It is hard to believe that December is here and Christmas is coming, whether I am ready or not. And, I must admit, I am not. We have our tree up, thanks to my friends who helped Chase and I pick it out and decorate, and I am trying to do all the other Christmasy things, but my heart just isn't in it this year. I am usually that annoying person who has her Christmas music blasting on the radio from November 25 on and have all the presents bought and wrapped by now and usually I would have watched Elf a dozen times. To be honest, I am trying, but I am just going through the motions. Everyone says that getting through the Holidays is the hardest part, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Alec's Birthday on the 30th, New Years. It is hard because up until the Holidays, I felt like Alec was just away for a while. Reality hits hard lately, as I drove by Bass Pro Shop the other day, for a second I thought I needed to go in and buy Alec a Christmas present. Or then watching Jon Mogul cut down our tree, something I have seen Alec do for us the last 5 years, it hits me. He really is gone and I will never have those special moments with him again. I willl never buy him another fishing accessory, never again will I make him his favorite meals. I know I should cherish those memories that I did make with him, but right now I just miss him terribly and want to open my eyes and have this all have been a bad dream.
I get sad in the morning, when I am with Chase and he is so fun and happy and laughing and doing all these new cute things. Why isn't his Daddy here to witness this? Why is this all so unfair? Why did I allow myself to believe with all my heart that we would be a family, together forever?
Today at church, the third candle for Advent was lit and represented Joy. Jan had a few people stand up and talk about Joy and what Joys they had in their life. It got me thinking and I remember my heart would literally burst with Joy before Alec got sick. I had this perfect life, with a perfect husband, I felt so grateful, so happy, so lucky, so joyful. And now, my heart is heavy and broken and I wonder if I will ever feel that way again.
Friday, I saw a bald eagle. He was perched high in a tree, stoic, and still and I swear he was watching me. I know it was Alec, and I pulled over off the road to look up. I did not want to drive away, I wanted to talk to this eagle, and bring him home with me. But, I drove on, it made me smile and I did feel a little flutter of Joy in my heart. It is there, it is possible.
My life is so different now and it will take a long time to adjust. There are no more doctors appointments, no more waiting, no more long rides to and from MGH. I miss my old life because no matter how bad some days were, at least Alec was there with me to hold my hand through it.
I am very grateful for all that I do have and for my family and friends and for church. I can not imagine facing this alone.
Kendalle sent me a story today from the Globe. I read it, and I could relate all too well. I believed something with all my heart, and I thought that with enough Hope and Faith and Love, and Prayers, we could defy all the odds, make our own miracles happen. And then, two years later I am left broken hearted and lost. "Sometimes miracles don't take place on earth" often echos in my head. The nurse told me this as I looked at her with tears in my eyes, a couple days before Alec died "But it could still happen, right? A miracle? There is always a chance for miracle". She was right. Some miracles only happen in heaven.
From the Boston Globe...
Love and Losses Beyond Measure.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not after all they have been through. Not after all the hope and prayers and therapies and people storming the heavens.
If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, nothing will be impossible to you.
That’s what we’re told.
They had faith. And they didn’t want to move anything as big as a mountain. All they wanted was to save a child, their child, to make their child well.
Cancer killed Charlotte Rose Kelly, just 5 years old. After a 2 1/2-year battle, the neuroblastoma that stole her childhood took her life last week.
Cystic fibrosis killed Mark Palermo, 24, who fought for his life for all of his life. Who had a lung transplant 20 months ago. Who got his miracle. Then died anyway the day after Charlotte.
Charlotte was her parent’s baby girl. She has two older brothers. Mark was his parents oldest and sole survivor, his brother and sister dead of the same disease that killed him.
Beloved children, both of them.
No one can prepare for this. No one signs up to have a sick child, to have the rug pulled out from under them, to sit in a hospital room day after day, scared, bewildered, stunned, battered, hoping and praying and begging God and all the saints for help. Not her. Not him. Please, God, please.
Bartering, bargaining, begging. ICU torture chambers, full of beeps and whirs and gurgles and bright lights, the pumps, the tubes, the toxins, machines and monitors, hell right here on earth, on Longwood Avenue, at the Cleveland Clinic, teams of specialists coming and going, going and coming.
Hope the last thing to go.
An uncle flew from Boston to Cleveland, just to place a relic at Mark’s side. It had saved others. Maybe it would save him. Charlotte’s parents prayed for a miracle right up to the end.
Both died anyway, despite the relics and prayers and begging.
You ask why. You shout ‘WHY?’ Why these children? Why these families? What about the mustard seed? They had faith that was way bigger than any seed. Their faith and their family and friends kept them going. A visible, solid, right-here-on-earth holy trinity.
If love could cure. If faith could cure.
Two years ago, there was a benefit at Medfield High to support the Palermo family. Last April, there was a walk on neuroblastoma in Braintree to support the Kellys.
People come out in droves for these things. Everyone wants to help. But in the end, though we can walk and give and pray and encourage, we can’t change what we can’t even begin to comprehend.
There is a Christmas song, “Mary, Did You Know?’’ “Mary, did you know that your baby boy would one day walk on water?’’ which basically asks, “Mary, did you know what you were getting into?’’
Does anyone know? Having children is the biggest act of faith. We are taught that our children are on loan. That they are not ours. That they come through us, but do not belong to us. That we and they belong to God.
But then we have these children and hold them and nurse and rock and protect and teach and guide and love them with a love we never even knew we had.
And when God calls them home? When God takes them back?
The loss is huge, the heart stretched out by love, so full of love, empty and broken.
Who can fill it? Who will fill it? Can it be filled? How does life go on?
As children, we were taught that God’s love is the greatest and that human love is a mere reflection. Charlotte Rose Kelly and Mark Palermo were loved beyond measure in this world. They were given all that human beings have to give. They were treasured.
They are treasured still. They left love to go to love. They are OK.
But their parents? Their families? The people who loved them?
We struggle with this. We are bereft because it wasn’t supposed to end this way.
Beverly Beckham
I think of these families, and all those who have lost someone. It is not fair, and the writer is correct, it wasnt supposed to end this way. Not a 5 year old little girl, not a 24 year old kid, not a 35 year old father and husband. All I can do is hold tightly to my precious son, and kiss him and thank God for him every day. He is a true blessing, a miracle.
I get sad in the morning, when I am with Chase and he is so fun and happy and laughing and doing all these new cute things. Why isn't his Daddy here to witness this? Why is this all so unfair? Why did I allow myself to believe with all my heart that we would be a family, together forever?
Today at church, the third candle for Advent was lit and represented Joy. Jan had a few people stand up and talk about Joy and what Joys they had in their life. It got me thinking and I remember my heart would literally burst with Joy before Alec got sick. I had this perfect life, with a perfect husband, I felt so grateful, so happy, so lucky, so joyful. And now, my heart is heavy and broken and I wonder if I will ever feel that way again.
Friday, I saw a bald eagle. He was perched high in a tree, stoic, and still and I swear he was watching me. I know it was Alec, and I pulled over off the road to look up. I did not want to drive away, I wanted to talk to this eagle, and bring him home with me. But, I drove on, it made me smile and I did feel a little flutter of Joy in my heart. It is there, it is possible.
My life is so different now and it will take a long time to adjust. There are no more doctors appointments, no more waiting, no more long rides to and from MGH. I miss my old life because no matter how bad some days were, at least Alec was there with me to hold my hand through it.
I am very grateful for all that I do have and for my family and friends and for church. I can not imagine facing this alone.
Kendalle sent me a story today from the Globe. I read it, and I could relate all too well. I believed something with all my heart, and I thought that with enough Hope and Faith and Love, and Prayers, we could defy all the odds, make our own miracles happen. And then, two years later I am left broken hearted and lost. "Sometimes miracles don't take place on earth" often echos in my head. The nurse told me this as I looked at her with tears in my eyes, a couple days before Alec died "But it could still happen, right? A miracle? There is always a chance for miracle". She was right. Some miracles only happen in heaven.
From the Boston Globe...
Love and Losses Beyond Measure.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not after all they have been through. Not after all the hope and prayers and therapies and people storming the heavens.
If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, nothing will be impossible to you.
That’s what we’re told.
They had faith. And they didn’t want to move anything as big as a mountain. All they wanted was to save a child, their child, to make their child well.
Cancer killed Charlotte Rose Kelly, just 5 years old. After a 2 1/2-year battle, the neuroblastoma that stole her childhood took her life last week.
Cystic fibrosis killed Mark Palermo, 24, who fought for his life for all of his life. Who had a lung transplant 20 months ago. Who got his miracle. Then died anyway the day after Charlotte.
Charlotte was her parent’s baby girl. She has two older brothers. Mark was his parents oldest and sole survivor, his brother and sister dead of the same disease that killed him.
Beloved children, both of them.
No one can prepare for this. No one signs up to have a sick child, to have the rug pulled out from under them, to sit in a hospital room day after day, scared, bewildered, stunned, battered, hoping and praying and begging God and all the saints for help. Not her. Not him. Please, God, please.
Bartering, bargaining, begging. ICU torture chambers, full of beeps and whirs and gurgles and bright lights, the pumps, the tubes, the toxins, machines and monitors, hell right here on earth, on Longwood Avenue, at the Cleveland Clinic, teams of specialists coming and going, going and coming.
Hope the last thing to go.
An uncle flew from Boston to Cleveland, just to place a relic at Mark’s side. It had saved others. Maybe it would save him. Charlotte’s parents prayed for a miracle right up to the end.
Both died anyway, despite the relics and prayers and begging.
You ask why. You shout ‘WHY?’ Why these children? Why these families? What about the mustard seed? They had faith that was way bigger than any seed. Their faith and their family and friends kept them going. A visible, solid, right-here-on-earth holy trinity.
If love could cure. If faith could cure.
Two years ago, there was a benefit at Medfield High to support the Palermo family. Last April, there was a walk on neuroblastoma in Braintree to support the Kellys.
People come out in droves for these things. Everyone wants to help. But in the end, though we can walk and give and pray and encourage, we can’t change what we can’t even begin to comprehend.
There is a Christmas song, “Mary, Did You Know?’’ “Mary, did you know that your baby boy would one day walk on water?’’ which basically asks, “Mary, did you know what you were getting into?’’
Does anyone know? Having children is the biggest act of faith. We are taught that our children are on loan. That they are not ours. That they come through us, but do not belong to us. That we and they belong to God.
But then we have these children and hold them and nurse and rock and protect and teach and guide and love them with a love we never even knew we had.
And when God calls them home? When God takes them back?
The loss is huge, the heart stretched out by love, so full of love, empty and broken.
Who can fill it? Who will fill it? Can it be filled? How does life go on?
As children, we were taught that God’s love is the greatest and that human love is a mere reflection. Charlotte Rose Kelly and Mark Palermo were loved beyond measure in this world. They were given all that human beings have to give. They were treasured.
They are treasured still. They left love to go to love. They are OK.
But their parents? Their families? The people who loved them?
We struggle with this. We are bereft because it wasn’t supposed to end this way.
Beverly Beckham
I think of these families, and all those who have lost someone. It is not fair, and the writer is correct, it wasnt supposed to end this way. Not a 5 year old little girl, not a 24 year old kid, not a 35 year old father and husband. All I can do is hold tightly to my precious son, and kiss him and thank God for him every day. He is a true blessing, a miracle.
My friends bought me a new camera for Christmas, I cant believe they did that (although I guess I can because they are amazing). I have had so much fun with it already, and I am excited to share even more pictures (and way better quality) of Chase and our little life. I know Alec would have bought it for me for Christmas if he were here, so thank you, to my girlfriends, for always thinking of me and going above and beyond. Alec loved my friends so much, because they always took such good care of us and he knew they would do anything for us.
My Mom, Beth and Michaela and I at the Capr Porpoise Tree Lighting...notice the lobster trap tree...
Chase, Weston, Me and Kate carrying our tree that Jon cut down for us.
Me, Chase, Caitlin, Georgia, Katie and Weston at the Prelude.
Jon, Kate, Weston, Amy, Ally and Anthony (and me and Chase) waiting for Santa to come...
Santa arriving on a Lobster boat...
Thank you all for continuing to be there for us, and for the endless love, support and prayers. I know that we will get through this, I just wish we didn't have to.
Love,
Heather, Chase and Millie
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