His Name Was Stephen

His name was Stephen.

He was tall, with long white hair pulled into a pony tail that dipped well into his middle back. I liked him immediately because he wore a black cowboy hat.

My father always wears a black cowboy hat. The similarity made me smile.

He smiled at me and shook my hand, his calloused fingers wrapping around my own. The corner of his watery blue eyes crinkled with humour and as I made eye contact for the first time with him I was surprised to see the depth of sadness and knowledge hidden behind his wire framed glasses.

We sat that night, together, around a circular patio table under neath a warm British Columbia sky. We were united by our mutual love for her, and as we spoke softly as the others came and went we discovered we had far more in common than just the lady who had brought us together.

He was soft spoken next to my brashness and far more reserved than I'll ever manage to be in my life. I watched him as he gently interacted with his grandchildren and I laughed as he took little J under his wing and tried to teach him to blow stones like one does a fuzzy dandelion puff.

Later that night the two of us found ourselves alone underneath the patio umbrella, while the rain drizzled down around us. The night air was deafening with the quiet swallowing us.

He asked me about my life and how I found his daughter. He was genuinely interested in how an Albertan prairie girl found her way into the very core of his family. His eyes clouded with pain as he asked about my angel son and his paternal instincts flared as he listened to the violent road my new son has traveled in his short life.

We sat quietly for a moment, as he digested the facts of my life, my history before he broke into a smile and told me some of his favorite moments as a father to her and her sister. He chuckled as he told me personal memories and smiled like a proud father when he told me that his grand daughter was a carbon copy of her mother.

The night drew to a close as the rain started pounding around us and together we gathered up all the chairs to try and keep them dry. As we headed into the house to turn in for the night he clasped my hand once more and told me to sleep well.

The next morning  he watched his family and the new generation his children have created and laughed as we all swapped stories and jokes over breakfast. Pictures were taken and memories shared and soon my time with this family,  this family who had welcomed me as one of their own, was ending.

As I stood to leave and find my way back to my own family, with love in my heart and promise to self to one day be able to have moments like this with my own family, he approached me and wrapped his arms around me.

He thanked me. For sharing my story with him, for listening to him as he told me his. He thanked me for being kind to his family and for loving his daughter so. And then he thanked me for something no one else ever had before: He thanked me for simply being me.

I hugged him hard and tears welled up at the corner of my eyes and for a heartbeat I wished he could have been my father.

And then I left.

And now he is gone.

His name was Stephen.

Thank you for sharing your father with me Catherine.

You will be greatly missed Stephen. God Speed.

*****If you are inclined to leave your condolences for Her Bad Mother's loss in my comment section, I will be sure the family and Cat receives them all.*****

Unfathomable

There is nothing harder in the world than having to say good bye to your child.

It is a pain no parent should ever know. Tears that should never be wept.

We enter parenthood in good faith, with dreams of watching our children grow up and become parents themselves. Images of little league games and school pageants, followed with learning to drive and onto dating.

We try to visualize our children's future all the while breathing in their sweet smells and blowing raspberry kisses on their little bellies.

We moan and groan over potty training foibles and temper tantrums in the grocery store. We dread the teenage years and the rebellion we know which must surely follow. We never think of the possibility of not having another tomorrow with our child.

It's unfathomable.

We do everything in our power to give our children the tools they need, the love they need to succeed in life, with the hope their lives will be everything they dream it to be.

What we don't ever imagine is being robbed of that joy, of that promise, of that life we created or adopted.

It is unfathomable to think we can have a child one minute and only a memory the next.

Two of our fellow mommy bloggers and their husbands are facing this reality. Two of our own, in this electronic community we have created online for ourselves are struggling with the knowledge there will be no prom dates, no more raspberry kisses.

Two more families now have to face their new unimaginable reality and deal with the fiercest pain they will ever know.

I'm in Los Angeles to help the Spohr family say goodbye to their beloved Maddie. Meanwhile, I'm sending prayers to Thalon's family and asking my Bug to play with his newest little angel friend.

I wish I didn't have to.

I wish I didn't have an angel of my own to talk to.

I wish I was anywhere else but here.

I wish I could say this was unfathomable.

But I know it's not.

Wishing On Every Star

Today a friend of mine said good bye to her daughter and watched as she grew angel wings and flew away.

Madeline Alice Spohr died. She was 17 months old.

Old wounds are ripped wide open and my heart is shredded with the agony I know Heather and Mike are feeling.

There are no adequate words, no gestures, no anything that can erase or even dent the breathtaking pain my friends feel.

I know because that pain lies buried inside me, barely beneath my surface, just waiting for a single second in time when the reins I hold tightly in my hands slip a little and my grief jumps to reclaim it's visible place on my soul.

I wish on every star in the universe that Heather and Mike did not know this loss. I wish with every cell in my body that I didn't have to welcome my friends into this parenting club where the only requirement for membership is having drown in an ocean of grief after losing a child.

I wish, I wish with a million spilled tears that Maddie was alive and my Shale was sleeping safely in his bed down the hall.

I wish that Heather and Mike would never have to live the rest of their lives wishing for one more moment, one more snuggle, one more kiss.

I wish they never knew the feeling of walking out of a hospital empty handed and heavy hearted.

I wish, with every beat of my heart, that upon hearing of Maddie's death I wasn't instantly transported back to that moment of time when I stood before my own son and begged, BEGGED him to breathe.

I wish I was stronger but I'm not.

I wish I never knew the horror of losing a child and understanding completely what it means when another parent loses their child. I wish I could only imagine instead of knowing.

I wish, I wish that Heather and Mike find the peace that has eluded me these last three years and can show me how to find it myself.

Sweet dreams little Maddie. I'm sending my Bug to greet you.

***For those who are inclined, the Spohrs are requesting that in lieu of flowers donations be made in Madeline's honor to the March of Dimes.***