Tag Archives: hope

Aside

The Next Little Warrior Event – Easter Bags of Hope

It’s with great excitement that I announce our next Little Warrior event – the 2nd Annual Easter Bags of Hope benefitting the Hope Center of Waukesha.  We are currently collecting donations of hygiene products, small toys/books and non-perishable snacks (click here for a complete list).  We will be using the items to fill Easter Bags for those serviced by the Hope Center of Waukesha.  Then on Saturday  March 23rd (9am-12pm) we invite children of all ages to join us and help assemble the bags.

The Hope Center is a non-profit organization that has been providing hope to those in need in Waukesha County for more than twenty years.  Hope Center is continually working to provide new and better solutions to prevent homelessness and handle the growing needs of the community.  To read more about the Hope Center click here.

If you are out of town and would still like to participate, please do!  I know that there are many, many Little Warriors all over the US!  If I may, here is what I would suggest:  Take your child to the dollar store or Wal-Mart or Target and talk to them about people who don’t have homes.  Have them try to come up with a list of what kinds of items they would need if they didn’t have a house to live in.  Keep your language simple.  The basics.  You know your child best.  Praise them for thinking of others and tell them how important it is.  It’s the teaching part that really gets me motivated about this project!

I really do hope to see you on the morning of March 23rd.  We will have coffee ready for you and promises of a memorable morning with your little ones.  It gets me every single time as I watch so many little ones working to help others.  I always feel like Owen is so very proud of what we are doing.  Come for the whole three hours or for just a while.  Come right away at 9am or show up late.  We just want to see you there!   It’s going to be a great opportunity to show children that they can make a difference.

I’ve got all the details up on www.owenslittlewarriors.com (a link is in the black header of the blog too).   Pre-registration for the event on the 23rd is appreciated so we have an estimated head count of how many will be joining us.  But walk-ins are always welcome!!!

We made 238 Easter Bags last year  … do you think we make more this time around??  It’s really all up to you!

Please feel free to email me or we.care.warriors@gmail.com if you have any questions.

Love, Mel

P.S. Don’t forget to print off a flyer (or a few) and invite all of your friends!  Click here to download a copy of the flyer.

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March 4, 2013 · 5:09 pm
April 1, 2012 · 11:05 pm

Another family like us

I just got done reading a blog about a family who lost their four year old son about eleven months ago and just lost their two year old daughter a few days ago. Both of their children in the same year. What kind of world is this that we live in?

The mom posted many pictures of their daughter in the hospital and after her surgeries. It reminded me of so many memories of Owen. How he laid there with his legs apart and his diaper. The tubes and tape on his face. The limpness of his body. His closed eyes. The sounds of the machines. Remembering hurts yet i welcome the pain and vivid images. They are the last memories that I have. The last touches. The last kisses.

Their daughter was on the transplant list after they discovered she had a deadly heart condition … The same one that killed her brother without warning. Want to know what I kept thinking as I read? I wish I had another heart I could give her. If only Owen still had more hearts to give out. If I had one I would have given it to this little girl.

Her visitation was today. Palm Sunday. I have no idea what her parents must be feeling or thinking. One blog entry showed her taking a few steps … Her mom reported that she was doing so much better. Then the next only two days later told that she had gone to be with her big brother in heaven. So many unanswered questions. Did the doctors miss something? Was she sleeping when her heart stopped? Were her parents with her? Why her? Why couldn’t she have been one of the miracle stories?

Funny and odd how I don’t ask those questions about Owen. I find myself feeling proud and strong in my son’s story. Perhaps it’s because I know I’m strong enough to take it. I don’t wish the same on anyone else. Perhaps it’s that I know with confidence that nothing would have saved him. There isn’t anything that I or anyone else could have done that would have given a different outcome. I didn’t miss any signs … There weren’t any to miss. I gave CPR … The doctors did everything. There aren’t what ifs in Owen’s story. Yet this blog is filled with them.

I pray for this family tonight and in the hours, days and years to come. May God give them the strength and hope in a better tomorrow.

Love, Mel

Here is the link to the family’s blog: http://dscarpenter.blogspot.com/

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January 31, 2012 · 11:01 am

What makes you happy?

I knew that feeling “yucky” again was only a matter of time.  I didn’t really believe I was ‘back to my old self.’  Not really.  That’s one of the things I took away from the last session of Healing Hearts.  It’s when you think you are doing better that it hits you in the face and you are ten steps behind again.

Depression or feeling lost has been a friend of mine since I was probably 13 years old.  I’ve always struggled with my self-image, what I wanted to do, belonging.  I’ve always questioned if I was serving my purpose in life.  I remember when I was first approached by my doctor about starting anti-depressants.  I thought it was going to change who I was … who God had designed me to be.  My pain was a part of me.  Was it right to change that pain?  To eliminate a part of me that felt the strongest?

An amazing friend took me out for dinner at Chi Chi’s (have no idea why I still remember that part of the story).  He told me that he lives with ADD … he took medicine to help him focus.  He never ever told anyone …. he was so embarrassed.  But it was at that moment that I realized I loved him even more for being honest about who he was, “flaws” and all.  It wasn’t something to be ashamed of.  It wasn’t something that changed who he was.  His soul was still present.  It helped him to be a better him.  It was just a means for him to be who God had made him.

So I found myself starting the anti-depressants my freshman year of college.  You know what?  I’m just a better me.  I’m a me that can get out of bed each day, who doesn’t get swallowed up in the pits of life.  The reality of it is though … the small pill doesn’t fix everything.  I still have my pits, my down falls and my really shitty days.  I have a week or two that I just don’t want to.  That’s just where I find myself right now.  But it’s a phase.  I won’t let it last forever.

I took a lot of time in college trying to figure out what made me happy.  I had to find a way to survive.  I couldn’t stop the waves of depression from taking hold of my life, but I could find ways that would help me kick it faster.  So I joined a step aerobics class.  Yep, on my lunch I was steppin’ to the oldies with some of my professors!  I started taking frequent trips to the craft store.  I remember painting dozens of little jewelry boxes.  I have no clue why, but it made me feel better.

Of course I tried other ways that didn’t work out like I had hoped.  I drank too much.  I tried to fix others rather than looking at myself. What do you really learn if you don’t fail first?  I learned to embrace my pain.  Embrace my short comings and the darkest part of my life.  When you embrace them, they become blessings.  They become the moments in life when God’s grace feels the closest.

So yes.  My mood stinks right now.  I don’t feel like I want to do much of anything.  BUT I am trying to find a way to kick myself out of it.  I see a grief counselor and I am open with her on how I am feeling.  Brutally honest.  The grief support group that Jaden and I attended in the fall is starting up again on Monday.  I have found 10 or 15 mins here or there to work on knitting some hats for the Craft Hope Project.  I talk with my husband when the kids are in bed.  I ask for extra hugs.  I call my mom … sometimes a few times a day.  I treat myself to a Starbucks coffee.  I keep myself busy … change the scenery every once in a while.  Like yesterday, the babies and I played in the basement rather than the living room … it was a change of pace.  Felt kind of nice.

I bear my soul on this blog.  I’m not 100% sure why.  Perhaps it’s because I know I’m not alone in the way I feel.  Perhaps it’s to let someone else know they aren’t alone.  Whatever the reason, it’s just sort of what I do.  My family has been through hell and back … we need to take care of each other.  Heck, you could say that about all of humanity.  We need to take care of each other.  That includes you taking care of yourself.  Whatever that might be … I hope you find it.

Love, Mel

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July 15, 2011 · 9:13 pm

Owen, I held you today

Dear Owen,

I held you today.  At his 6 month old check up, the doctor found that Logan has a heart murmur.  My first thought?  Great … we donated Owen’s heart and now we’re going to be on the list to get a heart.  Great timing!

Last week we took him to Children’s to have a consult.  While the murmur sounded like it was just extra noise, he couldn’t say it for sure.  Given the circumstances, we were given the option to just go ahead and have an EKG done.  I knew I wouldn’t sleep at night not knowing if Logan’s heart beat correctly or not, so we opted to just have the test done.

We took your brother today to have an EKG done at Children’s.  It was different this time.  The consult was done on a different floor and the room looked different.  It didn’t feel like when we were there with you.  This time … the room felt the same.  It was just like your room.  The crib we laid Logan in was the same that we laid you in for the last time.  When you had no heart.  We wrapped him in the same kind of blankets that came back from the funeral home.  The same kind that they had to swaddled in after your donation surgery.  When you had no heart.  I wondered if any other babies had died in the same blanket that now swaddled Logan.  I said a little prayer just in case.

Logan had to be sedated for the test.  Makes sense as he wouldn’t be able to lay still long enough to get good pictures.  I didn’t realize how that would make me feel until it was all happening.  I watched as the nurse held Logan down to give him the medicine.  She had him swaddled in blankets so he couldn’t squirm about.  I had to close my eyes.  I had wanted to hear you cry so badly when we were here the last time.  But you laid motionless, limp, with tubes and wires everywhere.  Maybe Logan was screaming a little extra for the cries you wanted to yell.

Finally he took all of the medicine and the nurse asked who was going to rock him.  It never occured to me that I would be holding him as his sedation kicked in.  So I held him and rocked with him in the rocking chair.  Please tell Logan that I’m sorry.  I held him close to me and pictured you.  I tried to remember every detail of when I got to hold you for the last time.  I actually wished he was you.

I kept kissing his cheeks to make sure they were still warm.  Your cheeks were cool … like they had been in the crisp wind.

He was moaning a little bit … just like he does when he’s so tired but doesn’t want to sleep.  So I sang to him.  I sang him the same songs I sang to you that night.  This little like of mine.  I’m gonna let it shine.  This little light of mine.  I’m gonna let it shine.  Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine … I closed my eyes and held Logan and sang to you.

The tests went well.  The results were wonderful.  Logan’s heart is just fine.  The murmur is just extra noise.  I jumped up and hugged the doctor.  I didn’t realize how truly worried I had been.  This whole time I felt like his murmur was going to be this shadow that loomed out in the future.  When was it going to hurt Logan?  When would it be time to go through the loss of a child all over again?  I didn’t want it to bog me down so I figured I would allow myself to feel the bad news when it left the doctor’s lips.  I refused to worry about it this past week.  It all came flooding out as we got the good news.  I felt and let go of the worry all in one motion.

Maybe you were there with us today.  Maybe not.  But in case you weren’t, please hear my prayer that your brother is ok!  I hope you helped him to be brave.  He was almost as brave of a warrior as you were.  And still are.

I sang to you.  No I still sing to you.  I rocked you.  No I rock you whenever I rock one of your brothers.  I held you.  I hold you every time I hold Logan, Weston or Jaden.  I hope you heard me today.  I love you.

Love, Mel

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June 17, 2011 · 11:42 pm

What’s Easier?

It’s 12:15 am and I’m wide awake.  My husband lays in bed next to me, sound asleep.  How is it that men can sleep through anything?  I find myself not wanting to go to bed because there are so many unfinished things to do.  But in the morning I’m dragging myself out of bed, just wanting to stay under the covers a little while longer.

I’m anxious because I feel like I have work to do.  Not only do I have dishes and laundry, but I want to find my direction with Owen’s memorial.  How ironic that after I have the answers to my questions – will Owen live?  Is he brain-dead? – I feel foggy and a little lost.  I had such clear purpose when this was all happening.  Now it’s a little foggy and I’m uncertain if I’m doing the ‘right’ thing.

I need more patience.  I learned that a few times during this process.  Just when I was ticked off at God about the tubes having to stay, he shook his head and showed me what a little time can do.  They fell out, I didn’t need to be angry at all.  Is this the same?  Is he shaking his head at me saying “Child, just give it a little time.  You’ll be just fine.”  Why do I want to take off running?

Is it that I’m scared of?  When life quiets down?  You know the ‘sound’ you can hear in the dead of night.  There is that humming in the air that you can only hear if you concentrate really hard.  It scares me.  When the cards stop, the emails end and the blog stats go back down to 50 per day.  What then?  Who will I be?  What will I feel?  Will I still wear orange?  Will I want to wear orange even more?

I find it ironic when people call me strong.  It’s certainly NOT a word I would use to describe myself.  I’m just someone who has a whole lot of weird and sad things happen to her.  I live in hope because it’s a lot easier than reality.  The real-ness of mortality and the end of a 6 month old is hard to comprehend let alone accept.  Hope, is light and sunshine, rainbows and unicorns.  It’s the belief in something good.  Sounds a lot easier to me!

The day after we found Owen, my pastor asked me how I was doing.  I said “Owen is gone.  He’s not coming back to us.  But Doug was still fighting.”  He believed Owen was in there and fighting to come back.  I didn’t know what to tell him when he asked me if I thought Owen would be ok.  I felt like I was horrible for giving up on my son.  I wasn’t fighting for him, rather I was just laying down and accepting what God allowed to happen.  Does that make me a faithful Christian or a horrible mother?

Pastor answered to let him live in the hope just a little longer, the truth would be told all too soon, and it didn’t hurt to let him stay in the shred of hope.  I thought … heck if he can stay there, why can’t I?  You know what?  it is easier to live in the prayers, acceptance of an answered prayer even if it’s not what you were hoping for, and the possibilities.  Dreams are way better than reality.

So I’m not strong, I’m taking the easy way out.  There has to be something good.  If there isn’t, then that means Owen’s life would have been a waste.  I just don’t buy it.  I’ve heard so many stories of how far Owen has touched.  I’m floored and so proud of my little man.

Love, Mel

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June 16, 2011 · 11:00 pm

A Child’s View

How is it that the world functions as if nothing happened? People look at me as if I am normal. They walk, talk and act the same. How? The entire universe has been altered. The earth doesn’t spin on the same axis. The sun shines different. Yet, I’m the only one that notices.

I’ve been thinking about the two little girls who received Owen’s heart and liver. I wonder if they think of our family like we think of theirs. I wonder if they pray for our healing like I continue to pray for their physical healing. I dream if the little girl will have Owens temperament and if she will be laid back and a lover like he was. Will he become a part of her in more ways than tissue and valves? If I meet her will I recognize her? I think how amazing it will be to feel his heart beating. Don’t mind me little girl…I’m just going to rest my heart on your chest. I want to hear his smile again in the rhythmic beating of his heart.

I decorate myself in orange. Nothing is too bright of an orange. I bought a candle today just because it was orange. :) . The color is comfort to me. Males me feel like I’m still honoring him even if I’m not talking about him.

Jaden talks more about Owen’s death as the time passes. The other day he wrote Owen a few letters and asked me to mail them to Owen. I tried to explain that Owen had died there wasn’t a place to mail them. “Mom mail them to heaven … You said that’s where he is.” Of course! What was I thinking?

We had some friends over today. These friends loved the triplet babies very much so you can imagine that the questions about where Owen started when they walked in the door. My girlfriend seemed uncertain if it was painful for me when his name was brought up so much. I think it was also the pain of having to tell her innocent children about the death of a baby. These are the truths of the world that we hope to shield our children from.

I, however, loved it! I listen hard when kids talk about non-earthly stuff. They are pure and open to the things that aren’t of earth. I listen to learn. I want to see the world through a child’s eyes. Without judgment or bias. Without logic and uncertainty. What a blessing it would be to get a glimpse!

When one of the children asked where Owen was I replied that he was in heaven. The other child replied “I can hear Owen when it rains. You know … When he’s bowling! And when he gets a strike he laughs and that’s lightening”. I loved it. I can head Owen when in rains. Something I would have never thought of on my own but a beautiful picture painted by a child. I have so much to learn.

The prayers are working. Peace will come. But I don’t think it will ever dwell alone in our house. Grief and pain are permanent room mates now. Wether I want them to be or not.

Love, Mel

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June 15, 2011 · 9:38 pm

My Witching Hour

Daily life.  This part I find harder than the hospital. I feel lost and not sure what I’m supposed to be doing.  In the hospital my role was clear … make the best medical decision for Owen, sit in his room and hold his hand, make sure to eat a meal, pray for Owen.  Now what?  What do I do now?  Go on with life?  Yes.  But how do I do that now?  It’s different.  I know my normal isn’t going to be.  But what does that mean?

I feel like I have everyone’s attention but haven’t a clue what I’m supposed to do with it.  God, what is my purpose now?  What is your plan for me?  I’m trying to listen, but I can’t quite hear the words.  Perhaps it’s been spelled out a thousand times but for whatever reason I’m missing it.

Doug and I are coping differently.  That’s normal.  I reflect that his daily routine has gone back to what it was.  He wakes up, has cereal, watches the news.  Then he goes to work, comes home, has dinner, plays with the kids a little, then hangs out with me after bed time.  Repeat the next day.

My life?  EVERYTHING has changed.  Not 3 bottles, only 2.  Not 18 diapers a day, only 12.  All the babies are crying at once, wait … there is one missing.  I’m in the nursery 100 times a day.  The nursery that has been rearranged and has a bed missing.  The triplet table where I used to feed three babies now has an empty seat.  Jaden isn’t in school anymore, summer break.  While being constantly reminded of Owen’s death, I’m trying to occupy a 4-year-old.  Everything I do is different.

I find the four walls of my house more suffocating than when I first started staying at home.  Our entire street is under construction — we’re talking you have to off-road it to get to our house.  So it’s hard to even get outside.

While everything reminds me of Owen, I’m also reminded to hug Weston and Logan a little more.  When before I was totally ok with the boys hanging out and if they weren’t crying, they were fine.  Now?  I find excuses to hold them.  I kiss and hug them until they get irritated.  If they fall asleep, I just sit and hold them.

This is going to sound so silly, but it’s true.  My biggest struggle with having three newborns was that I always felt I was leaving one of them out.  If I was holding one baby, my heart-strings tugged that the other two were left behind in their car seats.  If I rocked two babies to sleep in my rocking chair, I felt horrible that the third was sleeping alone in his crib.  The easy solution was to just rotate and take turns.  I hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it at the end of 6 months.  Instead I just didn’t do anything.  I knew I was a hands off mom, but I didn’t know how to be anything else.

Now?  I can handle two babies SO much easier.  I can rock Weston and I know with certainty I’ll have time to cuddle with Logan later.  I can make silly faces at the two of them while rolling around.  I can wiggle the two boys on my lap, one on each leg.  I’m no longer a hands off mom … that’s for sure.  I’m a hands on mama.  Thank you Owen for giving your sacrifice.  The way I see it is that in addition to my own motherly love, I’m also giving them the love Owen was supposed to have given them.

Between 9 and 10pm seems to be my witching hour.  Jaden is usually asleep by then and I’ve put the triplets down.  Put my babies in their beds where it’s supposed to be safe, but we know all too well that it’s not always the case.  Then I sit, for the first time all day, and my mind is allowed to wander.  The flashes of that Saturday night are vivid, the feeling very real.  This is when I do my crying.  It feels so damn good to cry.  To physically express all of the intense emotions I feel inside of my chest.

I think it’s also that it’s the only time Doug and I are alone, together.  So many people have felt the loss of Owen.  Owen the triplet.  Owen the nephew or grandson.  Owen the brother.  But one else has felt the loss of Owen the son.  It’s very different for the two of us, but in comparison, he’s the only one in the world who has a glimpse of what it feels like for me.  I’m doing my best to remember this.  When I feel frustrated or misunderstood, I remind myself that not only is he my husband, but he’s Owen’s dad.  He’s the one person in this world who sort of gets it.  I find my calmness and start at the beginning again.

So how am I doing?  I’m surviving.  I laugh and I smile.  I do get my turn to cry.  I feel lost and overwhelmed.  I’m fighting to do something great … in memory of Owen.

I love you Owen.  Mama misses you … but honestly I hope you don’t hear my sad prayers.  I hope you’re so busy feeling the complete joy of heaven that you don’t hear me.  A child shouldn’t know this pain.  Play and don’t think twice about us … you deserve heaven.

Love, Mel

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June 5, 2011 · 3:14 pm

Church Today

Before all of this happened, I was working with a few other moms at church to start a mom’s group.  We call ourselves Supermoms  :)  We decided today would be our day to introduce ourselves at service.

Several asked if I was ready to return to church.  It never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t be.  I have felt the warmth of my faith through this whole thing.  I wanted to be even closer.  I have gotten my energy from others and I have longed to be in a group again.

I was greeted with all kinds of familiar faces, including my fellow Supermoms.  Those that didn’t meet my eye, I wondered if they knew who I was.  The grieving mother of a 6 month old.  I wondered if they knew it was MY Owen that Pastor Chris spoke of during his messages.  It’s me!  I’m the Melissa, my husband is the Doug and my angel child is the Owen you have heard about this past week.

Service was held outside in the garden.  It was my first outdoor service since I’ve joined this church.  What a wonderful experience.  Kids were welcome and playing in the grass.  I drew Leo, a good friend’s son, a picture of him.  He told me my drawing of him looked like a monkey … and he was right!  It was his innocence and honestly that was comforting to me.  Children do not know any real emotional pain.  They still trust and  believe the world is made of crayons, hot dogs and Skittles.  What a wonderful world they live in.

The message was about Owen.  How I wished I had brought the boys with me.  He spoke of the walk Doug and I had taken with him over the past two weeks.

No one person had asked him “why?”  Why would God allow a 6 month old to die?  I didn’t even ask why.  In my previous struggles, my car accident and my flight for life, when I found that I was pregnant with Jaden but still had college to finish.  That’s when I screamed WHY ME?  I screamed why am I having triplets?  Really God, you couldn’t let me have one normal thing in my life?

But with Owen, I felt warmth.  I felt acceptance.  I didn’t question why.  I lived in the hope.  I didn’t bother to question.  I think it’s because when I’ve done it before, I haven’t gotten very far.  I’ve never gotten an answer.  It’s left me in more pain and confusion.  I believe the answer is beyond our human understanding.

Did God allow Owen to die?  Yes.  Was it in his great plan to have him live a short life?  I don’t think so.  He loves me.  I have to believe that he wouldn’t have given me a son, allowed me to love him so deeply and planed to have him ripped from my hands all too soon?  I don’t believe it was part of his big plan.

I do believe that he will make something good out of this.  Whether it’s his organs living in someone else.  Or if it’s his story bringing comfort to others.  I do not believe that it was his plan all along to have Owen die.  Because I believe, there is always hope.

Love,
Mel

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May 27, 2011 · 8:36 am

Lift them up

I was pretty nervous about coming home last night. Leaving my Owen alone in the hospital. But after seeing the three boys smiling, I know I made a choice I can live with. Right is hardly appropriate for the decision I had to make.

The first thought when I woke up this morning was, what am I going to do when life starts? What happens when the family goes back to their lives, and Doug back to work. What do I do when it’s me and the kids … I’m the stay at home mom again. Who will I talk to when I need to distract my mind? Who will listen to my inappropriate comments and jokes … just because I don’t know what else to say?

That will be a true test - am I and my faith strong enough? When the paralysis on my daily life is lifted, will there be a breath? Will I pass the tests? Will my daily life fail the apnea test by three points? Time. I keep just saying … time.

We called to check in with the Donation Network. They have started him on a few more drips and are drawing labs every four hours. He did well during the night. We are still waiting for some more information to come back from his Echo, but so far nothing has been ruled out.

It looks like his liver might go to California. The distance will push out Owen’s OR time farther since the other donor team will need to fly out here to get what they need.

I lift up Owen’s nurses & doctors.  May they find peace.  Lord, if you are listening, they deserve the next miracle.  They are your earthly hands caring for this small body.  They have been strong and they have cared for more than just Owen, my family.  Let them be next with a miracle.  Know what their hearts yearn for and hear it.  I know that I don’t have the power to pay them back for what they have done for my family.  Let me them feel the warm that they have provided my family.

I am going to go and call the funeral home now.  Something to occupy my mind while we wait for a surgery time.  I need to go back to the house and get Owen’s baptismal blanket too.  Go into the same room where he left me.  Maybe he’ll be waiting there for me.

One step at a time.  One minute, one second at a time.

Love, Mel

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May 25, 2011 · 10:11 am

Waiting and my angel whisperer

We are still waiting. I slept hard last night. It’s like my body knows I’ve got a hard fight coming. I’m preparing for a battle.

We stopped the paralysis meds last night at about 9:30pm. When I helped change his diaper last night there was a flux in his blood pressure which Is good. But the nurses have moved him every two hours and haven’t see the flux again.

They just did a test to see if he’s metabolized the meds and it looks like he has or is. Which means if he can move, his body will let him. Also it means that his body can metabolize things -shows that his liver is at least somewhat functioning.

We don’t have any answers yet. My heart gets tight. I don’t know what I feel. Maybe my anxiety is Owens or maybe it’s mine. I pray that Owen is calm and that he feels love.

We are starting a lasic drip the help get rid of some of the fluid he’s holding on to.

I’m a rock and I’m not going to lose hope. I’m holding onto my balloon. We have lights on … But not too many cuz I don’t want it to be too bright. Just enough.

My family just got here …. And I need some coffee. We are praying.

Through so many jaden stories (check some of the previous posts to hear the stories) he has seen and felt grandpa tickley beard. Last night he was eating his 20th piece of pa’s chicken nuggets (special for his food allergies) and he stopped like he had a revelation. It’s not time for owen to go with the angels. There you have it. My angel whisperer has spoken.

Keep on praying. We have lots of questions and for the fist time we’ll be getting some answers.

Love, Mel

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