Thank You, Melissa

This is a little love letter, to one of the coolest big sisters, of one of the best friends an outcast girl like me could have ever asked for.  Because even though we were never close (you couldn't have called us friends even then) and we lost touch for too many years to count, some little thing called Facebook made us "friends".  And for the past 5 years or so we have "liked" each other and we have commented on our lives and we have shared stories of how becoming Mom has shaped us.  We got small glimpses into each others lives and got to gawk and awwww over the pictures we both posted.  We watched our oldest girls turn from babies into toddlers into preschoolers.  And we shared our joy at them becoming big sisters.  We celebrated the milestones with a witty quip.  We published the photographic memories of  recent vacations.  We saw our girls grow, all four of them, in pictures on a screen while in the comfort of our own homes.  We were at the exact same season in life and loving it.  We were raising little beings and hoping to shape them into productive, caring, worldly wise, big beings.

And then her, your, reality shifted.

My heart stopped the day that I read your post.  I am sure that yours feels like it hasn't started beating again, even now.  I read your post about the exact same moment you hit the enter button.  Your sweet Alice had tragically passed away in her sleep during her afternoon nap.  Ironically, my daughter was about 20 minutes into hers.  I walked away from my computer, woke my youngest from a sound sleep and hugged her so tight I think she gasped.  I can only imagine that you wish you could have done the same thing.

My heart broke for you that day.  I cried silent tears and some not so silent.  And I haven't stopped thinking of you since that moment.  Yes, I think of your whole family.  All of them, near and far because I can't imagine how this affects everyone.  And so differently.   But it is you that I think of most often.  Because you are Mom.  And so am I.   And that puts us in a very unique club.  A very special, magical one.  Membership in that club gives us the ability to sympathize with each other when a child was up all night, advise each other when a child wouldn't even let a small piece of green pea pass their lips and yep, even complain to one another, about our children's behavior when they didn't fall in line.   Mom is a great club to be a part of because there are so many members only too happy to help you out.  But recently, you have joined another club.  One I can't even fathom becoming a part of.  Because while I am still able to parent two children here on earth you are forced to parent one of your children in heaven.  And, for that, my heart shatters all over again.

I know there are no words.  I know there is nothing I can do to help ease the pain.  But there is one thing I can do and that is share.  I can share the story about a beautiful sprite of a girl who was taken far too soon.  And I can hope that maybe, just maybe, the story of Alice becomes an inspiration to others.  I can hope that it will inspire us all to hold our children just a little tighter and longer than necessary.  That maybe, just maybe, instead of shouting in frustration at a child moving too slow/not listening/misbehaving, we take the time for a deep breath and an extra hug.  I think that is what Alice has taught me in the past 6 weeks.  I can't wait to hear what she will teach you dear readers...

And to you, M,

Thank you.  Thank you for sharing when you certainly didn't have to.  You could have closed all of your memories and your moments tightly within your arms, shaken your fist to the heavens and said, you may have Alice, but you cannot have these.  And you would have been well within your rights.

Thank you for giving us just a peek into what life was like with Alice.  And what it is like now without her.
Thank you for being so strong, so brave and so unflinchingly honest.  I truly hope you keep writing.
Because I will keep reading.  And I will keep weeping.  And I will keep loving you and your family and Alice.  Because each and every time you  post, it reminds me of all the blessings there are in this world.

And all the beautiful angels there are in heaven.

Please take a moment to read Melissa's first blog post.  She is eloquent.  She is heartbroken.  She is a grieving mother.  And she is strong.   Oh. So. Strong.  And the story of her beautiful angel should be read by everyone.

http://www.motheringinmemoriam.com/2013/09/17/thank-you-alice/