Remember these lovelies from Thanksgiving? My dad’s parents, my Popa and Dodie.

Tonight Dodie is not doing well. Today I was called to come and visit because her precious time is ticking away.

I adore my Dodie. She made the simple things seem so very glamorous; eating chips, drinking coke and playing cards in the motor home. The motor home was parked in the driveway but that didn’t matter, it wasn’t the house. We would make up stories about where we would drive….Europe, China, the moon, all while sitting in the driveway in Plano, Illinois.

When we went out for Chinese she didn’t order sweet and sour pork….she ordered shrimp with lobster sauce? Lobster sauce? Is it made of lobsters? My six-year old world didn’t know such a thing existed.

My 7-Up always had cherries.

Making it a glamorous Shirley Temple.

Tonight she is tiny, shrunken, moving onto her next world. She sleeps, breathing tiny little breathes.

I sat by her bed and told her about the time she bought me ruffled underpants and let me eat two hot-fudge sundaes.

I was three. I flashed my ruffled underpants to the entire restaurant.

I think it was one of the best nights of my childhood.

Tonight I placed a lion and frog magnet on her hospital bed and told her Samantha needs a Grandma in heaven to let her eat two hot-fudge sundaes.

She is a good Dodie- dancing on top of her feet at age four, I would look up at her face. I was dancing on top of the world. I was dancing on clouds.

I am 40….and that memory 36 years ago still makes me smile.

Thank you Dodie. Sleep well tonight no matter where you decide to be. Don’t forget to let Samantha dance on your feet.

I love you.

I did it….

I turned 40….

And apparently my mouth grew 10 times its size. Look at that mug! Clearly I’m having a good time; surrounded by my tribe, embraced by the people I love.

I danced out on the floor to I Will Survive with my friend Heather. Heather is a stage 4 breast cancer survivor. Out of the blue, I kissed her cheek (wine makes me kissy) and grabbed her hand….

“Heather,” I said, “we will survive, we will, we have to.”

We looked into each other’s eyes and gave a knowing look….one a mother without her child and one a mother facing a horrible disease. We have to survive.

And then we kept dancing…

I will survive
as long as i know how to love
I know I will stay alive
I’ve got all my life to live
I’ve got all my love to give
and I’ll survive
I will survive

Maybe this is why ancient tribes gathered together to dance, to leap in the air, to feel alive, to feel their heart beating, to forget that tomorrow they might be eaten by a lion, to celebrate.

I need to go out dancing more often.

The candles were lit on my beautiful, 4 tiered chocolate cake made by my lovely friend Charise. As happy birthday was sung, I kissed my husband, “I don’t know what to wish for,” I said.

“Wish for a happy life,” He said. I looked at my tribe, gathered around us, cheering us on through thick and thin, holding us up so many times I feel like I’m walking on air.

“I already have one.”

40….bring it.

Here it is…..

Our Miracles for Mito logo.

Thanks to our buddy Luke Wennik, our graphic designer who has volunteered his time, talent and gave us this logo.

Thanks to my ‘sister’ and new Mito President, Laura who brought us Luke and is keeping us all focused.

We chose the butterfly because it evolves from a catepillar to a butterfly, the way we have all evolved from this disease. We also chose the butterfly because it moves through the air, the wind, it floats between the ground and the sky….it is really not a part of the earth we walk on and everytime I see a butterfly, I think of Samantha.

The butterfly is made up of two hearts.

Because she is always in our hearts.

And because it was her tiny heart that gave out.

The squiggly in the middle of the butterfly is the mitochondria. The reason for this whole foundation.

I love it.

It makes me proud every, single time I look at it.

I’m moonlighting as a freelance writer!

Really.

You can find me here.

You can also find this post today on Hopeful Parents.

On the second day of 2011, I struggle with what this year will mean.

This is our first year without Samantha. What will happen during this year? Will I be expected to move on? Will people forget about our girl? Will people no longer ask?

Who will I be on this first year?

I have recently felt a strong connection to Elizabeth Edwards; a mom her lost her son but never forgot, a woman who held her head high in the face of public adversity. She seemed stronger the harder life became.

So today I googled her and found a wonderful article by Phillip Lister. And I found her thoughts on moving on. And I found how I will move on in 2011.

“After our children die, we need not give up the role of parenting, but now, instead of parenting the child, we are parenting the memory of the child. It gave a strong counterpoint to our culture’s push to mourn and then get over a loss and be done with mourning. It offers an alternative vision of converting mourning into a continuing bond, to grow through our pain and press on with optimism in a meaningful life while still being connected to the one we miss.”

I love this. I love this idea. Because we will never forget, I will never forget. The thought of ‘getting over a loss’ makes me so very sad. And it is impossible. My solace in this world is to move forward while still remembering who Samantha was and how she changed my life.

She goes on to say, “For me it is not about religion. It is about grace. I honestly believe that if we are not enlightened by the death of our children to the frailty of man, we will never be enlightened. And if we do not respond with compassion to that frailty, we have failed a very easy test. I hope that since the death of my son I have learned a few things about what is important. Maybe what guides physicians is a good guide for all of us: first, do no harm … We need only examine what we say to see first if it might do harm.”

Thank you Elizabeth Edwards. Thank you for your candidness. I never knew you but I think I will miss you. You sound like my kind of lady.

She left me with a lyric from Leonard Cohen’s song Anthem:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in

May I remember in 2011 to let the light in.

A couple years ago hubby and I started a tradition of opening all the doors on New Year’s Eve. This was to allow the old year out and let the new year in. I would cuddle with Samantha under a blanket as the cold air moved through the house.

“Is the old year out yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Now??”

“Wait, the New Year has to come in.”

“Jeez oh Pete.”

Yesterday evening on our way out hubby asked me, “Do you want to open the doors when we get home?”

“No,” I said.

“Really?”

I gave him a sheepish look, “I’m afraid she’ll fly out with the old year.”

“Well then, we won’t. Besides, it’s frigid outside.” He took my hand in his and gave me a smile.

So perhaps the old year is now mixing with the new year within the confines of our house. I leave this year behind with bittersweet memories but I couldn’t put words to my emotions; my dear friend Deana did it for me in an email last night……..

2010 will be ‘the year of Samantha’ to us. It’s the year we met her, Max had his special opera date with her, and the year we said good-bye. She touched our lives immeasurably, and through her beautiful life, we met and became friends

I do hope that 2011 is a year of new beginnings, new chapters, but also of easier moments of remembrance too

Thank you Deana….to a year of new beginnings, new chapters and wonderful friends we have met along the way.

May 2011 be good to us all.