Today’s post is by our lovely Maria, Vice President for Miracles for Mito and Jacob’s mom. It’s about our book signing!

You can find it here.

AND if you would like a book but couldn’t make the signing, please contact me or click on the PayPal button to the right. All proceeds go to Miracles for Mito.

Our Canvas and Cocktails event is featured on the website of The Children’s Hospital!

Come join us on April 4th and paint this….

It’s called Mother’s Love and I do love it.

The proceeds will go to the Special Care Clinic and the Mitochondrial Clinic at The Children’s Hospital; those places who helped us and Samantha.

Tonight I attended the kick-off for the Courage Classic. We are riding again as Summits for Samantha. I felt proud to be there, representing our team, talking about the jersey we want to design; how we want to decorate our bikes in pink and green…..I felt like she was right there.

Over a year ago I called Samantha an ‘Infectious Little Miss’, I had no idea how Samantha, by just being who she was, has changed how I go about my life.

Tonight I also met the PR person who worked with us during last year’s Courage Classic. We had talked many times but never met until this evening.

We hugged.

“Your story,” she said, “just effected me. I have never been in that situation, never met you, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Samantha and how you all are doing. I’m glad you’re still here.”

I looked around at the room, the bikes, took in the energy, the good work we can do for the hospital…..and felt glad that I was there too.

I was skiing with friends this Saturday. In between our shushing down the mountain, we sat on the lift and talked about everything…life, death, schools, family relationships and bodily functions.

It was a good day.

My friend Heather recently had to put her black lab down. Gretchen had been part of her life for a very long time. As we stood in the lift line, we watched a couple playing with a chocolate lab and an adorable lab puppy. They were playing with a stick….it was a perfect puppy moment.

“Ugh,” said Heather, “I really want to dislike anyone who has a lab right now.”

“I know,” I said and then it just popped out….”I really want to dislike anyone…..”

And then I stopped myself short….

But my friend Ginger finished my thought, “Anyone who has a child?”

I started to laugh, realizing my brutal honesty, “Yeah, sometimes.”

Ginger and Heather both have young kids. In fact many of my friends have young kids. It would be incomprehensible, lonely and unfair to dislike anyone who has children.

But it felt kind of good to say it.

And it felt even better to have my friends laugh along with me.

We saw Grief standing in the singles line, waiting for us to move over but there was no room; only room for my friends, brutal honesty and the occasional conversation over bodily functions.

I have a trainer.

And now a schedule, which I have committed to adhere to.

Somewhat.

My trainer is a GREAT friend who knows me and has incorporated yoga into my schedule.

Thank you Tracey.

So today, I felt inspired; in spite of a bout with stomach flu and bit of a nutty week…I found myself at Bikram Yoga.

Bikram is another word for really hot, sweaty, humid yoga. It requires that the room be 105 degrees and 40% humidity.

Hot, sweaty, jungle yoga.

I prefer to call it stinky yoga because that’s what I am. At one point, in the middle of the class, I thought What is that smell???

I realized it was me.

Ewww.

We did a pose that I thought would be simple. It’s kind of an on-your-knees back bend. As I tilted back, I realized I was nauseous, super dizzy and needed to lie down on the mat.

What’s up with that

I laid down and heard the instructor explain my nauseous pose.

“This pose incorporates your hips. Your hips hold a lot of emotion and stress. It is not uncommon to feel sick or dizzy in this pose if you have a lot going on in your life. Just be patient, it takes a while to work these things out.”

Well then.

It was a good class, a stinky class and apparently I need to do something about my hips and a back bend. I guess my body is holding a lot of emotion.

Go figure.

All in good time…according to my yoga instructor, it takes a while to work these things out.

In my old and wise age, I have learned that life is peppered…..

with the good and bad….

The incomprehensible wrapped up in solace, the cloud with the silver lining, kind of like a pigs-in-a-blanket, dipped in sweet and sour mustard, it is untimed, it is what we do not expect, the happy can make us sad, the sad can make us realize how much more we have.

Last week I attended my first funeral since Samantha. My Grandma Bishop was 94 years old and passed away a week after being diagnosed with terminal cancer.

She lived a good life and was ready. She even made brownies beforehand for those who came to visit her during her last hours.

How’s that for peppered?

I took a train from NYC to Washington to attend the service. I was nervous. I know death all too well and was not sure how my response would be.

But I sat next to my cousin Meredith and her lovely baby daughter Tristan. I held Tristan in my lap as she vigorously munched on my bracelet and screeched out in delight when the organ played.

Her head smelled like baby shampoo.

Sweet little head.

And there were times when I cried and there were times when I laughed to myself as I watched Tristan chomp on the church pew.

It’s a crazy cycle; a cycle that moves forward, propels us forward, ready or not. It’s not always good, not always bad. It’s holding a baby while listening to a funeral service and the sweet scent of baby shampoo that makes it all a little more bearable.

Adios dear February. I bid you adieu….

Happily.

One of my Valentine’s treats is the big box of chocolates. I hate to admit it but I love them…the sugary cherry fluff wrapped around dark chocolate, the decadence of having just one more peice….oh…..yum…

and every once in while you get that one bonbon, that one nasty little tidbit that makes you say,

“what the???”

Why does every box of chocolate have to contain the nasty chocolate? Is it a prerequisite?

Just because it is covered in chocolate does not make it better.

But then you get a Carmel and it’s all okay.

Hence my February….a combination of the good and the bitter.

We have lost two Grandmas this February.

Two

I know, it is a wonderful thing that I am 40 and have so many Grandparents but it breaks my heart and I still miss them.

We had a wonderful fundraiser and raised $1,300 for Miracles for Mito!

My grandfather is in the hospital and unresponsive.

Hubby and I went to Hawaii!

And we kicked off a wonderful website.

Two dear friends had to put two dear puppies down this month

It is a lot of emotion, a lot of yummy bonbons surrounded by the stealth, chocolate covered poopie bonbons.

I do not like the poopie bonbons.

I could have left the month happy with the combination of the positive and the negative. Taking the good with the bad. I would be okay

But tonight my friend Amanda posted that her close friend had to say goodbye to her son, baby Braxton, her tiny 24 weeker who had endured 8 surgeries in his short life. I think he was born right around the time we lost Samantha. He fought on for quite a while. I never met Baby Braxton but Amanda and I cheered him on while sitting at the Breckenridge Brewery contemplating this crazy, crazy life.

My heart aches for this family and wonders if the ache ever gets better.

So, for February, poopie bonbons one…..dark chocolate covered Carmel’s zero.

Damn.

May we find the sweet in March.

We have had a bittersweet weekend leaving so much for me to process….all of which I will process with you when I am not quite so tired.

In the meantime, check out our brand new website….http://www.miraclesformito.com

sigh….

love…

love, love, love. Thank you to Luke and Joakim for developing my most-favorite cyber space ever.

A couple months ago, my cocky self signed up for a bike ride called the Triple Bypass- it’s 120 miles over 3 mountain passes. It is a tough, tough ride. But my cocky self felt confident, I made it into the lottery and paid my $120.

I DO get a bike jersey out of the deal, so I got that going for me.

My lovely trainer-friend Tracey approached my cocky-self. “Have you started training?”

“Training? It’s February…the race is in July!”

Training….ha!

“Oh she’ll be fine,” my husband said. “Heather is a Hoss.”

Hoss I’ve been called a Hoss once before, a group of 7 men and yours truly were lost in Crested Butte on a mountain bike trail for 8 hours. When we got back to camp, hungry and in the dark, a friend of mine said, “Heather did great, she’s a Hoss.”

I guess Hoss is boy speak for something complimentary.

I think the verdict is still out.

Hoss….I think I would rather be called something pretty, like a princess, or fairy-queen or ruler of all that is pink. That sounds better than Hoss.

Never-the-less my Hoss status did not convince Tracey that I could get my hiney over three passes. Tracey trains people to complete Iron-man triathlons….complete 2 miles of swimming, one marathon and 120 miles of biking….one might call this a long day. She is quite good and the people she trains do finish what they started. So I listened.

“I am going to write up a training schedule for you. Will you follow it?”

“Of course, I will follow it.” I said, holding a glass of wine in one hand and a cheesy poof in the other. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I am a trainer’s nightmare. I under-train and over-estimate my physical capabilities. I once trained for a marathon while still hangin‘ at the bars as a social-smoker. It was quite an achievement.

But those days are over. I am 40 after all and it’s time to take my aging body seriously…and I would hate let dear Tracey down.

So on Monday I went out for my first ride and was surprised to find it a little bittersweet. Two years ago, riding my bike became a solace, an escape for an hour or two from being Samantha’s mom. I now fondly recall those times, pulling my bike out, knowing that Samantha was in the care of her nurse or her Grandma’s and riding for a coveted hour or two…with the cell phone close at hand.

As I rode towards snow-capped mountains, I recalled the jersey I was given last year….Green Eggs and Ham…I am Sam….

And I started to chat…

I am Sam
I am Sam

Would you, could you in a box?
Would you, could you, with a fox?

I pedaled towards the mountains….

I am Sam
Sam I am

Would you, could you with a mouse?
Would you, could you in a house?

My heart rate increased…

Sam I am,
I am Sam

I will not eat green eggs and ham
I will not eat them Sam-I-am

I am Sam
I am Sam

And I got through my first ride; 25 miles and all. On my way home I stopped to watch a herd of elk and ate some gummy bears because a ride is not a ride without gummy bears.

Thank you Sam-I-am and Trainer Tracey. I might just get my a** over that pass 🙂

This is not from me…it’s from my friend Deana- Max’s Mom. It left me ugly crying on a Delta flight from Atlanta this evening.

So I thought I would share.

Thank you Deana for putting into words this amazing relationship we have with this amazing place.

A time to give…

It’s that time of year again. The Alice 105.9 Alice’s 36 Hours for Kids to raise money and awareness for The Children’s Hospital here in Aurora, CO. Although I’m not listening to the radio all day at work, or in the car, I have followed this for a few years now, as they do so much to raise money for Children’s Hospital.

The stories are heart-warming, and full of kids who have needed this amazing hospital for some part of their lives, and many have gotten better because of the top-notch care they’ve received. These are worthy stories, beautiful stories of miracles. But, they aren’t the only stories. There are so many other stories that don’t make it on air. The stories like ours…maybe the stories of the kiddos that don’t ever get better. They are the stories that are hard to hear. We want to hear about the miracles. We want to hear about how this top rated hospital can time and time again “Make It All Better”. But we are the stories that should also be heard.

Ours are the children who make it into the hospital for a small stomach bug, and leave three weeks later, having spent Christmas on the Eighth Floor, an emergency surgery, with a price tag of twice our yearly income going back to the place that once again saved our son’s life. Ours are the ones who have been handed over into the hands of surgeons to stop the 200 plus seizures a day, coming back a new baby with part of his brain missing, but also hundreds of seizures missing too. Ours are the ones who have seen nearly every specialist department in the hospital, bypassing only the general pediatric team. Ours are the ones that have been in so much, we have favorite nurses, favorite rooms, favorite floors.

Ours are the children who died, and were brought back to life, but are never ever the same. Ours are the children who have the disease that will one day take their lives. Ours are the children who are mysteries to the doctors, who are still hoping for a diagnosis. Ours are the children who may look perfectly fine, but take a team of doctors with intensive care to help them do the things so many take for granted. Ours are the children who have left us, after the world renowned doctors just could do no more.

Ours are the children who make up the Children’s Hospital. The ones who will go to be treated time and time again for the remainder of their short lives. The ones who are here today because we are fortunate enough to have a thriving Children’s Hospital in our backyard. The ones who are no longer with us, but whose legacy lives on through foundations giving funds back to Children’s for research to find a cure of the disease that couldn’t be stopped.

So, when you listen, give…give generously. They do amazing things for all kids. The ones who get better, and the ones whose lives depend completely on places like The Children’s Hospital for them to get come home one more time.

Statistics say…..

That if you lose a child, your chances for divorce are 90%.

90%

What a crap-tastic statistic! And you know what its says?

“You have just lost a child, but be careful, you only have a 1 in 10 chance of your marriage surviving. You have lost a child, and you just might loose your family too.”

Rubbish, I say!

Rubbish.

No one knows your grief for your child like your spouse. No one else knows ‘that look’ when a child cries in a restaurant. No one else knows how to dry your tears.

No one else knows when you need someone to hold your hand.

No one else will forever cherish that memory.

So, this Valentine’s Day is to my husband…..who is now sleeping on the couch after a dinner of steak and lobster.

No one else knows how to love my children.

No one else knows how to love that memory…..and to love me.

And for all of that, I am eternally grateful.

90% is a bunch of hooey.

Thank goodness.