I totally stole this lovely song. 

YOU MUST LISTEN AND KNOW THIS IS HOW I FEEL ABOUT YOU!!!!!

And know I’m not even hip enough to steal it from the very hip singer, Regina Spektor. I had to steal it from a writer who I adore and would love to meet for cocktails; Jenny Lawson. 

She posted this on New Year’s. 

I listened to this on New Years and cried- a good cry, a beautiful, cleansing New Years cry. Come on, give it three minutes.

All of those who are hither and yonder
With love in our hearts 
We grow fonder and fonder
Hail to those who we hold so dear
And hail to those who are gathered here

And a happy new year to all that is living
To all that is gentle, young, and forgiving
Raise your glass and we’ll have a cheer
My dear acquaintance, a happy new year

Happy new year


I never look at years at successes or failures- 365 days leads to many joyous and loaded moments. 2015 has held all of them. 

Six years ago I met three other moms with special needs kiddos in a hospital cafeteria.



We sat at lunch and decided we should meet again; maybe for adult bevies and longer conversations….and maybe invite other Special Needs Moms.

And so we became the Super Moms- now 17 families strong. 

Six months later I lost Samantha and didn’t feel very super…..or very Mom and my involvement with the Supermoms waned. 

But last week I sat in a church in the very last row with ten of my Supermoms as we said goodbye to one of our Littles. My head rested on one Mama’s shoulder and another held my hand. I looked across at the aisle of these brave women and thought how grateful I am to know these amazing people. 

And that was 2015- lovely, amazing, tragic, magical. And along this entire journey I have looked and thought ‘My Good God, thank you for the people who have joined us.’ 

And we ebb and we flow….but we always come back to the shoulder where we can rest our head. 

But My Dear Acquaintance, it’s so good to know you
For the strength of your hand that is loving and giving
And a happy new year with love overflowing
With joy in our hearts for a blessed new year

Happy, happy New Year My Dear Acquaintance.

Tomorrow is Colorado Gives Day!!!! 

A chance for us to give to our favorite nonprofits in our area and to even get a match by First Bank. 

Thanks First Bank! You’re the Colorado Bank for me 🙂 

There will be many deserving, amazing causes. There always are. 

And I will be out there, creating a ruckus for my cause, Miracles for Mito . 

It is hard to describe what this nonprofit has done for me. We started it four months after we lost Samantha. Her Memorial Fund had raised $8,000. 

What to do with $8,000? 

We could have given it to Children’s- a cause you know is so dear to my heart. 

We could have given it to the United Mitochondrial Disease Foundation- A nonprofit who fights everyday to find a cure or treatment for Mitochondrial Disease- the disease that has rocked our family. 

Or……we could create something. Something in Colorado to help Mitochondrial Families. 

Would this work? 

How many Mitochondrial Families are out there? 

At the time, I knew five. 

Can we create a nonprofit to support five families? 

But nothing else felt so right and so daring and so perfect to do in the memory of our girl. 

Five years later, we support 80 families in the Rocky Mountain Region. When a child gets diagnosed with a Mitochondrial Disease or suspected Mitochondrial disease, they are referred to us for support. 

We are the only game in town for Mitochondrial Support. 

I love what we have done. I love working with our President, Maria. I love our board and I love our mission. 

It is not always easy. This is a heart wrenching disease that steals hopes and futures. But I can’t be anywhere else. It’s impossible to care about a cause more. 

Nonprofits are created out of passion, love and a crazy optimistic hope that you can change a situation. This right here is my crazy optimistic hope. 

So tomorrow, if you can…give a bit….two days of Starbucks. 

It might not be for us and that’s okay but feed a passion, fuel a love, be a hope. 

Happy Colorado Gives 🙂 

My grief is a mole on my chin.

I face it in the morning as I brush my teeth.

I examine it at night after I take off my make up. Wondering if it has grown, is it infected? Or just irritated? Many times just irritated. Volatile little thing.

At times it is HUGE and it takes over my entire face. Perhaps the first thing people notice.

At times it is small and I think only adds to my character.

Regardless, it is there everyday.

And I stare in mirror and pick at it and say ‘What will I do with you today?’ 

Will I try to cover you up? Will I let you consume who I am? Or add to my character? 

What will I do with you today?  

The last couple weeks have been heartbreaking and soul searching. Ironically, I have also become close with some amazing Mamas who have recently lost their Littles and are navigating through life with strength and tears and grace.

To look at these beautiful Mamas, you would never know they examine the mirror with scrutiny; examining their grief, wondering how it has changed them, wondering if it will consume them. 

They look just like you or me. 

Crazy thing about grief. 

And so I thought we should meet for brunch; Eggs Benedict, Mimosas and a hearty helping of Grief al la mode. 

Of the eight of us, four of us have lost, three have a Little with a life limiting disease and one poor woman came along for the ride. 

And I know what you are thinking…..Heather, I would love to join you all but sadly I have a pap-smear, mammogram followed by a session of sticking bamboo up my toenails and that just sounds like more fun. 

I get it. And no judging. 

But I had a wonderful time. We told stories that would make non-mole carrying people shudder. And we told them with wild abandon, honesty and empathy.  We could be each others reflection; bouncing ideas, tears, anger and laughter off each other. 

“Do you see it?” I said pointing at my chin, “It’s soooo freakin’ big! I think it has taken over my face.” 

“Nah, it’s there but if you didn’t point it out I would have never noticed. Does it hurt?” 

“Some days. Some days it hurts like a mother f*#cker. Most days I’m just aware it’s there.” 

Crazy thing about grief. 

This evening I finally made it to sweaty, stinky yoga. 

Thank goodness. The goings-on of life has once again tightened my psoas. 

I started in mountain pose and our yogi asked us to dedicate this practice to someone to whom we are grateful. 

I stood, eyes closed, hands towards the sky, waiting for my mind to choose the object of my gratitude. 

Hubs. My mind said.

What? I replied back. 

Hubs.

Really? Because honestly, he is not the savasana kinda guy. You’ve seen his Happy Baby and it’s not pretty. 

Really, Hubs. 

By this time my Yogi had intervened. “Usually your first thought, is your best thought.” 

So my practice was dedicated to Hubs. It was a good practice; sweaty, productive and at the end, wrapped in lavender hand towel placed delicately across my eyelids. 

I came home and met Hubs at the door.

Honey?  

Sweetie? I totally should have corrected him and said it’s Sweaty, not Sweetie but I like being Sweetie, no matter how sweaty I am. 

Today in yoga I was asked to dedicate my practice to someone I felt gratitude towards and you were the first person I thought of and I couldn’t get you out of my mind so I dedicated my practice to you! 

Aw, that’s sweet. Thank you. 

And just so you know, it was really stinky, sweaty yoga. 

Yeah, thanks. 

And it’s funny, because Hubs is not a yoga guy. But apparently I am a sweaty yoga monkey; no matter how tight my psoas is. 

And we meet halfway. 

I got home and read my book of reflections and here was tonight’s: 

It’s Safe to Open Your Heart: 

It’s not that life and people are different, although how we see life and view people has probably changed. We’re different. We’ve learned about our powers. We’ve learned to take care of ourselves. We’ve learned how capable we really are. 

Don’t be afraid to love. Now it’s time to learn about the powers of the heart. 

Love is a risk. Add a topping of rich, complex grief and that risk can be intensified. BUT add another layer of gratitude and acceptance of who we are as our own and maybe it’s like a relationship flambe’….Like a Crepes Suzette. 

Which reminds me of French cuisine….and Paris. Hubs and I honeymooned in France. We shared a bottle of wine on the train and ate the most amazing cheese on crusty bread. 

Le Poop. 

But I did make it to yoga. 

I have no title

I really don’t have one. I can’t think of anything snappy or cute. 

If you read my blog, you probably catch up with me on Facebook and you might know that we lost a mito kiddo today. 

Caleb, I know you are with Jack and Samantha. Please tell Samantha to be nice and remember to share. 

On the other side,  I will sit with your Mama and we will have a glass of wine and we will share stories of you. 

I read the news on Facebook. In the midst of cat videos and arguments over Starbucks Christmas cups was news that a world had completely changed. 

And so I left work and went to check out a new yoga studio. And I did what I always do when I always check out a new yoga studio, I got lost and missed the class. 

This might be okay because I would have lost my composure in downward dog. 

Instead I ended up at King Soopers because we were out of coffee. 

I also decided I needed comfort food so I bought beef jerky.

Milano cookies are comfort food, Cheetos? sure….beef jerky? Not so much.  

I drove home and realized I was out of sorts. 

And I should be. 

To Caleb’s Mama, I have no platitudes….no what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger or that your Love is in a better place….

I will tell you I am sad with you. 

And our community is sad with you. 

And we are here, to sit, to cry or curse or run or scream with you. 

You are not alone. 

Do you like beef jerky? 

In Sweet Memory of the cutest Minion 😉 

I want you to know that if you ever decide to moderate a grief group, you should not invite me. 

I tend to be a little rebellious……sit down in my leather jacket, slumped in my seat all like “yeah….grief group moderator….what are you going to tell me about my grief process….yeah” 

Someday I’m going to get kicked out. 

Heather, you take yourself and your bad grief attitude into the hall! 

And I know, I know, when I’m going to turn off the poor person trying to facilitate. It’s when they start talking about themselves and how they got into this field. Which I totally appreciate but I don’t care. I’m grieving and it should be about me. 

Hubs would sigh and say it’s always about me. 

I think it’s hard to talk to a group of bereaved parents about how to deal with grief if you are not a bereaved parent yourself or if you don’t approach the topic with humility and grace. I think it would be great if someone came in and said “Hey, I have not lost a child. I cannot even pretend to grasp what you have gone through. I have no clue. But I will tell you what has worked for other people and maybe something I say tonight will stick. If not, kudos on getting dressed and being here. And help yourself to TWO lemon bars” 

That would be refreshing. 

I was asked to help in a grief group yesterday and I swear they will  never invite me back. I wasn’t awful but I did roll my eyes a lot and when we had ‘table discussion time’, I could not hold back. 

Lippy some might say…..lippy. 

And it wasn’t that this session seemed like a bad topic! It was about about transforming your life after loss, something we all try to do, to put this into something livable. 

But I have hard time with the whole what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.

No one in that room wanted to be stronger. No one wanted to be told to put on the big girl pants…they do everyday. 

The final quote that left me giggling in the back was from Nelson Mandela, who I admire and think was an amazing man but the quote was about prison and the fact that when he came out of prison, he “came out mature.” 

I have felt many things in this five year journey mature seems to be an odd one. I am many things, mature is not one of them. 

“How is Heather doing?” 

“She is fine. She is mature.” 

And my point here is not to bash this group or this woman but you now know why you would not invite me to your grief group because I am many things but not mature. 

I do find it frustrating the lack of resources for bereaved parents: a lack of understand about this process and what we will carry with us for the rest of our lives. We will carry it proudly, we will carry it with sadness, we will dance as will carry our load

Or not

But we will carry it 

And you can’t fix it. And that is okay. 

The group ended with a metaphor of taking the pieces of a shattered vase and turning it into a beautiful mosaic. My job as the table monitor was to ask the group if they could modify old assumptions about life to conform to this new reality….to take their shattered vase and turn it into a mosaic.  

I hate the word conform. Especially when it comes to grief and newly bereaved parents. 

“Screw it,” I said to the table. “You don’t have to conform to anything. You just lost your child. You can tell your mosaic to go to hell.” 

Now granted, I did say it a whisper as I gathered the table around. Because although I’m a lippy insurgent, I am also a chicken. 

“Thank you for saying that.” One woman said. 

“Can I take a hammer to the mosaic?” Said another. 

That’s right, Heather Schichtel….grief group rebel….living on the edge. 

Oh Halloween…..

You Holiday of adorable children dressed in fabulous costumes. 

How I love and despise you. 

How I wonder where I fit with this holiday. This holiday of ‘what do you want to BE for Halloween??’ 

So many things I would like to be……but alas, cannot.

So instead, I think I will identify with Dia de los Muertos. Although I have to say, the skulls still seem freaky, I love this holiday more and more. 

Check out this video of how we honor our dead, or maybe could….http://www.latina.com/lifestyle/our-issues/dia-de-los-muertos-short-film

And even The Smiths got involved…of course

http://www.npr.org/2015/11/02/453951997/one-mariachi-band-brings-morrissey-to-dia-de-los-muertos

All disgruntled teens of the 80’s thank you,  El Mariachi Manchester. 

I will not lie. When I said a couple posts ago that you have to find joy everyday…..Joy at times can be an elusive bastard. 

Today I sat in yoga. I joined a yoga class because ever since my half-iron man, I’m as tight as a discarded, sun dried piece of jerky.

I have the knees of my Grandfather. I love my Grandfather but he has horrible knees. 

The other day? After Masters Swim Practice? I went to get out of the pool and fell back in because my tight knees gave in. 

Did you hear that??? I FELL BACK IN THE POOL!!!!!!

So, I am in yoga. 

In savasana today, our yogi asked us to think of what makes us grateful. 

I laid there and thought, “I got nothin,” In the words of my dia de los muertos friends….nada. 

Because I didn’t have ANYTHING and I’m sorry, but I won’t force a good thought if I can’t find one. 

So I searched, the whole time for a good thought.  I stretched my tight knees and searched for gratitude. 

Nothing. 

And then I walked out of the studio and found the 30 days of gratitude challenge!!!!!

I have to do 15 days of yoga in the month of November. 

And of course I signed up because for every class you attend, you get a GOLD STAR by your name!!!!

I love gold stars. 

I have to do 14 days of yoga until the end of November. I looked at the calendar and the very best I can do is 12 days but we will see. You want to be grateful with me? Come to CorePower Yoga in Broomfield on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. 

I do get a gold star by my name. 

I walked out of the studio, passed by my yogi and a bucket of Kit Kats. 

“I think today I am grateful for Kit Kats,” I said. And I took TWO. 

“Aren’t we all,” she replied

On Sunday I posted about cooking and the joy it brought me. 

I made a pot roast with mashed potatoes and licked the bowl. 

YUM-O

I love it when I make something I think is delish. And I’m not shy about saying it. Hubs and I will sit down to a meal and I will say, “This…..this is amazing.” 

I get a lot of my recipes from the pioneer woman, for her love of butter, her need to fry and her love to cook for her Marlboro Man. 

Hubs did fix the dryer the other day. 

And I do find that sexy. Maybe I will start calling him my Marlboro Man. 

Stop laughing. 

Back to cooking. 

Sunday I made a pot roast, cooked in bacon and it was lovely. 

Monday morning I heard another study about red meat, processed meat and cancer, and I thought Hubs must think I’m trying to kill him….which is not true because he fixes dryers…and he does other things which I won’t go into because he’s my Marlboro Man. 

Today I made a bolognese from the pot roast leftovers made in bacon. And thought again about my love to cook. 

I have ended relationships over my need to cook. 

Seriously. 

I was dating a man and after a meal he said, “Can’t we just have spaghetti?” 

And so I made spaghetti with a fabulous Puttanesca Sauce. 

Puttansesca…..oh my love….tomatoes, olives, capers, anchovies…..is there anything more amazing? 

SOOOOO yummy. But if you are expecting Ragu and you get Puttanseca, the difference can be shocking. AMAZING, but shocking. 

Somewhere between Puttanesca and Ragu, we broke up. 

Tonight as I was mixing cream into the Bolognese that came from a bacon-infused pot-roast, I thought about how lucky I was that Hubs didn’t come into the kitchen and suggest we have Ragu. 

I licked the bowl…it was THAT good. 

And it was one of the things this week that brought me joy. 

And that’s the thing about joy….it is not huge or outstanding. It is tiny, subtle and significant. 

And wrapped in bacon. 

We had a really great Miracles for Mito Support Group Day.

I do think every event gets better and better- it’s been amazing to see how this organization has grown.

Our parent conversation got a little side-tracked ad we ended up talking about CPR Directives and setting up end-of-life care for our very loved Mito people.

It is an awful but important conversation.

We did not have a CPR Directive or end of life plan set up for Samantha and our experience with First Responders was really quite awful. So, one of my goals is to talk to families about how important it is to have these tough discussions about our medically fragile loved ones.

And so, I talked about plans that need to be made and I added my own bit of snark and inappropriate comments.

Because if you can’t joke about First Responders taking your depression meds after your child has passed, what can you make a snarky comment about?

Thus, our life.

Our Mito Support Day was coming to an end and one of the dads came up and gave me a hug. “How can you still be so happy?” he said.

This question always takes me aback because I honestly, truly, don’t know. My pouchy belly carries the scars of two children who we don’t have. You read my Bio and it’s brutal. Mito Sucks.

Is it a choice? Maybe. Do I have my days? Of course. But I do think overall I’m a pretty positive person and to be quite honest, somedays I look at our life and I’m not quite sure how we are standing.

I am thrilled that we are.

But there is no secret sauce.

And so, being befuddled, I blurted out to the Dad, “I try to find joy everyday!”

Well, I personally think that makes me sound like a self-rightous a-hole. Which is what I don’t want to be.

And so, with this blog, I will now try to post what brings me joy. That is now my focus- joy with grief…and maybe we can all figure this out. Or not.

The thought of all of this came today. Hubs and I have had opposite schedules the last two weeks and so today I decided I would cook for him.

I love to cook. May I make you a meal? You know I love you if I make you a meal. Seriously, cooking brings me joy.

Eating brings me joy too. This was a recent shot from the outer banks. Yum.

This is a ‘peck’ of oysters…..four pounds in a peck. Four pounds of yummy.

My Papa used to sing a song to me “I love you a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck”

Oh, I love a peck.

I came home today with rosemary for our potatoes, an amazing organic Chuck for a pot roast and barlett pears for a tart. I turned on Pandora to Hipster Cocktail Radio (the best Pandora station ever) and danced to Dusty Springfield.

I stopped mid hip swig because I was happy.  I was happy, so happy, so content making a meal; chopping onions and carrots and good food that I had to mark this occasion….I am happy.

And maybe that is what being happy is about. Noting those times- happy simple times….never, ever taking them for granted. Because life will make you sad, that is guaranteed, it is our job to find, search, seek, forage, the happy.

To find joy everyday….without being a self-righteous a-hole

And make a pot roast.