But the world keeps spinning #justwrite #love4jlk
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I spent the last four days at a conference in New Orleans for work.
I'm hosting a Twitter party on Wednesday.
Jamie and I are discussing what to have for dinner.
Max is complaining about doing homework.
And Libby and Tony are spending what may be their very last week with their daughter, Jennifer.
I haven't written about Jennifer, and her mom, Libby, because I haven't been able to put the words together.
I sit at my keyboard, full of words, but can't see to type through the tears that invariably come.
Libby and I have been friends for years. We met online, as so many friends do now, and I immediately adored her for her straightforward honesty and humor. She and her husband, Tony, lost several pregnancies, and our message board friends rejoiced when finally, FINALLY, the world shone on them and they adopted their glitter girl, Jennifer, in 2007.
We rejoiced again when Libby announced a miracle pregnancy, and her first son was born. Then another, then Charlotte, less than a year ago. Their sweet Jennifer, the one who, “made [them] Mommy and Daddy instead of Libby and Tony” a loving and perfect big sister to her little brothers and new baby sister.
Then October came, and on Jennifer's sixth birthday. ON HER BIRTHDAY, they received the news no parent can imagine.
The words that came: Rare. Inoperable. Brain Stem. DIPG. Radiation. Nine months. Maybe two years.
This sweet, beautiful girl, so wanted, so loved, was diagnosed with a rare, aggressive brain cancer that will take her life, and she hasn't even gotten nine months. She has barely gotten three.
I am angry.
I feel helpless and angry and want to kick some ass and fix this for them, and I can't.
I don't understand how I can go on Facebook and people are still posting memes and complaining about commercials and the entire world hasn't screeched to a halt, holding their breath in prayer for the Kranz family.
We keep living, because we have to, but I can't wrap my mind around it.
Libby talks about after. I can hardly even fathom what MY life will be… after. Will I be a better mom to Max, because I knew Jennifer? I think I might. I'll aim to be more patient, get less irritated so quickly. More grateful for every moment, for every breath. Because every day is a gift.
I warned Max yesterday, after reading Libby's latest post, that he should expect lots of hugs and kisses from me. “But why, Mommy? I know you love me, you don't have to kiss me all the time.” But I can't tell him why. I can't tell him they're for me, not him. Just in case.
Because even if I'm angry and broken, we have to go on loving.
How you can help the Kranz family: Visit Jennifer's website at Love4JLK.org, make a tax-deductible donation if you can, read Libby's incredible words, watch and share Libby's plea, say a prayer, love your family, be kind to one another.
Our mom's group is also organizing a silent auction to be held on Feb. 22; proceeds will go to the Kranz family. If you're interested in donating for the auction, please contact me on my Facebook page. All donations are tax deductible.
Rejoice and be happy for every day we are given. I remember walking out on my driveway on the day of Justin’s funeral thinking that the world should just stop – it was hard to look around and see that it hadn’t! How can it just keep going like nothing has happened when my world was collapsing? But it does keep going and we find peace and joy again. What a lucky little girl to have found a loving family. A family who wanted her more than anything – her life is truly blessed and thats what counts. Weather she is given 6 years- 21 years – 43 years or 100 – being loved is all that really matters:)
It is unimaginable. My thoughts and prayers are with them.
I heard about this family a few days ago… I can’t wrap my brain around it either (and I don’t know them personally). You’re right, we have to go on loving.
And loving.
And loving.
Oh my heart.I will spread the word. Love you. xoxo
Thank you for sharing this. In 2012, my beautiful, perfect 16-month old baby girl was diagnosed with a cancer called neuroblastoma. This is something that happens to “other people” – until it happens to you. My Sabrina is a miracle, now 3 years old and healthy, with THE most amazing red curls you will ever see. ๐ I know you feel helpless right now, but please know you are not! We NEED you and your heart and your voice! Together we need to say it is not ok that DIPG remains uniformly fatal, that high-risk neuroblastoma has a survival rate of 30%, and that we don’t invest in the research that will lead to cures for our children. It’s just not ok. We can’t let the world keep spinning unawares. There are so, so many ways to take action, and it’s not hard. We do have to go on loving, and love is a verb. ๐