I can only assume I am experiencing the political anger that once fueled the Dixie Chicks…

Please allow me to set my family demographic for you. I grew up in small town rural America. My father was on social security and my mother worked full-time at the local elementary school. Our household income would have been less than $50,000. My mother did not have a high school education. My father was a high school graduate. He stated multiple times that he graduated from college, I never saw proof of that.

I was not raised going to church with my family. I instead was around 8-9 years old when I started walking the block to church every Sunday, alone. I did this for many years. I was even baptized and invited my parents to witness the event. I find it comforting that the time in my life when I learned about Jesus was out of my own curiosity and that it was such an authentic experience. At the age of 12, my father became part of an extreme white christian nationalist movement and withdrew me from school and moved us across the country briefly to live with this group. This was a frightening time for me and as a result of that, I struggled with what role my faith would play for a long period of my life. The birth of my children, motherhood and experiencing the love of children was a soul-affirming experience that restored my faith in a spiritual connection and that has carried me through so many hardships in my life.

As I have gotten older, faith is not about a building I go to or about a religion I name, it is about having faith in a community of people that I see God’s grace in – just like I was born believing to do. No one had to teach me that, to see the beauty, the spirit and God’s grace in the people in our lives, to see it in the disabled people Trump mocks, in the LGBTQ+ community that he threatens, in the immigrants that make our country diverse that he stereotypes, and in the women that build up our communities and raise our families that he assaults. Faith should never be used as a weapon to cause anyone any harm.

I was surprised by the outcome of the election because I had let myself be optimistic and I underestimated the amount of people that would grant themselves the permission to act with no regard for others under the guise of being a “follower of Christ” while voting for and now celebrating a Trump presidency. Trump is NOT representative of traditional Christian values while he spews bigotry and outcasts people made in the image of God and Christians can’t hide behind their religion to wreak havoc on people’s lives with their votes.

My childhood home would have been one of the little rural counties in Georgia that turned red for Trump. My father would have voted for Trump as they shared many things in common. He was a narcissist, a racist, and a misogynist. I would have expected it from him. What I would have had a harder time understanding as a young girl, is that my mother would have voted for Trump – out of loyalty to my father or because he told her to. She would have voted against her own interests, against my interests and I would have as a result been a child in one of the households that voted against their own interests and their children pay the price. I have a great amount of empathy for these children. I learned a tough lesson over the last couple of years. There is not an endless empathy well and you have to be more selective with who you reserve your empathy for because when you give it out too freely, it is damaging to your own mental health. If Trump is going to let RFK Jr, “go wild” on health in his administration with nothing but an English degree and experience as an environmental lawyer, it is well within my right to be conservative and withhold a little empathy where I see fit in my life.

I am educated and understand that no one factor is responsible for a second Trump presidency. However, this is not informing my decision to withhold my empathy from white women in my life, who look like me but do not empathize the way I do. I am talking about the statistics showing the amount of white women that voted for Trump and did so stating he was the Christian candidate, with their continuous posts about saving the lives of countless unborn children. It’s hard for me to put the lives of unborn children over the lives of actual humans who exist the way in which it is done by so many in this group. You hear so many times that it has to hit home, before some people can care about it enough to take it on. It hit home. Women across the country are dying as a result of not getting healthcare. This could have been your daughter, your sister, your niece, your best friend. You had the opportunity to listen to a woman when she told you that she was ready to take on the challenge. She promised to restore and protect our right to healthcare – for you, your daughters and your granddaughters and for all women that make up the fabrics of your lives, your neighbors, your best friends, your sisters, your nieces – the ones you share you lives, your secrets, you build your memories with. She had a plan and she was ready to sit down with people across party lines to protect and fight for the futures of the American people. While declaring Trump was the Christian candidate, so many in this group, didn’t want to talk about what policies of Vice President Harris they didn’t agree with or her qualifications. Instead of voting for her, an educated public servant with a resume consisting of state attorney general, senator and vice president making her uniquely qualified, instead…they went as far as to degrade her by saying she slept her way to the top and then cast their vote for a man who was found guilty of 34 felonies and sexual assault who is a blatant racist, xenophobe, misogynist who insults, dehumanizes and belittles people on a regular basis that incited an attack on our nation’s capitol and democracy itself while again describing him as the candidate with traditional Christian values. Let me speak to you like Trump, I’m going to say this, whether the white women like it or not – I hope you get everything you voted for and by that I mean…I hope that everything you voted for affects you personally in some way because this is a lesson I believe you can only learn the hard way. When this happens, I hope you take the time to reflect back and remember that you had the opportunity to help protect not only yourselves but other women and marginalized groups, but you didn’t.

I’ll be somewhere, probably still waiting for Taylor Swift to release Reputation Taylor’s Version – listening to one of her other songs like KARMA on repeat. You’re terrified to look down – cause if you dare, you’ll see the glare, of everyone you burned just to get there. It’s coming back around!

“If ever there comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

It has been extremely difficult for me to blog about Lottie. I have attempted so many times in this past year and it is not like I don’t have so much to say about such an incredible soul. It is simply that it is hard to put into words how grief and peace can coexist. I don’t know from experience what it must feel like to grieve a child that was healthy and ripped from the life of their parents. I cannot imagine. What I have to share, is a much different story. I can share the story of a Mom who knew that it was time to let go because she was given exactly the gift of peace she had prayed for so many years before.

Lottie was diagnosed with GAN at the age of 10. We were devastated after learning the extent of the power of this disease and the path of devastation and destruction it would take on it’s way to rob our child of everything that made life worth living. After learning what the end stages of GAN would bring with it and that it would rob Lottie not only of his health but of his dreams for his future, dreams of a first love, marriage, children, a career…I had a real frank talk with God, the universe, and whomever else was out there listening. I said I would accept this diagnosis and I would give Lottie the best life possible under the circumstances and I would do it day after day, tough decision after tough decision, loss after loss but when the time came and his quality of life started to diminish, when his days were spent in the hospital instead of at home and school, when he began to lose the ability to do the things that were most important to him and the bad days outnumbered the good…I needed wisdom, strength and most of all peace. I needed to know when it was time.

This day, one year ago…February 8th 2017, Lottie laid in a hospital bed in the ICU, hospitalized for the fourth time in months, second ICU stay hooked up to machines, facing yet another life changing surgery. As Lottie began to decline even more early that morning and even the medical interventions seemed to be failing him, a clarity came over me. I had the wisdom to know that it was time, the strength to make the decision and the peace that Lottie’s time here on this earth, this go around with these circumstances had come to an end and that all those years ago what I had asked for…had been given to me.

It was hard for the outside world to see, because through the bravery and strength, Lottie made it difficult…almost impossible for you to see his suffering but his body failed his spirit. Now his spirit lives on. It lives on in the lives he’s touched and the lessons he taught. I am so very grateful for my time with him here on Earth. I am grateful for the person I am because I loved him and he loved me. I am most grateful for the peace that came with Lottie taking his last breath surrounded by the people who he loved most in no pain with no suffering and most of all no fear. It was such a gift to him and us.

“If ever there comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

Too Far From You

I was forced to think of a life without you, not in the hypothetical sense. I’m not talking about the kind of thinking that we have all done at times…not the “no one is guaranteed tomorrow” experience. I am talking about the reality that your days are really numbered. There was a timeline, a clock ticking to remind that the future was fading. 

Many stories are told about mothers around the world meeting their children for the first time and the love they experience as they hold their child in their arms for the first time. You think you know how much you are going to love them but you really are unprepared. You spend months carrying them and preparing for their life but most would say they were unprepared for the amount of love that comes from a place you never even knew existed.

You face the future, day in and day out. You readjust your “normal” along the way. You find the positive in even the most difficult days. When the day comes, if you are lucky enough…you even get to prepare. I was calm. I was steady. I was brave. I was strong. I was unwavering. I was unprepared. I was unprepared for the insurmountable emptiness.

I’m lost

I’m lost again

I’m lost

Too far from you

‘Tis better to have loved and lost…than never to have loved at all.

I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it when I sorrow most;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

One of the most well known and beautiful quotes of all time appears in Alfred Tennyson’s “In Memoriam A.H.H.” and the subject of the poem was Tennyson’s best friend Arthur Henry Hallam (the “A.H.H.” in the title).

I’ve asked myself how do I blog about what it feels like to live life after losing a child? Are there words to describe that emptiness? Can you put those emotions into words that string together to make a sentence, a paragraph…much less a blog post? I think maybe in time you can because I read something that perfectly described it, words that a mom wrote to describe the pain of living without one of her children. I can’t find the words right now because there are days I still walk in the door and expect you to be here and the realization that you’re gone literally takes my breath away to the point it’s paralyzing. So for now I remind myself that the love was worth the loss. 
I hold it true, whate’er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most; ‘Tis better to have loved and lost. Than never to have loved at all.

My hope is that we continue tearing down walls instead of building new ones…

I have had a hard time trying to put into words what to tell my kids regarding my feelings towards this election and last nights results. This election was so ugly and it brought out the worst in people around me. I believe many people voted out of fear and anger. Many people felt and expressed that they were voting for “the lesser of two evils.” Neither of the two candidates were my top choice for president. However, the language used by one of the candidates was so exclusive that it really hit home.

Truthfully, I’m uneasy and worried about the future that will be the space in which my children try to achieve their goals and live out their dreams. I worry that people I love and care about are worried about their right to love the people they love and care about. I’m concerned that there will be people who can’t afford healthcare for themselves and their children because I believe that people have the right to healthcare just because they’re human. I worry about the cost of what it will take for two of my children to get the college education that I also believe is their right, every child’s right. I worry about the tone of tolerance that has been set by someone who is one of the biggest role models to children. I am a mother to a child that doesn’t fit in any box and in many people’s eyes would be considered a “liability.” I worry about women’s health as I am the mother of a daughter. I cringe knowing that my daughter may years from now need a medical procedure that her and doctor decide is best for her and it’s not an option that is easily accessible or carries some crown of shame.

I am no stranger to worry in my life. I  am a worrier. Throughout all that worry, I’ve found that sometimes, people surprise you. I am hoping that is what this new president does…surprises me.

I would like to believe that the cruel words he spoke throughout this election process and the disrepect he demonstrated towards women, minorities, and people with disabilities is not the place from which he will govern from. I hope that he surrounds himself with people who make him a better version of himself and allow him to work through the insecurities that fuel his arrogance.

I am choosing to believe that the people all around me who spew hateful, inconsiderate, unthoughtful words composed into sentences in the name of freedom of expression do so out of ignorance. I will choose to believe that the cycle can be broken because I am proof. I was raised to believe I was better than others because of the color of my skin and that there were certain things I shouldn’t aspire to because I am female. I in turn chose to raise tolerant, kind, open-minded individual thinkers who know that everyone is equal and should be treated accordingly. They don’t have to be reminded because it’s just innate.

I’m not sure who wrote this essay but I came across it and it’s either reassurance that you are doing it right or representation of what you should be doing as parents.

I will continue to teach them to love their neighbor, to celebrate our diversity and do what is right, even if it’s unpopular or uncool.

I will teach them that love has no boundaries and comes in all shapes, sizes, colors and creed.

I will teach them that fear and hatred has no place in their lives.

I will teach my daughter to know no boundaries. That she is not defined by her gender but by the content of her character.

I will teach my sons that women are to be respected. In all situations at all times.

I will continue to lead by example and when I fail, I fail them, too.

I will continue to live my life of love and acceptance for all people.”

I hope that now that we are finished electing a new president, we can begin electing to be kinder to one another.

Are you really Pro-Life or are you just Pro-Birth? 

If you were to look up the world life in the dictionary you would find several definitions. My favorite is a bold definition. Merriam-Webster defines life as the sequence of physical and mental experiences that make up the existence of an individual.

With the current political climate, you are hearing a lot about “pro-life” and “pro-choice” as people tend to use a handful of reasons why they would choose to vote or not to vote for a particular candidate and this happens to be one that is on the forefront of people’s thoughts. I’ve read so many articles that I’ve been so impressed with and so many that make me cringe.

I had my first child as a child being raised by an un-medicated manic depressive father and an uneducated mother with the best of intentions who never once had one single conversation with me regarding sexual education. I was barely 16 years old when I gave birth to my first child. I never considered getting an abortion. Not because of a belief that it was right or wrong but because it was never an option that was discussed.

I gave birth to a 7 pound, 5 ounce baby boy with a head full of curly hair and the sweetest little round face. The curls attracted people from all over the hospital. There would be knocks at the door of my hospital room, asking could they see the little baby with the curls.

Little did we know that those curls were a trademark sign of a terminal neurological disease that would affect so many of the physical and mental experiences that would make up his existence.

Like so many parents, we would watch him say his first words, sit up, take his first steps, and play with his friends. We would beam with pride as we listened to him in preschool telling us all about his ABC’s, “T is for tasting tater tots.”

Unlike so many parents, we’ve also watched him lose the ability to express himself in a manner where he can be understood. I can count on my fingers how many people can understand him enough to carry on an intelligent conversation. We took him to physical and occupational therapy appointments year after year, trying to hold on to every minute of independence he could. We watched as he took his last steps. We sat in a waiting room as a doctor performed a surgery to insert a feeding tube because it became unsafe for him to eat without the risk of choking to death. We sat with a surgeon after he performed a 10 hour surgery to repair his spine because it was affecting his ability to breathe, a surgery that he was not sure he would survive. We’ve sat by his bedside as his little body fought to survive, a tube in every place possible. We’ve watched a helicopter take off with him from one hospital to another and drove hours to be by his side, time and time again. We’ve seen him come out of seizures where he begs not to die and come out of some where he doesn’t understand why his legs don’t work. We’ve listened to a doctor ask us if we were sure we wanted a feeding tube because that was “extraordinary measures.” We’ve heard a doctor say, “if he makes it through the next few hours” on more than one occasion. We’ve heard “there is no cure, there is no treatment, take your son home and enjoy what time you have left.” We’ve grieved with the parents of other children who have had this disease who have buried their children because of a complication of this horrific disease.

Our son can no longer walk. He can barely drive his wheelchair due to the contractures of his hands and his eyesight. Our son hasn’t ate anything in years. He barely drinks enough in a day to wet his mouth. He is fed by a tube. We hook him up three times a day, everyday. He can no longer urinate. We catheterize him four times a day, everyday. He wears diapers, all day…everyday. He sleeps with a machine that has a backup breath rate with a monitor that beeps if he doesn’t breathe enough. Every night. He barely has the use of his hands. He can’t pick up anything for himself or do anything for himself. He can’t shower himself or dress himself or even brush his own teeth. He can’t even sit in his wheelchair without a strap across his chest because he doesn’t have the strength to sit up anymore. He is totally dependent on us for everything. There is not one single thing he can do independently. This will continue to get worse with time.

The sequence of mental and physical experiences….

The most heartbreaking of all to watch was the loss of friends, one by one. He’s one of the most social people I’ve ever met and he doesn’t have a single friend outside of his family. I can’t tell you the last time anyone came over to spend time him without being asked to. He doesn’t get invited to go places. He goes to school and even in a special needs class is still the only child in a wheelchair and is not able to participate in several activities. Do not get me wrong, we have a handful of supportive people in our life and we have been blessed several times by people we met that had no reason to care but did.

Our son just turned 18 years old. He’s been called an inspiration. He gets up every morning with a smile on his face, ready to start the day despite the fact that his disease has ravished his body. I think because he carries himself so well people have this idealistic impression of what his life is. Our family are positive people and we just take one day at a time. We follow our son’s lead.

However when the day is over and the house is quiet I think about his life and all of the mental and physical experiences that have made it what it is. The truth is he has never been in love. He will never go on a first date. He will never get married and have a family. He will never drive a car. He will never have a career. He will never have independence ever again. As his parents, we are done with the good “firsts.” We have a lot of loss still to come. Just when you think there isn’t anything left to take, the disease surprises you and takes more. We know that there will come a time when his disease will take everything from him but his mind and he will be trapped inside a failed body with what I assume will be both a fear of living and a fear of dying at the same time.

We consider ourselves one of the lucky families because our son has been great cognitively even when physically it was more than challenging. We know that there are diseases much worse than what our son has. I have a friend whose son was diagnosed with Asperger’s and she told me one time that she hated “venting” to me because she couldn’t imagine what it must be like to think you have a healthy child and watch them develop and do all the things that children do and then have to watch it all be taken away. Our neurologist that diagnosed our son told us that this wasn’t like a child getting diagnosed with cancer. This was a long road. There would be no casseroles. There would be no celebrating the last day of chemo. There would be very few small victories. I remember thinking what an awful thing for him to say, to compare one illness to another. I understand what he meant now. He was trying to explain that people almost just get used to your normal and it’s hard for them to see the daily struggle.

This is just our experience raising a child that had there been a genetic test for in the womb, a physician might have suggested a termination of the pregnancy. Let me be clear in the fact that I am pro-life and I am also pro-choice. I believe a woman has the right to make decisions about her own body.

So ask yourself, are you pro-life or are you pro-birth? Women consider abortion for all sorts of reasons. What are you doing to enrich the lives of the children who are born to the struggling single mom? Are you constantly putting down the government programs that provide aide to these families? What are you doing to help the family of the disabled child down the street? How are you helping the child at school that’s struggling to stay awake and is hungry because they are living in poverty? Are you teaching your healthy children to be kind and generous? Are you teaching them to be considerate and grateful? Are you teaching them to be a friend to those who don’t have one?

I wish people were as dedicated to enriching the sequence of mental and physical experiences as they are to making sure the life is sustained.

Dogs are like potato chips, you can’t have just one

3382B547-18B4-417B-9260-F87238F9FB61 (1)MK Clinton wrote “The world would be a nicer place if everyone had the ability to love as unconditionally as a dog.” in the children’s book The Returns.

Our Lottie has that ability. I don’t know if that is what connected him and Hazel the day they met but it was one of the most sincere experiences I have ever witnessed.

Hazel is Lottie’s 15 week old golden doodle puppy and she is the LOVE of his life. He calls her “Little Bit” and his favorite thing to do is watch her chase her tail.

The Facebook sight Dog Bless You shared the video we posted of our family surprising Lottie with Hazel. In just a few days, over one and a half million people have watched it. I think with all the negativity and loss in the world right now, people need more happy tears.

I have had a dog in my life for as long as I can remember. I had the same dog from the time I was in fourth grade until my youngest child’s first birthday. We adopted the kids a dog from the animal shelter shortly after moving to Tifton. She lived for almost 10 years after we got her. Recently, Lily Grace and I went to the animal shelter and adopted a pit-bull/chocolate lab mix. She is the smartest rescue dog I have ever met. She came with bad habits but such an appreciation for family and attention.

Finley reminded me how much love a dog can bring to your life. Hazel came to us thanks to a few friend’s generosity and their Love for Lottie. She is gentle and spunky. She makes Lottie laugh and he enjoys watching her every move. She greets Lottie every morning with a kiss and frequently jumps up on his wheelchair to sneak kisses throughout the day. He reminds us everyday of her schedule; when to feed her, take her out and when Finley sneaks her toys. (Disclosure: Finley is not accustomed to sharing and is putting forth very little effort to learn.)

Hazel and Finley are the family members we didn’t realize were missing. They bring such joy to our lives. Hazel and Finley were fast friends. Lottie and Hazel were LOVE at first sight.

gratitude

One year ago today I was sitting in the ICU of Scottish Rite children’s hospital. I sat next to a machine and counted the breaths it took for my child. I counted the medications that hung from the IV pole at his bedside…three antibiotics fighting the pneumonia that seemed to take over little by little, hour by hour; two medications to keep his blood pressure high enough to sustain his heart beat, several medications to keep him sleeping and comfortable, a paralytic that kept him still so that his little body didn’t fight what it needed to survive; blood from a stranger hanging, slowly dripping in hopes of better oxygenation to the body, and nutrition to fuel what seemed at this time to be an almost impossible recovery. I watched as jagged, erratic lines moved across a monitor of a machine recording his brain function, convincing myself of what those lines did and didn’t mean.

My mind took me back to just hours before when in an instant he went from stable to a room full of people standing over him, diligently working…doctors shouting “Do you need help?” and a nurse whispering “there’s no pupillary response.” I remember so vividly watching the color drain from his little body, watching the numbers on the monitor as they counted down and the feeling of fear as I was being dragged out of the room.

“Unstably stable” said the ICU doctor. “We take it one step at a time, as it comes.” “The plan is to wait, we’ve done everything we can.” I asked the most difficult question of my life that night.  I looked into the eyes of that doctor and asked if my husband who was traveling from our home was going to make it to see our child, thinking I was prepared for her answer. I remember dropping to my knees when she asked how far away he was.

I sat by the bedside of my child and I wondered if he would ever wake up and I wondered if he did, would he be the child that he was before this. The child who woke up everyday with a smile on his face, ready for whatever the day brought; the child who could read people and their emotions like a favorite book; the child who gave unconditional love like you’d never felt before; would he laugh at the same things, would he talk, would he remember, would he breathe?

I was no stranger to worry. I had worried about this child before he was even born. I worried about my inexperience as a mother. I worried about why his hair was curly. I worried as I waited for him to take his first steps. I worried everytime he stumbled and fell. I worried when the doctors couldn’t seem to help him. I worried we would never find a diagnosis. I worried when we had a diagnosis. I worried as he took his last steps. I worried at every doctor’s and therapy appointment. I worried hospitalization after hospitalization and surgery after surgery. I worried when he lost friends and didn’t seem to have a place where he fit in. I worried he was lonely. I worried he would feel cheated out of a life and dreams of a future. I worried everytime he lost the ability to do something. I worried about his limitations. I worried about every medical decision. I worried that he worried. I worried he knew too much. I worried he knew too little. I worried about his future.

As I sat by his bedside…I worried about a future without him.

That day, a year ago was June 18th. 18 days from that date, my son came home from the hospital. In a few short months, my son will be 18 years old. Tonight, I’m not worried, I’m grateful. I’m grateful for the endless amount of love he has given me. I’m grateful for the lessons he has taught me. I’m grateful for his strength. I’m grateful for the smile on his face everyday. I’m grateful for his laughter and optimism even in the most difficult of circumstances. I’m grateful for the opportunity to be his mom. I’m grateful that our paths crossed.

kindness

Today was a day where the judgement of others was free flowing and by evening had reached maximum capacity. I had one of those moments where I just stopped and became genuinely overwhelmed by the fact I am raising my children in a society full of people that seem to bring attention to what they “hate” instead of promoting the things that bring them happiness. Insert brief moment where I begin to narrow down my thought…now, cue the realization that it’s not an entire society, it’s just a small, conservative town in the south. It is a place where I have lived less than 10 years of my adult life but also the place my three children consider “home.” I rationalize with myself on a weekly basis that bigots are everywhere. Then I allow myself to believe the truth, there is a concentrated population existing in my general vicinity.

Hear me when I say it is not hard to raise tolerant individuals. It goes a little something like this…from a very early age you teach children to be kind and accepting. The end. The problem is children are sponges and they are soaking up the “hate” from the adults around them. Those adults probably soaked it up as children from the adults around them.

Intolerance has become rampant. People excuse others intolerant behavior on a daily basis and they are rationalizing their “hate” using every excuse from ignorance to religion. Ignorance can only be remedied through education. Children are learning how to read, add and subtract, the state capitals and the periodic table but somehow so many are missing the important lesson of empathy. No one is teaching them to understand where another person is coming from and how to treat the concerns of others the way they would treat their own. On the religious front, I’m pretty sure Jesus would be disappointed in the amount of “hate” being spread around in his name. If I remember my lessons from Sunday school correctly, Jesus gave one and only one commandment. Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know you are my disciples, if you love one another. Maybe this explains why I have a hard time weeding through them myself. It’s hard to see the LOVE through all the HATE.

No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. ~ Nelson Mandela

 

friendship.

“You have been a friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing.”~ Charlotte to Wilbur

My husband and I will celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary this August. We first saw each other at the 8th grade graduation where he and my friend Erica attended middle school. We were 14 years old. We have a son who is the exact age that we were when we met. As his mom, I am astounded that I met my husband at his age. There was an energy that connected us from an early age that even we didn’t understand and were incapable of  explaining at that time.

At 33, as I sit and write this blog I still feel that energy. I don’t know that I understand it or that I am capable of explaining it any better in the almost 20 years I’ve known my husband. I know that first and foremost, he has been my bestfriend for those years. He is a part of a team that has raised 3 incredible children who are kind, thoughtful, empathetic, compassionate, and accepting humans. He has allowed himself and his family to grow with life’s experience. He has supported our family through devastating loss and been the calm through various storms. Our marriage has had tremendous stress and at times, life’s circumstances that were dealt to us seemed almost unbearable. I know without a doubt that the strength of our friendship is what enabled us to make it to the other side of those times and allows us to face the days that are extremely difficult to take on even today.

When I stood in a church at barely 18 and married George, I had no idea who I was or what I wanted. Unfortunately, I was not given the circumstances of a childhood that allowed for self discovery. My childhood didn’t come with a lot of respect or loyalty from my family but what it did come with was the gift of friendship. I met Erica and her family the summer after kindergarten. Erica’s friendship provided me with a portal to a different childhood, an opportunity to live out many days spent with her family making memories that will last me a lifetime. Her mom loved me and included me in so much that she didn’t have to and the selfless love she gave me had a tremendous impact on the mother and person I have become. When I look back on my wedding day, I’m sure that the doubts (and there were lots of doubts) that I had that day were put to ease by the trust I had in my friendship with George. I’m grateful now at 33 that I married a boy that grew up to be a man that valued our friendship enough to let me grow into a woman that discovered herself and her ideas of what she wanted her life’s picture to look like. My friendship with George was my portal to a different family experience, one that showed me respect and valued my contributions. When I look back at my wedding day, there are only a few things from that day who truly represent who I was. It certainly wasn’t the building, the dress, any part of the ceremony or the majority of people who filled the pews who had no vested interest in our happiness. It was looking out into the eyes of the few that attended and truly wished us happiness with Erica standing beside me as I married my bestfriend…oh and the little flower girls who sat on the steps at my feet and giggled.

This week, I had the most amazing opportunity to watch one of those little flower girls get married. Let me first say, she is one of my most favorite people in this great big world, second only to my husband and children. She is one of my bestfriends, and one of the few people I look up to. She is 19, only a year older than me when I got married. She also married her bestfriend, her portal to a life where she too was understood, respected, and valued. That is where the similarities end in regards to our weddings. As I photographed her special day for her, I thought – she is going to look back on this day with such gratitude. She married her bestfriend in an intimate ceremony at the courthouse, in a casual dress with a DIY bouquet expressing vows that you would have thought a poet who studied the true meaning of love wrote, with so much confidence and self assurance. If I hadn’t been so damn happy for her, I would have been envious.

As I reflect on this time of my life, I’m thankful for the friendship of my husband. I’m thankful my little flower girl found friendship in her husband. I’m thankful that my children don’t need friendship as a portal but sincerely hope they will use it as a guide through their lives.