Purple for Maddie, devastation for Gorillabuns, love for the community
We hit the road this morning and all I could think about was how and when and where I’d have the chance to post this picture of us, this purple blessing, in time for Maddie’s burial — when word came through that there’s been another one. Another unfathomable loss, a double punch to the kidney, and My God how can this be happening? And so we stopped almost halfway home and I’m here with the Internet, sliding unnaturally atop some faux-fabric bedspread, my head propped up by styrofoam hotel pillows, my heart propped up by the (guilty) knowledge that my own children are splashing happily in the pool downstairs and that I don’t know this horrifying loss, and I didn’t know these sweet, sweet children, but I know this love and even a touch of the weight of the idea of anything happening to them is enough to crush me flat in an instant.
Eight hours in the car today and I kept checking Twitter on my phone, and I swear for the first time ever I’m not annoyed by hashtags, I’m seeking them out, the #maddie’s, the #thalon’s, like beacons, and it’s so strange, isn’t it? In times of great confusion and profound tragedy we just want to be among others who are equally impacted, like after Columbine or September 11, and so this is what we do, we head to the chapels and the temples and the public parks and the malls and we shuffle together slowly, as one, taking comfort in the lull of the sound of our communal footsteps and that’s really what the blogosphere has become to me, you know? And everyone was there today, following the hashtags, each tweet and post a gonging of the bell, the Church of Twitter.
And look what it has done, what it’s still doing. $30,000 raised for the March of Dimes, another $10,000 for her bereft parents. Articles, blog posts, walks organized in dozens of states, real, tangible help and hope for people who can barely breathe right now, and it’s repeating itself for Thalon as I type. Not bad for a “pretend” world, huh?
I know these sweet children are not in pain and so tonight I am praying for the parents left behind, not only for Heather and Shana, but also for the women who feel this ache more acutely, more keenly, than the rest of us will ever know, for as we are imagining this special kind of horror and shuddering, they are actually remembering and combusting all over again. For Kate. For Tanis. For Betsey. For Loralee. For Shan. For Auds. For Jill. For Won. For my Aunt Kat. For all the rest I haven’t named here, and I know there are many, so many, too many. Tonight I want you to think of my prayers, our prayers, like fireworks with infinite sparks, hot and fierce and bright, and not a one of us will burn out. I hope it will bring you just enough light to see at least the first foot or two of your path. I wish there were brighter words.
***
For the grieving: Glow in the Woods
To help Thalon’s family click here.
To help Maddie’s family:
Loralee says:
Crying.
Just CRYING and aching.
For everyone.
xoxoxoxoox
April 13th, 2009 at 7:04 pm
natalie says:
beautiful post. so good to recognize those who have walked in heather and shana’s shoes. thank you.
April 13th, 2009 at 7:06 pm
Jennifer H says:
So hard to tell what is salt or salve on a day like today, because all of it just hurts like hell. (Your words, though, are salve. I’m sure of that much.)
April 13th, 2009 at 7:11 pm
FireMom says:
This was an amazing, wonderful and simultaneous heartbreaking post. Thank you for finding the time, for making the time, to get it written.
April 13th, 2009 at 7:36 pm
sam {temptingmama} says:
Beautiful, as always M.
My heart feels like it’s been ripped from my chest and stomped on. *sigh*
April 13th, 2009 at 7:45 pm
pgoodness says:
This is beautiful – you are amazing and wonderful.
April 13th, 2009 at 7:45 pm
MereCat says:
Beautiful post. So sorry you had to write it. Such horrible tragedies.
April 13th, 2009 at 7:55 pm
bikerchick says:
Oh my; that was breathtaking. Church of Twitter. I say “Amen” to that and to the hashtag beacons.
April 13th, 2009 at 7:58 pm
won says:
Just make it stop. PLEASE.GOD.
As Maggie said, I am combusting all over again. Or should I say still?
Then I wonder how it is I can even type that about myself when it is my precious daughter who lost her life, and her son and their daughter, and so on…those are the ones who have really lost.
How can I sit here and cry for me when it is the children who have suffered the ultimate loss, the loss of their life?
I am only left here in this walking hell praying to get out. I am tired of fighting the fight here. I am ready.
I love you my precious Olivia…and love never dies.
Peace to all…someday, somehow.
April 13th, 2009 at 8:04 pm
SP says:
You. YOU have such a great and amazing soul.
I am so blessed to be your friend.
April 13th, 2009 at 8:08 pm
Chrissy says:
At this moment my frustrations of the day are nothing, nothing at all. My heart, my tears are with these families.
April 13th, 2009 at 8:20 pm
Jennifer says:
All of this has been so horryifying. I physically ache for these parents–I can’t even imagine how they must feel.
April 13th, 2009 at 8:34 pm
sweetsalty kate says:
I’ve been stunned into uselessness this past week or so. All I’ve managed is to whisper “come over here when you’re ready”, trying to get the word out to fellow babylost parents to be with us at Glow in the Woods.
It’s kept me human, stoking that fire. And as sad as I am that more lovely mamas and daddies join our midst, I’m glad to be there with the other contributors to offer a warm spot to sit and be heard, or to just absorb what’s familiar and feel less alone.
Your space is another radiant glow, Maggie. thank you so much.
xo
April 13th, 2009 at 8:56 pm
Keely says:
This is beautiful. I wish I were “meeting” you under happier/completely different circumstances.
April 13th, 2009 at 9:20 pm
Libbey says:
thank you. Maddie’s Mom and Dad, Grandparents, family and everyone who loves her are in our prayers. your post is beautiful.
Libbey, Emma and Sally
April 14th, 2009 at 12:02 am
tiff says:
It hits you hard, so hard and I have been crying all day on the other side of the world for a family I do not know and a little girl I have never met.
Such a beautiful post.
April 14th, 2009 at 12:26 am
Joe @ Irrational Dad says:
Found you through a retweet on Twitter. Great post. I’ve been giving my son the fiercest hugs I’ve ever given him. He tries to push away sometimes, but I just can’t let him.
I’ve been thinking of those two families about nonstop, unable to imagine how one is able to cope with such a loss.
April 14th, 2009 at 3:28 am
Kelley @ Magnetoboldtoo says:
Every time I see a post about this I get that sick feeling again. The feelings rush back again.
Just like it will for these families.
A breath. A laugh. A smile. And then it will all come crashing down again.
If I was the praying kind, I would. I will just have to settle for hoping that they can feel the love of the world wrapping around their shoulders today.
And tomorrow.
April 14th, 2009 at 3:54 am
Megan says:
Thank you for letting us know of ways that we can help. I can’t even imagine their loss.
April 14th, 2009 at 5:19 am
Coast Rat says:
Beautifully put, Maggie, as usual. My thoughts and prayers to the families.
April 14th, 2009 at 5:41 am
catnip says:
You have such a beautiful heart Maggie. You made me cry all over again.
April 14th, 2009 at 5:46 am
Nicole says:
I was following you yesterday and saw the Thalon news. I could barely believe that another child had been lost.
Just reading these and other stories about the death of a child convinces me that maybe this, this is the real reason that I’ll never have one. Not that I can’t be trusted with one or that I might inflict some undoable damage or some harbored fears of my gene pool.
No. I truly believe that that’s not where my weaknesses are. The real Achilles heel just may be that I could never survive losing one.
May the hearts and minds of these grieving parents find solace in this time of the unthinkable. These are losses far beyond words.
April 14th, 2009 at 5:58 am
Mojo says:
That photo of you and the Maglets is more than beautiful. It’s hope. It’s a mom passing on the power of one of the greatest hearts I know to the next generation and it’s that generation paying close attention and assimilating those lessons in how to be.
There are times, I swear, when I shake my fist at the sky and snarl, “You’re fucking with people that don’t deserve it and that’s not okay with me!“. And I feel better for about six seconds until I read a post like this one or this one and the grief and the pain and the anger rise up in my throat again and I know there’s no chance I’ll ever be able to say enough, do enough, feel enough to ever purge it all.
Sometimes, there’s just not enough rocks.
April 14th, 2009 at 7:41 am
Betsey says:
Like the big jerk I am, I’ve been laying low since I found out about Maddie. Acting like a bigger jerk than usual.
I didn’t realize how raw my insides still were until this happened.
Maybe I can’t ignore it anymore. Maybe I can still just be quietly sad for all of them.
April 14th, 2009 at 8:18 am
blissfully caffeinated says:
It’s so incredibly sad. I can’t stop thinking about the Spohr’s today.
P.S. Your girls are beautiful!
April 14th, 2009 at 8:23 am
A Jill of All Trades says:
I can’t imagine the pain they are going through. I have lost a child due to a miscarriage, but I wasn’t able to see my child physically, to hear its laugh, to kiss its cheek, to smell its skin. To have lived with the personality and the physical being and have to detach myself from that completely……I don’t want to know what that is like and hope that I don’t have to. I hope that none of us ever have to.
But I also know sometimes life Just. Isn’t. Fair.
And I’m so sorry. I have wept for you. My heart and soul ache for you.
April 14th, 2009 at 8:46 am
merlotmom says:
that was beautiful. thank you.
April 14th, 2009 at 2:48 pm
witchypoo says:
There is so much heartbreak this week on the internet. I, too, felt that these events made old wounds new again. The sadness is palpable. Thank you for your eloquent post.
April 14th, 2009 at 4:20 pm
Postmarc says:
How do you do that? How do you collectively pull us together as we are being ripped apart? Heart hugs don’t even begin to say thanks for always, always reminding us of what is truly important. We see things differently through your eyes, your powerful words–and I, for one, am changed. Thank you for lighting our way.
April 14th, 2009 at 8:35 pm
Heather says:
Thanks for giving me a small way to help Maggie.
April 14th, 2009 at 8:50 pm
flutter says:
this is sweet of you
April 14th, 2009 at 9:50 pm
Lady Fi says:
Very moving.
I ache for these losses and all the other unnamed ones around the globe.
April 15th, 2009 at 1:16 am
jill says:
I know first hand the pain of loosing a child, my prayers are with the family
April 15th, 2009 at 4:05 pm
Ann's Rants says:
Beautiful photo. Tragic stories. I’m glad you mentioned the “combusting all over again” bit…so true.
April 15th, 2009 at 6:01 pm
A Free Man says:
The longer I’m around the more I get this sense of community. That blogger friends aren’t pretend and that’s a really cool thing. This thing with Madeline has hit me, as I imagine it has all parents, harder than I ever thought and my heart just hurts when I think of Mike and Heather. I read Mike’s blog before he packed it up and I know just how much he adored that little girl.
April 15th, 2009 at 11:47 pm
Sugar Jones says:
This “invisible” world has become my home. The people I hugged on Tuesday understood that as much as I understood why we all stood there for a woman we would never have met were it not for our stories and our blogs and our hearts that kept searching for the people just like us that we knew were out there.
And yes, I am still so completely amazed at how our world profoundly stopped for the loss of a teeny, tiny, precious, angel leaving our world too soon.
April 16th, 2009 at 8:36 am
Candance says:
How very, very sad and yes, I guess this is a “pretend world”, but in this pretend world we get a glimpse inside each other’s lives and we see each other’s trials and tribulations, and we kind of do feel like we know each other. It’s hard to see people you “know” hurt. This makes me want to scoop up both my kids and never let go of them.
April 16th, 2009 at 1:21 pm
tysdaddy says:
After my own week filled with loss, this reminder of how precious life is . . . is welcome indeed.
Thanks for your thoughts, my friend . . .
April 17th, 2009 at 6:18 am
bejewell says:
Very proud to be a part of this community, where we can all share so much love, humor, insight and even true grief without ever even meeting face-to-face. I stand in awe of the power these electronic connections can wield over us. Much love to the Spohrs, Gorillabuns, all the mothers you mentioned who’ve suffered and somehow survived the worst loss imaginable, and to YOU, Maggie — you and your amazing voice that puts words to the feelings we all share.
April 17th, 2009 at 7:35 am
Musing says:
So very, very sad. There just are no words.
April 17th, 2009 at 7:54 pm
Woman in a window says:
Beautifully put in the face of something that doesn’t hold beauty, but only loss. Prayers and thoughts and hopes and care, it’s all we have for each other.
April 19th, 2009 at 1:52 pm
Lee of MWOB says:
I’ve read a lot about Maddie and this is probably the post that makes the most sense to me. Too much to ramble about here in your comment section but boy, you have a beautiful way with words…as you must know.
Thanks for some much needed clarification….
April 19th, 2009 at 5:11 pm
Kelly says:
So painful. So, so painful. I’ve said it before…that the mere imagining of losing one of my children can send me into a hole so black and deep, I just cannot fathom the reality.
And so I’m touched reading all the support that surrounds these families. I hope they feel buoyed and strengthened. They are certainly in my prayers.
April 19th, 2009 at 6:25 pm
Amanda says:
Damnit all.
April 21st, 2009 at 7:51 am