Vivianna Week, Day Twelve: My Daughters Catrina & Vivianna

Vivianna Week, Day Twelve: My Daughters Catrina & Vivianna

When I first decided to do a memorial for my daughter Vivianna, I wasn’t really expecting that one week tribute to turn into two. I’m glad that it did because over the past two weeks I have been able to see the different forms of love and family and it has filled me with such a joy that I know Vivianna was sufficiently honored. Losing Vivianna so shortly after losing Christopher, I never thought I would, nor did I ever want to, have any more children. The grief and the heartache was just too much. The hardest thing was the people that I expected to be there for me, family and friends alike, had disappeared into thin air. I had Angel, Justin and Ryan and they were very much my family, but that was it. Grief and death, sad moments, and moments of what my Granny Mary called “trial by fire” really helps you to see exactly who is in your corner as you fight the fight of life.

That next year, after having the doctor tell me that it seemed as if my body was not equipped to carry a child (now I can totally say “duh” to that), I went home to soak in the garden tub in my new home and cry over the fact that it was official. I was defective, flawed, my body rejected babies, contracting rather than expanding to allow the zygote to become a fetus and the fetus to become a baby to be born. I got a phone call from Sarah, a friend of mine at the time, and she told me about Catrina, a young lady who was 11 at the time, who needed a place to stay.

I won’t go into detail about why Catrina needed a place to stay, that’s not my story to tell, but Sarah said to me, “She really only needs a place for like two weeks maybe, but she needs you.” When I told Sarah yes and then told her about what the doctor said she told me that this was God at work. He was giving me a child after the doctor told me that I wouldn’t have one.

I knew Catrina through Sarah and had always been drawn to the young girl. I wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh (she sounds like a Chipmunk when she laughs and talks), and protect her, because you could look at Catrina and see that she had a heartbreaking story to tell.

Catrina came to stay with me and when two weeks turned into me getting guardianship of her (at 23), I got the chance to be a parent and she got the chance to have a real parent that loved her and took care of her, etc. It was, for us, the perfect set-up.

I learned about disciplining a child, the worry that comes when they’re not in your sight, I found out that I was the overprotective parent who looks at everyone who looks at my child as a suspect, until proven innocent. I also found out that I could be the fun parent. Catrina and I would spend hours listening to music as I taught her how to walk like a model. We would watch “Reba,” play games, color in coloring books together, watch movies, and I always, always did everything that I could to make her smile and laugh. We had two dogs for a while, when we still lived in our house, and she was so good about taking care of them.

I was proud as I watched her grades soar from B’s and C’s to straight A’s. I was happy as she went from only eating frozen chicken nuggets, to trying different kinds of food, to working out and staying healthy. I was ecstatic when I watched her go from a shy, introverted child to trying out for sports at school, getting involved in after school activities, making friends, painting, drawing, sketching (and boy is my baby talented), and getting involved in the community right alongside me.

Enlisting in the Army was one of the hardest things for me to do because I ended up having to return Catrina to her grandmother, since her grandmother wouldn’t sign over her parental rights to me. I cried that night when I had to say goodbye to my daughter and it felt like I was losing Vivianna all over again. Catrina and I kept in touch and to me, and to her and those who knew us at that time, she was still my child and I was still her parent.

So Vivianna Week has not only made me think of the child that I lost, but it makes me think of the child that I still have, even if it’s long distance. Catrina is smart and talented, my special ball of sunshine and being her parent is one of my proudest accomplishments. She doesn’t care that her dad is gay, she thinks I’m cool (though she thinks that her Aunties Cherie and MJ and her Grandpa Aleks are “freaking awesome”), and she has every faith in me that I will be successful and that I love her. She knows that I do and I know that love is returned. She remembers our time together fondly, as do I. She regularly brings up me singing her to sleep and reading bedtime stories to her and the day that I pretended to be in a musical, just to make her laugh (and let me tell you something, making up songs at the spur of the moment, is not easy at all). I remember those times as well, but I also remember taking care of her while she was sick. Buying her a tv as a reward for her good grades. Introducing her to my Granny Mary for the first time and watching the two of them connect and fall in love with each other (my Granny never stopped asking me about my sweet daughter). I remember the day that I had to return her and the tears that we both shared. I remember the day, a year and a half later when I had to go to the hospital with her, because she was pregnant and having pains and bleeding. I was scared and freaked out. Afraid that I would have to watch my child go through what I went through. I was ecstatic that she didn’t miscarry though I was grieved that I would become a grandparent so early and she would become a parent so young.

So while I lost Vivianna, I know that she would be happy to know that she has an older sister, Catrina, and a nephew named Hayden. I know that she would love them both and they would love her in return. It hurts that I lost her, but I’m almost positive that she led me to Catrina, who needed me more than she did and whom I needed just as much.

So, while tomorrow is the last day of Vivianna Week and I thank all of those who wrote posts, those who commented, those who wrote private emails to me letting me know that they were sorry that they couldn’t write a post but they still wanted to share a personal story with me and wanted to encourage me (mc-I’m talking about you), I say thank you. Thank you from the bottom of this gay man’s heart for your constant support and encouragement, for your love for your families, for the lessons that you taught, the memories that you shared. Thank you for helping me honor Vivianna, even if all you did was retweet a link or leave a comment. I appreciate you so very, very much. You have all become, in one way or another, family and close friends to me and it means more than I could ever put into words.

Thank you again.

Vicktor Aleksandr B

Vivianna Week, Day Ten: Claudia Jardine

Today's post for Vivianna Week (Part Two) is written by Claudia "CJ" Jardine. CJ has always been super supportive of me when it comes to my transitioning, my writing, my attempts to save the world, and my future. In the case of me remembering my daughter, her support was no different. And when I asked her to write a post, with the option of saying no if she wanted to (I always tell people that they can tell me no. I'm all about the freedom to choose), I was honored when she said yes. So enjoy CJ's post about her take on children of the heart and children of the womb.

When Vic asked me to write a post for Vivianna Week I was very surprised and extremely humbled. And nervous. It took me a while to say yes. But that's because I don't often talk about the loss of my child. I was 20 when I miscarried. Looking back now, I can clearly see how it truly was for the best. But back then...

I met him Oct, 1990 through a mutual friend. He was near my height, blond and blue eyed. He had a bit of bad boy about him. Didn't realize till later that it was more than a bit. We dated for a few weeks, my mother totally disapproved of him, which of course, made me want him more. I got pregnant sometime in early Dec but didn't know till after we broke up in Jan. Even with that sadness I was excited and happy. And then 4 weeks later the pregnancy was over. In the meantime, drama with the ex, my family and a soon to be former friend all came to a head. I was stressed out, depressed and trying to hold on to something that wasn't there. I knew I lost the baby before it was confirmed, but I so desperately wanted to be pregnant that I denied it. Especially when it seemed like everyone was coming up pregnant and staying pregnant! Because my friends were caught up in their pregnancies, no one seemed to mourn my loss. To me it seemed because my pregnancy didn't go past the first trimester, people didn't think it mattered. Or that it wasn't official. So I had no one to turn too. No one to grieve with me. I never turned to alcohol or drugs. I just turned inward and lost myself to depression for that entire year. I came back in bits and pieces. I played piano for about 12 years and taught for 2 by then, but I think I played more that year than I had ever played before or since. It was my outlet and my balm. It wasn't until the birth of my god-daughter the following year that I finally felt whole. Kayla has brought me so much love and joy! She may not be the child of my womb, but she def is the child of my heart.

Today, I don't have any children of my own. There are enough people running around loving me and calling me Aunt CJ to fill whatever void may be there. And that's quite all right with me!
CJ

Vivianna Week, Day Nine: Mary Calmes

I am so honored to have Mary Calmes here today for Vivianna Week. She wrote a very sweet, short post about her relationship with her mother and what she learned about it after having her daughter. Mary has been an absolute sweetheart to me over the last 2 years and has been super supportive of me. She's also one of the most amazing authors that I've ever had the privilege of reading before (hello!? The Change of Heart/werepanther series? Have you read Honored Vow? Or Timing & its sequel After the Sunset?).

So enjoy!

My Daughter 



My mother passed away five years ago and I still miss her. What’s interesting though is that before my oldest child was born, I had not been close to her in about 11 years. I left home when I was eighteen, bolted fast, because growing up with her and my step-father was hard. It’s not important the why what was important was the distance that living together created. We weren’t friends, we weren’t parent and child. We were nothing. Sometimes we spoke on the phone but the conversations had yearlong lapses between them and for all intents and purposes she was gone from my life. But that all changed with the birth of my first child.

When my girl was born, I finally understood that without your mother, a child has no chance. And I mean without a mother or a father, without a caretaker, that a child is helpless and fragile. I didn’t really get that before. I had done some babysitting and I had friends that had kids but it still didn’t click in my head. But when I became a parent, for me I realized what exactly my mother had done to keep me healthy for the first year of my life. Parenthood is hard. You don’t sleep; I haven’t slept in twelve years at this point. But the birth of my child was the only thing in the world that could have bridged that gap between us. Children born, those who are with us only in hearts or minds, and those that we have lost, bring people together for love and eventual healing. It’s their way.

Vivianna Week, Day Eight: Sarah Botting

Today's post for Vivianna Week (Part Two) comes from Sarah Botting, aka Pointycat69, who so graciously offered up a very sweet post. Enjoy!

Reading the first few posts for Vivianna Week made me think of photos. The first one that came to mind I took over Easter; my sister with her 5 month old son. Not a picture I can include given she was breastfeeding him at the time (maybe it was a little unfair of me to take a photo at that point, but sometimes that’s what big sisters are for!). Gwyn had been dressed in a superman costume complete with cape; he’s being held up to feed and he looks as if he’s flying. And Hannah is looking down at him and I can see the love in her face.

I’m not maternal, not even vaguely. Babies confuse me. But looking at that picture makes me understand a little.

And that made me think of other photos that mean a lot to me. Some of them make me smile; my sister’s wedding, her graduation, my graduation, pictures of my family with silly expressions or doing silly things – there’s a lovely one of my dad in the garden with one of the cats draped over his shoulders. It isn’t a very flattering picture of either him or the cat to be fair but it dad is smiling and the picture always makes me smile.

Some of the photos are very precious to me; I have one of mum holding me while I was still a baby. She looks so young, younger than I am now, and she has that same expression of love that Hannah has while holding Gwyn.

Mum with me as a baby

Some of the photos make me cry; I have some of my gran, my Nana (on my dad’s side).  She had Alzheimer’s and the photos were taken in the year before she died. She looks so very fragile and confused even with her family beside her. But those memories are still precious for all that they’re sad.

Nana with mum & dad

When I look at those pictures of her I can see how ill she was and I remember how painful I found spending time with her. Alzheimer’s is a cruel illness; she was drifting back into the past, was often upset and paranoid, and could no longer take care of herself. Occasionally she’d realise what was happening to her, how ill she was and she’d be distraught. And we were all trying to smile, to pretend everything was okay so she’d be less upset. Those memories still hurt.

But at the same time I remember that she looked after my sister and me during the holidays. We’d watch TV together, sit in the garden, play dress up and listen to her. She comforted us when family members died. She lived just down the road from us; she was always there when we were growing up. And I loved her. Still do.

So although some of those pictures make me cry I treasure them all.

I'm bi, depressed and easily irritated...and hopelessly addicted to tea (black, no sugar please!). Courtesy of the depression I’ve been unable to work for a bit now; in the meantime I paint, draw, bead, knit and read a lot – which means I have no floor or shelf space as well as bags of wool stuffed under the chairs. Next hobby will take up less space. Honest!

Vivianna Week, Day Seven

I found these poems in my old email. They are poems that people sent to me right after I lost Vivianna. Some of them are ones that I found only recently. They are so filled with love and emotion that I knew they had to be the post for today. They show that a parent doesn't stop being a parent, just because their child goes to Heaven.

I thought of you and closed my eyes,
And prayed to God today.
I asked what makes a Mother,
And I know I heard him say:
A mother has a baby,
This we know is true.
But, God, can you be a mother,
When your baby's not with you?
Yes, you can he replied,
With confidence in his voice.
I give many women babies,
When they leave is not thier choice.
Some I send for a lifetime,
And others for a day.
And some I send to feel your womb,
But theres no need to stay.
I just don't understand this God,
I want my baby here.
He took a breath and cleared his throat,
And then I saw a tear.
I wish that I could show you,
What your child is doing today,
If you could see your child smile,
With other children who say:
We go to earth and learn our lessons,
Of love and life and fear.
My mommy loved me oh so much,
I got to come straight here.
I feel so lucky to have a mom,
Who had so much love for me.
I learned my lessons very quickly,
My mommy set me free.
I miss my mommy oh so much,
But I visit her each day.
When she goes to sleep,
On her pillow's where I lay.
I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek,
And whisper in her ear.
"Mommy don't be sad today, I'm your baby and I'm here."
So you see my dear sweet one,
Your children are Ok.
Your babies are here in My home,
They'll be at heavens gate for you.
So now you see what makes a mother.
It's the feeling in your heart.
It's the love you had so much of,
Right from the very start.
Though some on earth may not realize you are a mother,
until their time is done.
They'll be up here with Me one day,
And you'll know that you're the best one!
~Author Unknown


"These are my footprints,
so perfect and so small.
These tiny footprints
never touched the ground at all.
Not one tiny footprint,
for now I have wings.
These tiny footprints were meant
for other things.
You will hear my tiny footprints,
in the patter of the rain.
Gentle drops like angel's tears,
of joy and not from pain.
You will see my tiny footprints,
in each butterflies' lazy dance.
I'll let you know I'm with you,
if you just give me the chance.
You will see my tiny footprints,
in the rustle of the leaves.
I will whisper names into the wind,
and call each one that grieves.
Most of all, these tiny footprints,
are found on Mommy and Daddy's hearts.
'Cause even though I'm gone now,
We'll never truly part."
~Unknown


"I know I'll see the sun shine bright
upon my baby's face....
When I finally get to heaven,
all my pain will be erased.

We'll soar the skies together,
as angels two by two.
We'll have a sweet reunion,
this mother's dream come true!"
~Unknown


"Daddy please don't look so sad, momma please don't cry.
Cause I'm in the arms of Jesus, and he sings me lullabies.
Please try not to question God, don't think he is unkind.
Don't think he sent me to you and then changed his mind.
You see I'm a special child, I am needed up above.
I'm the special gift you gave Him, a product of your love.
I'll always be there with you, so watch the sky at night.
Look for the brightest star and know that's my halo's brilliant light.
You'll see me in the morning frost that mists your window pane.
That's me in the summer showers, I'll be dancing in the rain.
When you feel a gentle breeze from a gentle wind that blows.
Know that it's me planting a kiss upon your nose.
When you see a child playing and your heart feels a tug,
Don't be sad mommy, that's just me giving your heart a hug.
So daddy don't looks so sad and momma please don't cry.
I'm in the arms of Jesus and he sings me lullabies!
~Unknown


Forget me not
My little one
You have left us too soon
Though my body can no longer hold you
I hold you forever in my heart
As precious and beautiful as this flower caught in time
A mother's love does not forget.
~Unknown


We go through life so often
Not stopping to enjoy the day,
And we take each one for granted
As we travel on our way.

We never stop to measure
Anything we just might miss,
But if the wind should blow by softly
You'll feel an angel's kiss.

A kiss that is sent from Heaven
A kiss from up above,
A kiss that is very special
From someone that you love.

For in your pain and sorrow
An angel's kiss will help you through,
This kiss is very private
For it is meant for only you.

So when your hearts are heavy
And filled with tears and pain,
And no one can console you
Remember once again.....

About the ones you grieve for
Because you sadly miss
And the gentle breeze you took for granted
Was just......... "an angel's kiss."
~Unknown


If tears could build a stairway,
And memories were a lane,
We would walk right up to heaven
To bring you down again.
No farewell words were spoken,
No time to say good-bye.
You were gone before we knew it,
And only God knows why.
Our hearts still ache in sadness
And secret tears still flow,
What it meant to lose you,
No one will ever know.
When we are sad and lonely,
And everything goes wrong,
We seem to hear you whisper
"Cheer up and carry on."
Each time we look at your pictures,
You seem to smile and say,
"Don't cry, I'm only sleeping,
We'll meet again someday."
~Unknown


To All Parents
"I'll lend you for a while a child of mine,"
He said.
"For you to love the while he lives and mourn for
when he's dead.
It may be six or seven years, or twenty-two or
three,
But will you, till I call him back, take care of
him for me?
He'll bring his charms to gladden you, and should
his stay be brief,
You'll have his lovely memories as solace for
your grief.
I cannot promise he will stay; since all from
earth return,
But there are lessons taught down there I
want this child to learn.
I've looked the wide world over in My search
for teachers true
And from the throngs that crowd life's lanes
I have selected you.
Now will you give him all your love, not think
the labor vain, Nor hate Me when I come to call to take him back again?"
I fancied that I that I heard them say, "Dear Lord,
Thy will be done!
For all the joy Thy child shall bring, the
risk of grief we run.
We'll shelter him with tenderness, we'll
love him while we may,
And for the happiness we've known, forever
grateful stay;
But should the angels call for him much sooner
than we've planned,
We'll brave the bitter grief that comes and
try to understand."
~Unknown


You never said you're leaving
You never said goodbye
You were gone before I knew it,
And only God knew why.
A million times I needed you,
A million times I cried.
If love alone could have saved you,
You never would have died.
In life I loved you dearly
In death I love you still
In my heart you hold a place,
That nobody could ever fill.
It broke my heart to lose you,
But you didn't go alone
For part of me went with you,
The day God took you home.
~Unknown


Don't let them say, I wasn't born
That something stopped my heart
I felt each tender squeeze you gave
I've loved you from the start.

Although my body you can't hold,
It doesn't mean I'm gone.
This world was worthy, not, of me
God chose that I move on.

I know the pain that drowns your soul,
What you are forced to face.
You have my word, I'll fill your arms
Someday we will embrace.

You'll hear that it was "meant to be,
God doesn't make mistakes"
But that won't soften your worst blow..
Or make your heart not ache.

I'm watching over all you do,
another child you'll bear.
Believe me when I say to you,
That I am always there.

There will come a time, I promise you
When you will hold my hand,
Stroke my face and kiss my lips
And then you'll understand.

Although, I've never breathed your air,
Or gazed into your eyes..
That doesn't mean I never "was"
An Angel Never Dies........
~Unknown


Please don't tell them you never got to know me
It is I whose kicks you will always remember,
I who gave you heartburn that a dragon would envy,
I who couldn't seem to tell time and got your days and nights mixed up,
It is I who acknowledged your craving for ice cream by knocking the cold bowl off your belly,
I who went shopping and helped you pick out the perfect teddy bear for me,
I who liked to be cradled in your belly and rocked off to dreamy slumber by the fire,
It is I who never had a doubt about your love,
It is I who was able to put a lifetime of joy into an instant.
~Unknown


Your little heart beating so strongly
All those months
Is silent.
Your little arms and legs
Moving so vigorously
Are still.

Milk falling like tears from your mother's breasts
Will never nourish you.
Your eyes will never sparkle
Your little voice forever silent.

Your mother and father hold you in their arms,
Timidly kissing your soft, smooth cheek
Caressing your tiny fingers
And whispering your name with tears.

We dream of holding you
Of watching you smile and grow
Our love is always with you
Though you will never know.
~Unknown


We couldn't wait to hold you
And see your pretty face.
To count your little fingers,
And check your toes are in their place.

It should have been the happiest day
To remember all our life.
But joy had turned to heartache,
No breath, no beat, no life.

We will never see you smile,
Or hear your hearty cry.
We will never be able to dry your tears,
Or share your happy times.

Our precious little Angel,
We will always know your face.
In our hearts and stars forever,
You will always have a place.
~Unknown

Vivianna Week, Day Six: Justin's Letter

Today's post for Vivianna Week comes from my friend Justin. Yes I know, Justin's passed away and he and Vivianna are hanging out together up in Heaven, but my best friend, Angel, has been searching diligently for something to post and he found an old letter that Justin had written to Vivianna and sent that to me. When I read it, I knew that I had to share it.

Hey Vic,

    I found this old letter that Justin had written to Vivianna when you were like four months along. Thought I’d send it to you for Vivianna Week. I’m still writing my post for you. I changed your name so that it said Daddy Vic rather than Mommy Vee-Vic, because you know that Justin used to call you Vic, but the letter was going into Vivianna’s baby book and he wrote it so that it would be understandable to her and your birth family. But that’s the only thing I changed besides the pronouns. Love you, sexy man. James says hi.

-A-

Dear Vivianna,

                I still remember the day that James, Angel and I got the phone call that your Daddy Vic was pregnant with you. We were shocked because your Daddy Vic has never been anything more than this self-assured, extremely vulnerable, more man than woman, in control person from the moment that we met as freshmen in high school, so the thought that he was pregnant was a shock to us. Because he seemed to have absolutely no control over anything (remind me to tell you about him talking about the morning sickness and tiredness. Your Daddy Vic is a way bigger drama queen than me). But Vivi, your daddy is happy that you are on your way. I’ve never seen him so happy. We’ve all gotten into the Vivi Spirit and gone crazy buying things for you. I’ve just bought you the cutest “baby diva” outfit. All in pink. Your Daddy Vic will probably be annoyed because he hates the color pink, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure that you wear it whenever you want to. You’re out perfect little girl. You are our miracle baby. A bunch of gay men are excited to have you as the baby that we all are going to share.

                I don’t know who is more excited though, your Daddy Christopher or me, because no matter what your Daddy Vic says, you are my baby. You are the child that he and I created back when we were sophomores in high school. We’d both always wanted children and had agreed to have children together. You are the reality of that dream, my sweet Vivianna. Because your Daddy Vic may be engaged to your Daddy Christopher, but he’s my soulmate. Always was and always will be.

                So you keep growing in there and we’ll see you soon, sweet Vivianna. And you’ll know who I am when you see me, I’ll be the gorgeous man holding you welcoming you to the world and telling you that I love you.

Love Always and Forever,

Justin

Your Uncle Daddy Justin Thomison

Vivianna Week, Day Four:Sammy Goode

Today's guest post for Vivianna Week is from Sammy Goode. The story that she shares is so touching and so amazing that I actually cried. So I hope you have some tissues handy. I think that I would have been honored to have Sammy as Vivianna's kindergarten teacher. Thank you for sharing this Sammy.

Mary’s Story

I want to tell you a story…a story about the resilience of children…of how they can bear extraordinary pain and continue to love unconditionally. 

Before I begin this story I want you to know three things:  1) this is a completely true story.  I had the amazing privilege of being a part of this little girl’s life for one year, over 10 years ago and in all that time, she has never left my memory—never.  2) Her name has been changed—this “little” girl is now 16 and, while I am quite sure she would not mind her story being told, I have no way to contact her so we will respect her privacy by using a false name.  3) This is not a happy story in the classic sense, but rather a story of courage and strength and the amazing power of love.

I had been teaching kindergarten for 5 years in a large school in the suburbs of Washington D.C.  Unlike some towns, this one was poorer than most—a sort of black mark on the county.  I lived two towns away and am ashamed to admit that every time I crossed over the border of the town in question, I thanked god that I did not live there.   The town reeked of poverty, cried out with neglected and forgotten people, and screamed for someone, anyone to notice.  But this town also held some of the most precious children to ever grace the earth.  Mary was one of them.

Mary was tiny for her age.  As a five year old, she barely reached the middle of my thigh and she was painfully thin.  No matter what season, Mary always wore the same thing to school, a short sleeved shirt that was gray with age, a dark blue cardigan and a pair of jeans with patched holes in both knees.  On top of her neatly plaited hair sat a pink bow that had turned slightly gray with age.  On her feet Mary wore a pair of sneakers that were taped with silver duct tape to cover the holes. 

By spring of her kindergarten year, Mary’s grandmother would cut the tops of the shoes away, leaving a modified sandal—not to give Mary ventilation but so that her toes stopped hurting as the shoes were almost a full size too small, and Mary was not due for her new pair until August, right before the beginning of the next school year.   The only big thing on Mary were her feet—they spoke of a little girl that should have long, graceful ebony limbs, made strong and sinewy from good nutrition.  Should…but did not.

Every day Mary came to school and had free breakfast and free lunch.  These two meals were most assuredly the only meals Mary most days.  Mary’s grandmother worked the evening shift and left Mary in the care of a neighbor woman.  The woman often sat Mary in front of the television and went about her evening, having already eaten her evening meal.  Mary simply went without.  At 9:30 in the evening, the neighbor would take the spare key to the next-door apartment where Mary and her grandmother lived and let Mary in, watch her get ready for bed and say goodnight.  She would then lock Mary into the apartment and go next door to her own. 

At about 2am, Mary’s grandmother would come home from work to a sleeping Mary, who had been alone for over 4 hours.  Mary confided in me right before graduation that she often cried herself to sleep because she was so scared being alone.  Remembrance of those little confidences cause guilt and bile to rise up inside me to this day.  How did I not see…why did I not know? 

The answer is perhaps because of Mary herself.  You see every day Mary came to school smiling, happy.  She would come into my room after eating her breakfast in the cafeteria and run over to me and hug me and say, “Good Morning, Mrs. G., I love you!”  And ever morning I would smooth down her hair and fix her bow and stroke her thin shoulders and say, “Good Morning Mary, I love you too!”  We would then start the day with the other students and as the morning progressed I would feel myself smiling whenever I would hear Mary’s breathless laugh, or sweet little giggle.

So by now, I am sure you are wondering many things.  Perhaps you are asking where child services was or why I, as Mary’s teacher, did not intervene.  Why didn’t the school report the grandmother?  Why didn’t someone, anyone buy Mary a new pair of shoes for god’s sakes?  Or give her grandmother a bag of groceries?  Where were Mary’s parents and why in god’s name did this child have to suffer?

I wish I could tell you that I was Mary’s hero.  That I made sure she had all the things I mentioned above and then some.  I truly wish I could tell you that Mary’s life changed; that she did not continue to live in bone-crushing poverty.  Unfortunately, if I did tell you those things I would be telling you a lie and at the beginning of this story I promised you the truth…and so here it is.

Mary’s father was in a maximum-security prison in the state of Maryland for stabbing his wife to death as Mary watched.  It was Mary’s grandmother—the same grandmother who left Mary each day rather than turn her over to social services where she most assuredly would have become a shell of the child she was, that stayed her son’s hand before he plunged that same kitchen knife into his own chest. 

They lived on less that $350 dollars a month and, while bone thin and small for her age, Mary went to the dentist every 6 months, was up to date on all her shots, and came to school clean and alert every day—this is what her grandmother could do for Mary and she did it fiercely, loyally, without hesitation.  Mary may have had less than pristine clothes because her grandmother could not afford a washing machine and hand washed their clothing, but Mary had good sturdy clean clothing…and believe it or not…Mary was content with that.

You see, the one thing that Mary and her grandmother did have which trumped all else was love.  Mountains of it…rivers of it…endless miles and miles of it.  From the raw and devastating hurt of a life lived on the edge of an abyss, they made a small island that was all theirs.  The love that shined in Mary’s eyes was there because even though she lay alone for those 4 hours each night she knew—she knew with a certainty beyond reason that at 2am her grandmother would come home and crawl into bed with her, and pull her close, kiss her gently and keep her safe the rest of the night.

Here is the real truth to this story, dear friends.  It is not what we own, or where we live, or how we dress that makes a home…no…it is the love that permeates every corner of our lives.  Love that wraps us up in it’s tender embrace and says, I will stand here between you and the world tonight and you will be safe…you will be loved…you will be my home and I will be yours. 

Every weekday morning, Mary’s grandmother would get up and walk Mary to school.  Two days a week, every week of the school year, I had front door greeting duty and morning breakfast monitoring.  I shared these duties with other staff members.  I remember remarking to a colleague about overhearing Mary’s morning ritual with her grandmother.  That teacher said she heard the exact same thing when it was her turn to man the door.  So I can tell you with certainty that when Mary and her grandmother reached the front door to our school they said the same farewell to each other every day…this is what they said:

“Mary, be a good girl today, learn everything you can and help your teacher.”

“Yes, Nana.”

“Remember Mary,”

“I’m your sunshine.”

“Yes, girl you surely are.”

Dear, dear friends, that is love…pure and simple, yet profound and lasting.

Vivianna Week, Day Three

Today's guest post for Vivianna Week, comes from my bestie and fellow author of Being Human, Patricia Lynne. It's a really sweet story and such a beautiful dedication to her sister Katy and her nephew Arik. Enjoy!


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I am not a maternal person. I think I was born without the ability. Plenty of people have told me time and time again, “That will change. Just wait.” And I’m still waiting. If anything, I think my urge to have kids of my own has shrunk. Of course, I’m not completely anti-kid. I have to amazing nephews with an equally amazing mom.

My big sister I seriously think needs the Mom of the Century, no of Time award. Like me, when she was younger, she didn’t want kids. They were the farthest from her mind. Then Emmet came along. He is one firecracker of a kid. His antics are just priceless. For Halloween, he dressed up as Billy the Exterminator. Seriously, how many kids do that? They want to be Superman or Spiderman. My sister takes it all in stride – after leaving the room to laugh her ass off.

But what really earns my sister the Mom of all Time award is her second son, Arik. In the womb, we knew Arik was going to pop out special. He had a cleft lip and palate and there was no knowing how bad it would be until he was born. And when he was born, it was a shock. He barely had an upper lip and the gap in his palate went all the way to his nasal cavity. And it didn’t just end there. He has a laundry list of issues, a ton of doctors he sees, and multiple surgeries planned in the future. It’s rough on my sister and her husband, and big brother, Emmet, doesn’t always help since he’s only six and doesn’t know better. Despite all that, it’s pictures like this

that shows how much all those medical problems and doctors appointment don’t matter to my sister. She’ll do it all, and on two hours of sleep, because her face says it all. I love my baby.



Unconditionally.


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About Patricia Lynne in Her Own Words:







A Story About Me



I am a born and raised Michigander and transplant yooper - that means I can hold my hands up and point to where I live in the upper peninsula of Michigan. My whole life I was always creative. I remember wanting to be a dancer when I was little. In middle school, my love for art started when I did a report on Pablo Picasso. I was also in band all of middle school and high school. My mom told me I couldn't quit because every year the senior band members went to Toronto Canada to see an musical and SHE WANTED TO GO. Which she did and honestly, I didn't mind. Having Mom chaperon meant I had a bank account with me the whole trip. Remember that kids, don't be ashamed to let your parents come on a field trip because all you have to do is hold out your hand when you see something you want.

I went to college at Grand Valley State for a grand total of 1.5 years. My major was art, naturally, but I didn't see where an art degree would take me and I wasn't really enjoying the work part so I dropped out. Please, no But you could have been an art teacher. I have the maternal instincts of a rock. In fact, a rock has MORE maternal instincts than I do. College wasn't a wasted experience though, I did learn a ton in my classes and I met my hubby in an anime chat room. DragonBall Z to be exact. I can be a big anime geek.

I moved back home and worked in a small restaurant called Weber's Rustic Inn. There I learned I loved to cook and arranging the food in a pleasing way was so much fun - even in the middle of a dinner rush. Between it all I started making jewelry and knitting. Eventually, I got a business license and opened a small store online called Patricia Lynne's Treasures. My hubby moved all the way from Mississippi to Michigan and enrolled in nearby Bay de Noc Community College. You should know in the UP of MI nearby means less than 200 miles. We moved in with a friend of his and when he transferred to Lake State Superior University we moved across the state. I eventually got a job in a small deli/coffee/bakery. It was the perfect job. I love baking but not necessarily eating what I made. I got to flex my creative muscles via sugar cookies -a love/hate job. April 1st 2011 we got married, the wedding, while impromptu and VERY informal, was a blast.

I don't remember when exactly it happened; maybe while my hubby was at Bay do Noc. I had a dream one night (and I always feel like I'm ripping off Stephenie Meyers when I say this but it's the truth) and in it there was this girl and a vampire, and the cast of True Blood was trying to keep them apart. I woke with the urge to write it - although not the True Blood part. So I did. As I went, I wasn't quite sure where it was going but that didn't deter me. I kept typing along and eventually I figured out who wanted to keep Kris and Kristen apart. After that another story came to me. Then another. And another. I couldn't stop and before I knew it I had a file for writing filled with stories - not all of them finished.

I've been writing ever since. The characters in my head fight for attention and sometimes I wish I had more hands and a few computers to type it all down. In November of 2010 decided to pursue publishing my stories.



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