Wednesday, October 26, 2011


I want to thank everyone for all the very kind comments and messages after Monday evening’s post. As usually seems to be the case, the anticipation of the day was worse than the day itself, although the next day was considerably harder. I spent most of Tuesday feeling like I was carrying a large stone around my neck, or like someone had a vise on my heart and kept squeezing it tighter and tighter. It was not unlike how I felt almost every day back in the very beginning. Perhaps psychologically there is something more awful about her having been gone LONGER than she was here. Who knows? But it’s yet another terrible milestone that I’ve somehow survived.

I debated on Monday about whether to post about our latest sad milestone and Jackson’s 5-month birthday on the same day. Both of them seemed to deserve a day of their own. But it occurred to me that just as if Hudson were alive, she and Jackson will still have to share many, many things throughout the rest of our lives as a family. And we’ll all learn a lot about loving each other in the process.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I am possibly managing to carry all of this at one time. Every day with Jackson brings a new joy—he is the smiley-est, giggliest baby I ever saw, and he is such a gift. Sometimes, I look at that smile or we’re in the middle of cracking each other up, and I just start to cry, right in the middle of my tears. I am so happy and so sad all at the same time. Often it feels like my heart might actually burst from all that it is holding inside. And we’re still only at the very beginning of this very long journey without Hudson.

But it’s very little wonder how I am managing it all. My friend Kell, another grieving mom, recently shared the following with me in an email:

“On the nights where I go to bed and wonder how I got through the day, I think it’s because those are the days where I’m being carried by the thoughts and prayers of family and friends.”

And of course, she is right. I feel the same way. I have felt it from the very beginning of this long journey, from the very first time I posted on Facebook that Hudson might be facing a life-threatening illness. And Monday was no different. It was one in a long string of moments and days where I have felt that I was being carried.

I remain so grateful to all of you, each and every person in my real life and in my online world, who has at some point (or in some cases, continuously) carried me. Thank you.


  1. Mandy, you are a gift to those of us who grieve with you. Your words are so poignant, so beautiful. I hope there is comfort in sharing (and baring) your heart and soul. We don't want to live through this, but we do because we are not given a choice. Your bond will never be broken. I am so thankful for Hudson's life, and for yours. I love you.

  2. Mandy, I completely agree with all you wrote and with Helen's comment above :)
    When Veronica died, I was amazed by the kindness of friends and strangers alike in grieving with me and caring for me. That love definitely sustained me through some dark days.
    It's also amazing how profound loss as we've endured can lead to so many wonderful connections -- with existing friends and new ones made through shared grief. That's one good thing, imo.

  3. I never can find adequate words. Just know that I - one of many 'strangers' continually touched by Hudson's much too short, but wonderfully-lived, life- am heartbroken for you and what could have been. Both Hudson and Jackson are so blessed to have such a wonderful mama.

  4. Love to you and yours.

  5. Another stranger, with a girl born the same time you lost Hudson. Thinking of you often and living each day with all the more passion and appreciation for knowing of Hudson and your incredible love for her. Wishing you strength and peace.

  6. Mandy, please read the poem "Footprints in the Sand." It is not we who carry you. Blessings and prayers to you.

  7. i feel the weight of you , sometimes.not of hudson, who i feel as light.but you the mother. i think you'd be surprised which sentences of your makes me cry.not the saddest ones. i persevere through those. its the ones where your hope for some level of normalcy pokes its head in,something you can sink your teeth into and hold onto. the ones where you touch a bit of joy and then fall back.