My Heartache
My heart has been aching for a dear friend and her family for almost a year now. She learned last November that one of her twins growing inside her womb has a rare and serious heart defect. Given the option to terminate or to depend on a series of surgeries after birth to reconstruct the heart into a struggling half-heart, she and her husband decided to give this child every opportunity to fight for his life. At the end of an extremely rough pregnancy they moved down to Charleston where pediatric doctors specialize in this rare disease. Since the longer this baby stayed in utero, the higher his chances of survival and of successful surgeries after birth, we "prayed for May"...and on the first day of that month these two beautiful babies were born.
Since that day they have experienced many ups and downs...Henry has shown his fighting spirit, Loulie has proven to be the calm among the storm, and their parents have held steadfast throughout this turbulent journey. But it was just a few days ago, one day before their twins' 5 month "birthday" that they hit their lowest point. They were told their son will no longer be a candidate for the surgery and now must wait for a heart transplant. A complete shock, to them and to all of their friends and family who have been so vigilant in prayers, who've been waiting for the impending surgery, the day we all thought to be a major step towards a healthy heart and life.
I think about the days Jane and I grew up together, galloping through the field on our horses, getting sunburned on the beach, and later in life, hanging out at a bar where she introduced me to Brian, celebrating our 30th birthday together. Life was so simple. So carefree. We stressed about little things...a jump refusal in the middle of a horseshow, a C in history (that's definitely me, not brainy Janie), how miserably hungover we were the Sunday after.
Sometimes I still feel like a kid. When life is not as carefree as it once was, I want to have a temper tantrum....when yet another batch of buttercream flops, or Isabelle is whining for the phone while I'm talking to a customer, or when I realize I have to go to the store for the 3rd time that day.
And then I think about my friend Jane, who considers herself lucky when she can take time in her day to leave one baby in order to be with her sick baby in the NICU. She considers herself lucky to have even had the opportunity to be with Henry this long. She knows that they have access to the best medical team possible for their son's condition, and she knows how many hundreds of people are supporting her family through this. She has gratitude. She feels lucky. I have always been impressed by Jane's intelligence, her eloquence, her strength and her faith (this is not her family's first hurdle in life), but I now look at her with amazement.
Ever since I heard the latest news, I have not been able to stop thinking about Henry and his sweet family. I go to bed thinking about them, I wake up and it's not long before they're back on my mind. I realized that I've been scowling all weekend...that is, until I see Isabelle. A child is the greatest gift, one that brings happiness and light to the the darkest of days. So, I'm hoping that Jane and Carrington are able to experience the great pleasure that both of their children bring them everyday. I hope that Loulie's good health and happiness (and beauty!) brings them laughter and joy. I hope that Henry's strength and courage brings them inspiration and overwhelming pride.
I know that this is a time of such uncertainty and sadness for my dear friends, but I pray that they can soak up every intimate, wonderful moment with their precious babies and truly live in the here and now.
I cannot say that the miracle we are all praying for will come true, but I do have faith that there is light at the end of this dark tunnel.
To learn more or send messages and prayers, go HERE.
Since that day they have experienced many ups and downs...Henry has shown his fighting spirit, Loulie has proven to be the calm among the storm, and their parents have held steadfast throughout this turbulent journey. But it was just a few days ago, one day before their twins' 5 month "birthday" that they hit their lowest point. They were told their son will no longer be a candidate for the surgery and now must wait for a heart transplant. A complete shock, to them and to all of their friends and family who have been so vigilant in prayers, who've been waiting for the impending surgery, the day we all thought to be a major step towards a healthy heart and life.
I think about the days Jane and I grew up together, galloping through the field on our horses, getting sunburned on the beach, and later in life, hanging out at a bar where she introduced me to Brian, celebrating our 30th birthday together. Life was so simple. So carefree. We stressed about little things...a jump refusal in the middle of a horseshow, a C in history (that's definitely me, not brainy Janie), how miserably hungover we were the Sunday after.
Sometimes I still feel like a kid. When life is not as carefree as it once was, I want to have a temper tantrum....when yet another batch of buttercream flops, or Isabelle is whining for the phone while I'm talking to a customer, or when I realize I have to go to the store for the 3rd time that day.
And then I think about my friend Jane, who considers herself lucky when she can take time in her day to leave one baby in order to be with her sick baby in the NICU. She considers herself lucky to have even had the opportunity to be with Henry this long. She knows that they have access to the best medical team possible for their son's condition, and she knows how many hundreds of people are supporting her family through this. She has gratitude. She feels lucky. I have always been impressed by Jane's intelligence, her eloquence, her strength and her faith (this is not her family's first hurdle in life), but I now look at her with amazement.
Ever since I heard the latest news, I have not been able to stop thinking about Henry and his sweet family. I go to bed thinking about them, I wake up and it's not long before they're back on my mind. I realized that I've been scowling all weekend...that is, until I see Isabelle. A child is the greatest gift, one that brings happiness and light to the the darkest of days. So, I'm hoping that Jane and Carrington are able to experience the great pleasure that both of their children bring them everyday. I hope that Loulie's good health and happiness (and beauty!) brings them laughter and joy. I hope that Henry's strength and courage brings them inspiration and overwhelming pride.
I know that this is a time of such uncertainty and sadness for my dear friends, but I pray that they can soak up every intimate, wonderful moment with their precious babies and truly live in the here and now.
I cannot say that the miracle we are all praying for will come true, but I do have faith that there is light at the end of this dark tunnel.
To learn more or send messages and prayers, go HERE.
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