when the sun goes down

Not long ago, one of my dearest friends said to me, "Did you ever notice how much of our friendship happens in the dark of night?"

It's true. While we've spent plenty of time together in daylight, some of the most memorable and true moments in our friendship over the years have happened after the sun has set. There have been late nights, early mornings, and sometimes all nights. By ourselves or with friends, staying up and talking about love and loss, goofing off and laughing till our sides ache. Soaking in a hot tub under the stars, lying in the cool grass on a summer night, snowball fights, and movie marathons all seem more exciting and adventurous in the dark. And our truths are so much easier to tell then too. It's easier to let your tears flow, drop your guard and be humble with each other.

I always look forward to these late night adventures, because they don't happen every day or every week. They are special and magical and happy and full of laughter and love, just like our friendship. It's about time we planned another one, don't you think, old friend?

3-18

Today is national Trisomy 18 awareness day. Although, for anyone who knows about it from experience, every day is Trisomy 18 awareness day. I'll never forget the day I learned about it.

Shauna, my best friend, had recently moved to Texas, but miles don't really matter to friends like us. We knew Shauna's doctor was concerned about something when they ordered more tests after a routine ultrasound. We even talked about the fact that if anyone could handle a baby with special needs - like Down syndrome - it would be her. After all, she took in a paraplegic kitten who wasn't expected to live a year (and is now 13). But then she got the results. It was so much worse. No amount of love and care would protect this baby. The statistics are depressing. There were so many if's. If he made it to term. If he made it through delivery. If he survived a few hours, or a few days.

And there was only one when. When our hearts would break completely. All we could do was hope it was all a mistake, pray for a miracle, and offer Shauna our support from afar. And when Jackson was stillborn on November 12, 2003, we all grieved. And we still remember.

My heart reaches out to all those who have been touched by T18 in their lives.

first sign of spring

This little guy is the first in my yard to stretch open and welcome a new season!


As usual, the first daffodils remind me of a girls road trip during spring break many years ago. I'll never forget the laughter and joy that radiated from that car full of girls. May it cheer you up and remind you that it's time for new beginnings.



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