many gifts. At the age of 6 months we were still recieving gifts. People were very kind to us. Hi, Auntie Hope! So many of the clothes were just the cutest things. So many of the clothes were purchased out of season I feared we would not get use them. I love my schoolbus sleeper! Stevens growth is right on track. At 8+ months age he is wearing 9 months sized clothing. Which is most excellent because fall has come with blustery temperatures of winter. Frost has been on the pumpkins two mornings in a row. Living in a 98 year old farm house you can see how long sleeved, footed, one piece pajamas are very important with a baby who kicks off the covers all night long. How cute am I? The sleeper in these photos is one Hope sent when Steven was born. I kept it folded in the drawer by my bed hoping that he wouldn't outgrow it before he even got to wear it. This is one of my favorites because of the school bus motif and the plush little red car that came with it. The End Thank you again, Hope. We love this sleeper. It is soft and comfy and keeps a baby with sweaty toes the perfect temperature to sleep well. BTW, notice anything wrong with these photos? Steven hates playing inside the play yard. He wants to be outside of it. What a major waste of $65. The only reason we bought it was to be able to keep him away from the fireplace. Which we have had no problems doing. I am beginning to think we are looking at the most expensive Christmas tree barrier to keep small hands away from delicate ornaments. Other than corralling his toys I can think of no other use for it. :-/

A little pickup slip was in the mailbox yesterday but the post office had already closed. This morning Colby went over and pickedup what I thought was an envelope/package. It turns out it was a box. Not just any old box mind you. But a box from cooking.com .... And not just a plain ordinary box filled with cooking.com stuff but one that was really from Susie Sunshine -all the way from the frozen tundra that is Michigan. With much delight the box was opened. And there inside were many wonderous things for a boy and his momma. A big red tractor for a boy to play outside or inside with. Also a note apologizing for the redness instead of greeniness of the tractor. A fleece bunting bag by Natural Charm that is beary cute. (Pardon the baby talk. I couldn't resist.) A tree shaped plush photo frame that is a family tree complete with pockets to insert family photos. (I have no idea why the photo is so dark. On every shot the flash failed.) A John Deere book titled Corny Cornpicker finds a home with appropriate inscription from said giver. A chicken cookbook. This chick pays very close attn people. I don't remember telling her I collect chicken stuff. A gardeners journal to write down all my gardenish things in. A copy of Jen Lancaster's new book Bitter Is The New Black. Complete with inscription. I dearly thank you, SusieQ, for all of these beautiful gifts. The thought is lovely. I can't thank you enough. I also must thank you for making me the coolest mom of college age girls in this area. As I opened each item in the box, Colby ahhh'd over each thing and we held them up for Steve to see. As I opened the last item which happened to be the Bitter book -

Colby: Is that Jen Lancaster's new book? Me: Yes, it is. What do you know about Jen Lancaster? Colby: Everyone is reading her book and blog. Have you read her blog? Me: I have been reading her blog before you knew what a blog was. Colby: OMG, that is an autographed copy! Me: I know it is. Susie knows her well and went to her first book signing. Colby: I cannot believe you have an autographed copy. OMG it is personalized! Me: heh ...

I am so f'n cool now. Thanks, Jen! I'll stop lurking and try to send you email comments that you wn't read or answer because you don't have time for trivial email from the likes of lurkers on your blog. If you get a chance how about come over and leave a comment so I can be like UBER cool with the 18 - 20 year old set. Please? I do give you linky love, ya know ... Thanks, Susie! You give the bestest gifts. I'll be sure to do something for you so your boys realize they have the coolest mom in the universe too. The book comment is in no way intended to overshadow the sincere joy of having such a wonderful friend that I have never yet met face to face as you are, Susie. I just thought you would get a good laugh out of the reaction of my eldest daughter. I am now going to spend as much of the rest of the day as possible reading the book sent my really sweet friend, Susie. :-)

Blackbird's Show and Tell is butterdishes. My butterdish is actually a crock. More specifically it is a butterbell. It is about 4 inches tall and holds 1 stick of butter. I found this crock in an old shop after I moved from Georgia to Virginia. It is used every single day because one of our favorite food items on the table at every meal is bread and butter. Not margerine. Butter. There is more than appearance to this little crock. It is also more than just a dish in the refrigerator to store butter. This crock has its beginnings in the days when there was no refrigeration. This piece of earthenware allows butter to be stored at room temperature on the counter for about a month without spoiling or need for refrigerating. How can this be? Surely as butter is a dairy product it will spoil without being stored in a cold place. The secret is in the seal. How it works is by using water to make an air tight seal. The butter remains fresh, creamy and most importantly, spreadable. My butterbell is old. It is chipped. It is cracked. This does not take away from it. I think it adds charm. If something should happen to this dish I will replace it. If I can't find an old farmhouse crock I will buy a new one. I like it that much. BTW, I paid $1 for it. ******* Yesterday I had a lovely surprise when I stepped out my back door. The UPS guy and the mail carrier had delivered packages to my door. One was the baby's birth announcements and the other was a tidy brown box with "fra-gee-lay" stickers on it. The box had no card. It also had no return address lable on it that I could find. But I had a heads up and knew who it was from. In the box was this lovely bedtime prayer for children in a distressed frame in green very similar to the color I painted the babies room. How lovely, I thought. Mary had emailed me that she sent a gift and forgot to put the card in and so mailed it separately. I was thinking Mary was so very thoughtful to remember the color of the nursery and to send something that coordinated. And I loved the distressed look of the frame. I was planning to email her and ask if the frame was handmade as a craft project. As I stood at the table and opened the rest of the mail, I came across a card that was from Mary. It and the box arrived by different means but at the same time. As I read the card the story of the framed prayer was revealed, making it all the more special. I didn't ask Mary if she minded that I post the card (I hope she doesn't) but I think the thought and the sentiments contained are lovely and loving. In my babies nursery is a piece of Mary, her girls and her mother. How can a baby not be anything but happy in a room surrounded with items that were heartfelt and sent with kindness and goodness from beautiful hearts? He. Can't. Thank you, Mary. I do love the gift. It also reminds me of my childhood. This prayer, or one very similar, a variation, is the first prayer I learned aside from saying the blessing at our table. I said it every single night of my childhood and just before I sleep now, even though I say my grownup prayers, I still say my childhood prayer as well. Now I lay me down to sleep I prayer the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen. Those words are very important to me. I have taught them to my children and will teach them to my baby boy. Life doesn't get much better than the one I am living right this very minute.

Want to see the view out my back door? O'kay ... well ... I am going to show you anyway ... Around 8am. At nearly 11am it is still snowing and there is a whole lot more on the ground. It is snowing people. We were supposed to have flurries and no snow was supposed to stick to the ground!! WTF is going on out there? Didn't the snowman read the weather forecast? Illiterate bastard.
*******
On a much brighter note ... Look what the mailman brought! He does read the forecast and the snow (that was supposed to be rain) did not stop him from delivering the daily mail! The mailman brought this box! Actually a slip was brought and Colby walked over and brought the box back to the house. Our mail carrier is VERY lazy but that is another story. Look how surprised little Steven is to see the box!

Look at all the treasures packed into this box! "Who is it from? Who is it from?" His little arms flail around with excitement.

"Open the card! Open the card! Let's see who is it from?"

It is from Aunt Hope! -who doesn't have a journal or a blog but surely needs one ...Look! It's me! I am a gift card!

And look at those Jelly Belly beans! WoooHooo! I am a boy, ya'll!! I can hand those out to my friends while Dad is passing out the cigars. BTW, my momma chose an excellent Don Elias Churchill** cigar for him to pass around in celebration of my arrival-

Too much excitement for a little boy. I need to take a nap before she tries to put those clothes on me. Zzzzzzz ...

Pssstt ... Thank you, Aunt Hope!! ... Zzzzzzzz ... More of the birth story tomorrow. **Don Elias is a nice smoke, rolled from a hand-picked selection of aged Piloto Cubano long-fillers and Olor binder. The thick, dark Indonesian wrapper is what makes this medium-bodied blend a real smoking treat.

This morning SexKitten MommaK stopped by for a visit on the BigRedCouch. She is such a lovely woman -and so very pretty. (Pssst ... now you know what the "K" in MommaK stands for.) She is coming back next saturday after the baby is here. She brought cake and truffles and we drank coffee and got to visit. The apple crisp is delicious! I am going to have the pound cake later this afternoon. Oh, and the truffles! Chocolate heaven! It was the nicest morning. I hope she had as nice a visit. I could just put her in a jar and keep her! But I had to let her go so she could pick up her daughter and get back home to her own lovely husband and family. If she ever comes up missing, well, I probably have her in a jar on my shelf. After our wonderful visit Steven and I went to the grocery store and the pharmacy. We picked up things for the kids to have while I am in the hospital. Like chocolate milk and pudding mix and bacon. But not all at the same time. I went to the pharmacy to cash in on the buy-one-get-one-free feminine product sale. I mean, I am going to need them sometimes between now and coming home after Tuesday. Having only two arms and hands I made Steven carry two packages to the check out. He is the only man I know who doesn't cringe at the thought of being seen with feminine hygeine products. Which makes him a rockstar husband! Plus he is cheap like me and it makes no sense to pay more for the same products later. As we were nearing home Steven's parents called and asked if they could drop in this afternoon. Of course you can! You don't have to ask. Guess what they brought ... Go ahead -guess! They brought ... Wait, let me explain a little bit ... When we told Steven's parents we were having a baby his father asked if we would like for him to make a cradle. Of course we said, "Yes!" I knew what type of cradle I wanted but I had to find a photo. After hours of searching I finally found the photo of a cradle I had seen ages ago and fell in love with. It is an 18th century cradle in a english museum home. From the above photo his father made this cradle in his basement.

It's "Goodnight Moon" bunny and bedding.

The wood is cherry.

The finish is medium cherry stain.

The finish is better than most commercially made furniture. It is satiny smooth to the touch. Like butter.

How blessed is this baby? This is an heirloom creation. One of a kind. Made by the hands of his grandfather. I cried. *sniff* Maybe now that his bed is ready he will come on out so he can see it himself ...

In the fall of 1993 I met a lovely woman 8 years older than I. We became friends very easily. We had similar backgrounds growing up in the south. We believed in the same fundamental principles of what children should be in our lives. We had been taught the same religious beliefs. We also believed marriage was forever and divorce wasn't an option. I worked in a little business near where she lived. We would often meet for lunch. She would come into the business and take care of whatever was on her list of errands. We saw one another alot. Her story was one that made my heart ache. She had lupus. The antibodies she developed attacked her heart and kidneys and also was the cause of many miscarriages. For those who do not know lupus is an autoimmune disease. The body sees many things as an enemy and produces antibodies to fight off what it sees as infection and sickness. The normal ability of our body to mask our pregnancy so that our bodies do not attack the fetus is supressed. Therefore the baby is seen as foreign matter and the body attacks and kills it off. Just before we met she had undergone another round of infertility drugs and egg harvesting. Her experience with a prior surrogate had used up all the embryos she had stored in a clinic in California. She was willing to try once more. She and her husband where both well trained professionals who had made their semi-fortune, traveled the world and lived a rather exotic life. At this point they wanted a baby, had the money to use the means available by modern science to try. Because the husband was 40 they had been denied adoption. She was (and still is) open minded and a very loving and giving woman. She has never been selfish and some call her a guardian angel. Many never will know where the miracle of help came from. It is just her nature. She helps those who cannot help themselves and never asks for anything in return. Surrogacy was something I had read alot about. I even knew it something I would do in the event it was presented to me and the people involved met with my own personal scrutiny. After a lot of praying, thinking and talking, I picked up the phone one day and called her house. I told her if she was willing to take the risk with me I would be willing to be her surrogate. In many ways it was a very easy thing to do. In others it was the most difficult. If things worked out I would be entrusting another woman with the life of a child -her own flesh and blood. This is not something to take lightly. Motherhood is a responsibility like no other. Even though she was older than I it was an area where I had experience and she did not. After a few months of prayer and thinking herself she called me back. Yes, she was willing to take the risk on me if I was willing to take the risk on her. This was the beginning of the longest friendship of my adult life. We shared the same dreams of what motherhood should be. We were (and still are) so much alike. I went through more tests than you can imagine. Physically and mentally I was turned inside out, looked at from every angle and needed legal representation to enter into the program for surrogate mothering at the fertility clinic in California. I passed muster. The doctor once commented how much alike we were biologically. I had many of the same antibodies she had, even the ones that gave her lupus but I did not and do not have lupus. We have the same hair color, eye color, fair skin, blood type, rh factor. It is amazing really. The doctor said that was very rare to be so similar and we had a good chance of a positive outcome because being so similar my body would be less likely to reject her genetic material that was an embryo. May 1994, all things were a go. We were waiting daily for my period to start at which point the hormone therapy would begin. I started my period on May 4th. That afternoon she came to my house and gave me the first injection of estrodiol valerate -.25cc packed in oil every 3 days. Each week I would be required to go into the doctor's office and have a sonogram to look at the growth of the unterine lining. I went to the lab and had blood drawn to determine if my body was accepting the synthetic hormones and rising steadily. By the time a week rolled around we were in California at the clinic waiting for the doctor to decide if implantation of the embryos were possible. My blood levels were excellent. The lining of my uterus was four times the required thickness for implant. The doctor agreed I was healthy as a horse. He also encouraged us not to get our hopes up. So many things could go wrong so early. On day 7 a call came to the hotel we were staying in and the doctor ordered the injection of 2cc progestrone daily. This causes a change in the uterine lining that makes it sticky so that an embryo has a chance to latch on and grow to a viable pregnancy. Essentially we were fooling my body into thinking it was already pregnant. Women do not produce high amounts of progesterone until an actual pregnancy takes place. The morning of the in-vitro we prayed. We went to the clinic. She stood by my side and held my hand. The doctor came in and gave me the vaginal exam with the 'little pinch' that actually caused the cervix to open a tiny bit. (That is why we sometimes spot after a gyn visit.) A lab technician came in with a syringe and a long but tiny catheter. Gravity is all that was neccesary for 5 living embryos to drain from the syringe and into my body. The embryos had been frozen for over six months. They were the product of her eggs and her husbands sperm. Of seven that had been thawed, 5 were living at the moment. There is no way I could give away one of my eggs. I believe those types of surrogacy are dangerous. They are also the types that appear in the news when the surrogate mother refuses to give up custody of the baby after birth. We came home. She came everyday and gave me the shots. The two weeks waiting for the pregnancy test was the longest in the world. They day I got the results I went straight to her house. The minute she opened the door I started crying. Her face dropped thinking the worst. "Hi, Momma," I said through sniffles. I do not think I have ever seen a person more filled with happiness and joy than seeing her at that moment. For 14 weeks she came to my house and forced 2cc of the progesterone packed in sesame oil into the mucles of my hips. For 14 weeks not only did I have the all day long morning sickness but my body was developing an intolerance for the progesterone. It was chewing it up like wildfire but at the same time it was making me sick. It took nine months AFTER the birth for the deep muscle bruising and the tenderness to leave my hips. She took care of me the entire time as if I were her child. She brought me food. She cooked supper and dropped it off. She made all the clothes I wore. I guess at this point I should tell you that she was retired as a clothing designer. She made me clothes from the fabrics she had collected from all over the world. I was far more fashionable than any of the young women these days will hope to be. Everything was custom made for me, my body shape and size, my skin coloring, my hair. A shipping package would arrive and I would open it to find maternity bras, jeans, a winter coat I could button even at 9 months. Sometimes I would even get flowers and letters from her mother thanking me for making her daughter so happy. She went with me to every doctors appointment. She was scared to touch me and knowing how pregnant women hated to be touched she never asked to feel the baby move. I knew she wanted to so I would take her hand and lay it on my stomach and she would laugh and cry at the same time. We shared EVERYTHING that concerned the pregnancy. I wanted to make sure she wasn't left out of the one thing she wanted more than anything in the whole world. The experience of being pregnant was lived through me. January 27, 1995 I delivered a healthy bouncing baby boy two weeks ahead of my scheduled delivery date. It was a hard day. The labor was induced. It was so slow going. She convinced me to take the epidural and not to be brave. They gave me way too much and I went completely numb from the hips down. I could not even move my toes. This caused labor to slow down. After 12 hours my doctor came in and said, "Let's get this over with. You have suffered long enough." He ordered the putossin to be pumped up then he looked at me and said, "You can push through this and get it over with. Ready?" God, yes, I was ready. He took one leg and bent it up as far as my knee would go toward my chest, one hand gripping the back of my calf the other gripping the bottom of my foot. He instructed my husband to do the same with my other leg. He told me to use the hand grips and when he gave the word I was to push with everything I had in me. 20 minutes later a baby boy was being cleaned up and he was putting stitches in -3 sets inside and 2 sets outside. Later I would notice the 2 sets of hand prints that shown in bruises on the backs of my calfs. This baby's shoulders were wider than the circumfirance of his head. We later found out both of his collar bones broke during delivery. I remember hearing a pop that had given me so much relief just before he was completely out. No worries, he healed completely and perfectly. Just maybe I pushed too hard. We don't know for sure. The physical part was grueling. The emotional part is beyond most people's understanding. I knew from the beginning this baby was not mine. His flesh was not of my flesh and there was no difficulty in going home without a baby. She stayed with me at night at the hospital. I pumped and she bottle fed him. I filled out the paperwork, the lawyers came a couple hours after the delivery with the adoption and custody papers. The legal part in no way took away from the joy of the event. I was the vessel through which God performed a miracle. It is one of the best experiences of my life. On his birthday I would get flowers. When he was old enough to draw I was sent artwork he had made. We talk on the phone and he knows who I am. We have a wonderful relationship and she has never once tried to keep him from knowing me. One fall after they had moved to Florida where the father is in private practice she came up for a visit. We sat at my table and had lunch. This beautiful little boy looked at me and said, "I know momma is my mommy. But you are my momma too. You loved me before she held me but she loved me before you ever knew me." All we could do is look at this beautiful boy with tears streaming down our faces. A five year old knew more than any adult ever could. I know this post is bogged down in details. They are important details to this story. I know this post is long. Please bear with me. You see, being a mother is so much more than a physical thing. It is spiritual. It is a conscious effort to be responsible for a life other than your own. It is a chance to give a gift, a gift of life and love. It is a chance to step beyond the bounds of everything you know and be somebody better than you ever dreamed you could be. It is also the hardest thing to do. Colby understood the baby was not ours. She never questioned it. I made sure she understood everything that was happening. I don't think my mother completely understands why or how I did it. She accepts the fact that for me being a mother and childbirth are not the same experience she had. My sister thinks it is the most amazing thing she has ever witnessed. My grandmother never understood. It pulled us apart for a long time. My grandmother did not understand the advances and the ability of modern medicine. She could never grasp the concept of science that made it possible for me to have another woman's baby. She always believed I gave away my baby with no thought to what I was doing. Eventually time passed and it was pushed back into the far reaches of her mind. She didn't ever talk about it again. But until the day she died she believed I gave away her greatgrandchild. Nothing could change her thinking. My only regret, and I have very few in this life, is that I could never make her understand it was not my baby. He wasn't my child to keep. He wasn't a baby born in my heart. My body was a vessel and he was not of my flesh. He is her baby. Her flesh. Born of her heart long before he ever came to be born of my body.

I have a shameful confession to make. It is deep and dark and eats at me like a little worm boring into a piece of fruit. It scares frightens petrifies terrifies horrorfies me. It is an ugly open mouth like a gaping black hole that I fear will swallow me up. From the time I knew I would become a mother I have been afraid that death would come while my children are small. I'll never get to see them grow up. They won't have enough time to build memories to remember me. They won't be able to console themselves. They will feel abandoned and left to the mercy of the world with no one who will love them like I do. If you are a parent surely you have thought about it. Probably not obssessed over it. Maybe like me you push it down and forget about it until something stirs it and wakes it up and it pokes its head up and makes you look at it. This is not my confession of shame. This is: Since finding Kate's journal I have made an extra effort to avoid the subject of breast cancer and death. I have told myself I don't know anyone who has suffered and beat the odds. I have told myself breast cancer hasn't touched my life. I have lived in denial for such a long time that it is my shame to have denied the life of one beautiful woman, her husband and three wonderful children. If I am avoiding the entire subject why do I keep going back? I like Kate's journal. I like the way she writes. I can hear my oldest niece's voice in her words. It makes me smile to see her photo with her pretty smiling face and handsome husband. I just try to ignore and skip over the parts about breast cancer and death. As of today I am finished running away from my fears of death and leaving my children. I won't block out memories of Traci and Bobby. I won't pretend out of sight out mind where three children are concerned. I met Traci when I was in my early weeks of pregnancy. Just a few months later she too was pregnant. She was the only person I knew who was pregnant at the same time. It gave us something to talk about and share a common bond while we discovered other things we both liked and disliked. She was a lovely young woman when we met. Her hair was thick and long the color of cherry cola as Hope would call it. She was tall, thin on top and heavily built in the bottom and thighs. She dieted a few times but accepted her body for what it was and felt good about herself in general. Sure, we all have those parts we wish we could change but she never obssessed over it. Her father was stationed overseas when she was born. She spent her early childhood growing up in Germany. After her father retired the family moved to Georgia. She had yankee ways like her mother but she picked up the southern ways too. I would shake my head when I saw some of the things she did. We often joked about the 'yankee' things she did. It made no difference. Traci was married to Bobby, her high school sweetheart. They had married just after graduation. They were like the rest of us starting out in the 80's. They struggled to make ends meet, worked hard at keeping their marriage together, argued about money, made up and tried to live the American dream. To anyone who cared to take a look it was readily apparent that they had something most married couples do not. They were completely, unquestionably, totally devoted to one another. After Robert was born Bobby had some problems and the diagnosis came back that he needed a pacemaker. She was by his side every minute. He came through the ordeal with flying colors. They picked up their life where it left off and continued on through the everyday obstacles we all face. Bobby worked for his father in the business of construction. He had grown up in the country, loved to hunt and fish. In the winter Traci found herself like most young wives of similar background -filling her hours with her friends on the weekend while the boys went hunting or fishing or competing in bow tournaments. The men being gone we were close in those days. We shared everything. When our children were born they were friends, too. Colby and Robert loved to play together. As time marched forward they shared birthday parties, halloween trick-or-treating, christmas and vacation bible school. They played in the mud, on the swing set and entertained one another so that she and I could just take a break if only for the afternoon. A year after Colby and Robert were born we both found ourselves faced with the possibilty of another baby arriving. My pregnancy test was false. Her's was positive. Within nine months she was the mother of a lovely little baby girl they named Jessica. Raising children, working, struggling in those days to live above the poverty line made the days pass quickly. Five years later Traci and Bobby moved away and we didn't see each other often. They struggled to keep their marriage together the same as we did. All the real life drama ate up our time and it was further and further apart that we saw one another. Traci, along with her sister, had taken over her mother's cleaning business. I was going back to school. There wasn't time for anything in those days. Ten years after Colby and Robert were born the two of us found ourselves pregnant again. Traci brought home a little girl named Leslie in July and I brought home Gracie in December. The events brought us back together but not as close as we had been 10 years before. At my baby shower before Gracie was born, Leslie played on the floor in my mother's den, Traci and I sat and caught up on old and new things filling our life. We talked about how similar events seemed to play out for us. We even laughed at the idea of 10 years after becoming a mother we find ourselves in similar circumstances. We talked about our pregnancies, past and present. We laughed and ate cake and drank punch. Traci told us how she had been having problems with a blocked milk duct. It was normal stuff that moms and friends talk about. We promised to keep in touch and get together often. We wouldn't let time get away from us again. We talked about how at one time she had thought about divorcing Bobby and I had thought about divorcing John. We both stuck it out and made the best of our marriages. Sometimes I wondered if Traci had Leslie to save her marriage much like I had thought having another baby would save mine. During that time Traci and Bobby had redidcated their lives to Christ and were living a wonderful life. My (now ex-) husband would never go to church with me much less try to live right. I often felt a bit of jealousy or maybe it was envy that she seemed to have found the path that eluded me. She had a husband who adored her, loved her unconditionally. It wasn't long after that I found out that Traci's blocked duct was much more than a blocked milk duct. After a battery of tests she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She and her husband Bobby prayed about it. They counseled with their Pastor. In the end they agreed radical treatment was the answer. Shortly after she had a total mastectomy. Afterward all her tests came back clean, she had beat the odds but she still had to be checked every 6 months just to be sure. Six months later a bone scan and blood tests and other tests gave her a clean bill of health. Less than a month later she was sick again. The doctor gave her the news that the same cancer from her breast was now in her lymph nodes and had made its way to her liver. Again they were strong and brave. Traci did radiation therapy. She had chemo therapy. She lost her hair and wore a wig. She tried to understand the pain of her children and had many bad moments to work through with them. Robert never understood she was fighting to live, he only knew his mother was dying. Jessica was defiant and dug in her heels. They were very honest with their children trying to prepare them for what was coming. How do you prepare a 10 and 8 year old for your death? Both children remembered the first battle. They felt with this second battle somehow their mother had lied about everything being okay in the end. How do you prepare yourself to leave a baby who would never remember the sound of your voice or the touch of your hand? Knowing there was nothing that could be done Traci went home from the hospital trying to live while she prepared herself to die. The last time I saw her was a visit in the hospital. She was smiling. She told me how she had tried to talk to her kids and explain what was happening. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. Battling the cancer was easy compared to having to tell her children the truth. I tried not to let her see me cry but I couldn't help myself. I thought of those three children and it shattered my heart. Through all the days following Bobby never left her side. When the pain became to much to bare and no drug could take it away he would lay with her in their bed, hold her and whisper in her ear. He would sing to her and read the Bible. They got through the same as always, together. After months of never leaving her side it was urgent that Bobby take care of some of their personal business. Traci's mother came over to stay with her and Bobby set out for a quick trip to the post office. In the short time that he was gone Traci lost her battle and passed away in the arms of her mother. It was May 12th, 1999. She was 32 years old. Bobby never got over his self imposed guilt of leaving his wife. He blamed himself every moment of every day. He cursed himself. He played that day out in his head over and over. It does no good to rehash those events. Nothing anyone could say eased his pain. In many ways he felt he had failed her by not being there in the end. He was strong and held up like a real trooper through the funeral and details. He buried his wife and tried to raise his children. Family members tried to get him to let them take the children but he would have no part of it. They were his children and he would raise them. He worked hard, took care of children the best he could. His brother moved in with him and shared the load. His mother and mother-in-law did they everything they could to help out. Those of us who saw Bobby later in the year knew he wasn't holding up as well as everyone thought. The last time I saw Bobby was May 5th, 2000. We ran into one another at a night club. I was newly divorced and he had begun dating. Later that night in the early hours of May 6th Bobby ran his truck off an embankment and ended his life. To this day I believe he had never gotten over Traci's death. Their three children now live with Traci's mother. My heartbreaks to think of them growing up without either parent. How hard it must be for Robert and Jessica to miss both of their parents. How tragic Leslie will never really know the mommy and daddy who loved them all so very much. I have been thinking about Traci and Bobby a lot. Sometimes the cruelty of it all is overwelming and I put them out of my mind, I forget them but something always makes me remember. I am ashamed of myself for trying to forget. I am no longer forgetting. I am remembering and trying to celebrate their lives, their love story. Please visit Kate's journal. Please click on the link and donate what you can for breast cancer research. There has to be an answer. There has to be away to stop the devastation left in its wake. Breast cancer destroys lives far beyond any given woman. It rips families to pieces and leaves children as orphans. Together we can all make a difference. I made this little pink ribbon. If you support breast cancer research will you take it and put it on your journal? Will you link to Kate and help her raise money for research? All you have to do is right click on the pink ribbon of your choice. Save it to your computer. Upload it to the place you store all of your photos online. Add a link to the pink ribbon in your side bar. Add the link to Kate's journal.

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