Remembering Transplant Day

Cord blood, a nameless gift of deep, dark purple made its way slowly into my son's soft, five year old arm, while on his bed a toy train traced an oval track, blowing smoke for show. With unveiled irony, a massive oak dressed Caleb's window with perfect red leaves -- pretty and poised to fall.

Today, a melancholy song blows in quietly with the autumn breeze. I remember holding hope then. Then great lament. Lament, but then, not without Great hope. Wind and sky, even sidewalk trees with gilded leaves re-sound notes low and deep, like witnesses or companions to costly things I store and ponder. And I am not afraid to remember this day.

lovely gifts

These beauties are 13! Emma and Amanda bless me every single day with their love, humor, insight, creativity, and helpfulness. The light in those blue eyes spill over with the sweetest grace. I love you, my girls.