Cian's 7th Birthday

This post is a little delayed but I wanted to write about Cian's 7th (yes 7th!) birthday.

Cian wanted a Ninjago birthday party.  Ninjago is the Lego ninja universe and my kids love it.   Birthday parties make me nervous.  I want them to be great for my kid but also the other kids and I worry that kids won't come and that my kid will be disappointed.  Basically, there's a lot of anxiety in my head about them and my kids are totally fine and just excited.  It's hilarious that I can do all these high stress things at work and then can freak over a childhood birthday party.

Since our house isn't completely ready from the longest renovations of all time we decided to have the birthday party outside of our house.  BEST. DECISION. EVER.  Cian invited a number of kids from his class and Keith had the daunting task of trying to slip invitations into their bags at school without making other kids not feel bad.  Cian would have invited everyone but that was a bit much for us. All but two of them could come (including 2 girls) and Cian was excited for weeks.  I had showed him the website for Kid City but he had never been and both Cian and Emily were VERY excited to go.

We got to Kid City and they prepped everything. It was a well-oiled machine and totally worth the money.  The party was for 3 hours and the kids ran around for almost all of that time.  Only stopping very briefly to eat and have some Ninjago cupcakes.  I got to interact with his friends while pouring juice and handing out pizza and they are all lovely kids.  It completely warmed my heart to see how fantastic these little humans are.  One of his friends was sick but wanted to come so much that he came for the last hour with his dad and Cian made sure that he was set up with juice and food and sat right beside him.  Basically these kids were great and it was amazing to see.  My anxiety evaporated and I loved watching them have so much fun.

After the kid party we had our Winnipeg "family" come over for a noodle making party.  I had made ninja headbands for the kids (they weren't that into them) and for the adults (who were psyched to wear them) and we set up our noodle bowls for dinner.  It was all topped off with the Lego ninja temple cake (not my best work but Cian liked it) and lots of hugs and laughter.

I can't believe my oldest "baby" is seven.  The time has gone so fast and despite the challenges he faces he is such a wonderful, kind and caring human being and I was truly touched to see that other kids can see that too.

Happy Birthday Ninja Cian!  Your ninja parents love you so very very much.

The Bow and Arrow

Cian has been saving money in a container on his beside table for the better part of a year.  The mission has never wavered : he wanted a bow and arrow.  He had saved his tooth fairy money and some money from odd jobs around the house and mostly he had cleverly followed his absent-minded father who often left piles of small change lying around.  The other day he professed to me with gleeful excitement that he was "so rich".

Yesterday, driving back from a party where the kids were well-behaved I told Cian that the following day, since he had enough money, he could go and purchase his bow and arrow.  His jaw actually dropped and then widened into a huge grin.

Last night he made sure his container of coins was right beside his head and the instant he woke up he ran to my side of the bed and asked if it was time to go to the store (it was 2 hours before the store opened).

We spent the morning lovingly separating every type of coin into piles and then counting each dollar, writing the numbers on the bags and ensuring every dollar was accounted for.  He had $28 dollars in coins (and probably only "earned" a few of them and had maybe $6 from lost teeth).  This means the remainder he got from lost coins which is amazing when you think about it  ($8 in dimes!) He inspired his sister to save now as she saw how much he had accumulated and she asked her dad for a piggybank so she could start saving too.

We headed to the store with Cian holding his bag of coins.  I got distracted a bit by games at the front of the store and he said to me "Mom remember why we came!"  He was a man on a mission.

We got the Nerf section and there were crazy expensive crossbows and some Zombie slayer guns and I was a little nervous.  He managed to find one lonely orange bow with 4 different kinds of soft arrows - the best option available after I looked at everything - and that was the one he wanted.  It was $24.99 and perfect.  He was sure in his choice and went up to the till and gave the man his money bags and purchased his bow. He had $3 extra which the man gave him back as his bag of nickels was exactly $3.  He was very proud and happy (and so was his mother).

On our way home I asked Cian what he was going to save for next since he had his leftover $3.  Without hesitation he said he was going to give it to Emily for her piggybank.  His kind heart filled mine to the brim.

We got home and Cian gave his extra money to Emily and said "Here Em it's your turn - this is for your piggybank".  She danced around, kissed his hand and shouted for joy like her brother had given her the moon.  He usually does.

My Reflective Birthday

Today I turned 36 years old.  It doesn't seem possible as I still feel really young but last night I watched City Slickers and realized that Billy Crystal's midlife crisis happens at the age of 39 and that I am truly not that far from that.

I don't think I'm having a midlife crisis (at least not yet) but it does feel strange to arrive here near the orbit of mid life and be honestly pretty happy about how things are turning out.

Certainly there have been ups and downs in 36 years and loves and losses too but in general there is a lot to be thankful for - even in the messy bits.  Gratitude seem to be the galoshes you step into as you walk around the parts of your life that remind you of all the happiness - both the things that make you happy and the hard things that remind you to be happy.

At the end of every day I ask the kids what the favourite part of their day was.  It's our reminder before falling into dreamland of all the things to be grateful for that day.  On a bigger scale when we have birthdays or anniversaries in our house we remember our happiest part of the previous year.   Sometimes we also dig around in the hardest part too as remembering can sometimes take you in those places as well.  This year my happiest and hardest part of the year were the same part.

Our beautiful son who fills our house and hearts with so much joy has struggled in his six years of life.  We noticed it early as he wasn't particularly interested in talking even though he was a very social kid.  Saliva control and issues with feeding were also early signs that something was going on for him.  He met all his milestones and he was a very social kid and people could tell us what it wasn't (i.e. he didn't have autism) but they weren't really sure what it was.  He started speech and language help by the time he was 2 and things slowly moved forward with speech but it was certainly slow.  He loved preschool and had friends but he needed a little help - communication was hard and often he seemed to be like a german shepherd puppy, a big spirit in a body that hadn't caught up yet.  No one seemed to be able to figure him out, this was particularly disheartening for his doctor mother who has/had the idea that if you work hard enough at something you can always "fix" it.  We took him to doctors, most of whom were terrible, who diagnosed him with "global developmental delay" which I believe is a terrible diagnosis, wasn't true in our case and is wildly unhelpful.  Take note, paediatricians, that terminology should be worked on.  In our case it wasn't true because we knew (and he had been tested so we objectively knew) that cognitively there wasn't a problem but often it was like we were living with someone who had a stroke, he worked so hard to get a word out that we knew and he knew that he already knew.  Because he is such a loving kid and because he met all his milestones, people we knew and the doctors we took him too, reassured us that we were over-reacting about certain things and that further testing wouldn't really be of benefit.  He had a great doctor in Melbourne that said the same thing, someone I highly respect and trust.

We came home from Australia and pushed a little harder.  Part of the workup is an MRI and I hesitated on that front because an MRI for a kid means a general anesthetic which has risks.  We finally decided it was worth the risk.  We all went together and our brave little boy went off to sleep and into the MRI machine.  We didn't hear anything about the MRI for many weeks and everyone told us that it was very likely to be normal (which is another reason we hesitated to do it) so when Keith took him to the geneticist (another part of the workup - his genetic tests are totally normal) and I asked him to get a copy of the MRI report (for completeness) we were shocked. I still feel bad for the geneticist as he had no idea that he was walking into an MRI that he would have to explain when he didn't order it or really completely understand it. Cian had two injuries to his brain - one that likely happened very early in development and one that happened later around the time of delivery.  It was unlikely his actual delivery (which was fine) but could have been as simple as an infection that I didn't have any symptoms of (because I was never unwell in the pregnancy).  The genetics doctor stumbled through the explanation of the MRI report to Keith, mumbled something about "birth asphyxia" and suggested we talk to our paediatrician (who absolutely should have called us with that report).  Keith came home to his post-call wife who subsequently became hysterical about the MRI report.  There were several hours of crying in my room before a sense of calm where I realized we finally had an idea of what was going on for Cian.

Cian has cerebral palsy.

The signs now are everywhere: his right foot turns in when he is tired and is walking or running, his oral motor control, his difficulty with speech is directly related to the motor issues of getting the words out.  He has to work 10 times as hard as the rest of us to say what he wants to say.  That was a hard day but also a day I finally felt things starting to shift - after six years of trying to work through a medical system that I work in that wasn't working for my kid.

I was oddly calm with the fact that I knew he had cerebral palsy but I didn't officially have that diagnosis until it was made by someone other than Cian's non-neurologist/gynecologist mother.  So then I mama warriored everyone in order to get him a diagnosis.  I went to the head of paediatric neurologist in his clinic, introduced myself, told him I thought my son had CP and asked him to read the MRI report.  I was a woman on a mission.  The neurologist talked to me on the phone and explained the MRI while I was in the airport awaiting an international flight, a tremendous professional courtesy.  There was then a 2 year waiting list to get an "official" diagnosis and letter so thank goodness the ward clerk for my clinic and the neuro clinic are the same person and we finally got him in to see a paediatric neurologist.  That was my best day.  Dr. Appendino and his resident spent 2 hours with Cian (as opposed to the 15 minutes he was given before a diagnosis of global developmental delay by other doctors).  They figured out his major areas of difficulty, they figured out the things he liked to do, they asked us our expectations of the visit, they talked about Cian's strengths and they outlined in detail what likely happened to his brain and explained it so a doctor and a non-doctor could understand.  They cared about him.  They could see him as the amazing kid that he is.  They could see that there were things he excelled at - they believed us when we talked about all the physical things that he could do - his amazing low brace in a canoe, his flips on the trapeze, his amazing swimming ability and total domination at video games.  They explained that even though he's never had one he is at lifelong risk of seizures.  I tried to wrap my head around the future do's and don't's for him and Dr Appendino blessed me with a phrase I constantly remind myself of...

"Don't collapse his life."

I can't begin to tell you how much that day meant to our family.  I didn't know what to do so, of course, I baked my feelings - bienenstich is the hardest thing I know how to make and is the biggest labour of love so that is what Dr. Appendino and his staff got.  When medical care is done right it can truly change people's lives.

There have been challenges since then and surely more to come but we now have a better understanding of what is going on for our kid who had no way of telling us what was happening for him because he knew no other way.  I have been immensely blessed by women who have kids with far greater challenges than mine who have extended such kindness and support to me as I try to come to an understanding of what our future looks like as we walk with this gift of a kid.  I see my job in a new way as I live and love everyday the "worst possible outcome of obstetrics".  I am so blessed to have cared for incredible girls and young women with CP so that I have an idea of how wonderful Cian's future could be.

So I sit hear in my "gumboots of gratitude" waist deep in the mud of a midlife "crisis" I wasn't expecting and realizing that I am so thankful this year for greater understanding, for hope in the future, for truly caring doctors, for slow positive progression and for the tremendous gift of being Cian's mom.  Today as he went off to school he whispered to his sister to decorate the hall with balloons for my birthday, he turned to me, flashed that amazing smile and gave me a full-body hug.  "Happy Birthday" he said to me with such sincerity that it caught in my throat and brought tears to my eyes.  The beauty of knowing that it's hard for your kid to talk is that every word counts, nothing is wasted and that's not lost on me.  It is a truly happy birthday.

Dear Morgan

You are loved.

You came into our lives with big eyes and an open heart and we poured all the love into it we had been waiting to give you.

And you smiled.

You are part of our collective family that surrounds you with support, bear hugs and sloppy kisses.

You are loved.

One of my deepest desires in this life was to know you

To see you

To cuddle you and have you giggle

To see how you light up your parents' life

And how that light shines to the rest of us

The road before you may take you on twists and turns

It might take you to dark places and you may have wondered where your light has gone.

But it's there 

You might have to get down on your knees and blow on the coals for a while

Or flap a plate wildly

Or cheat a bit and use some paper to rekindle it

But it's always there inside of you. 

I held a candle for you today 

And I always will

So that you know you always have a safe place to come to

To help you know it's safe to spread your wings

That it's okay to try and fail and try again 

That you can question and wonder and dream.

But the truth is 

The light was inside you all along.

You are loved.

Peace and Love now and always,

Your very honoured Godmother, Auntie Amanda

Refugees

On our way home from the funeral last week we took an early flight out of Abbotsford.  I had plans with girlfriends that night and we were eager to get home from the exhaustion of the happenings of the last few days.  My cousin Syd was on our flight, his second flight ever so Emily was showing him the ropes.  Our dads were anxious that we would make it on time which is a bit funny for anyone who has seen the postage stamp that is the Abbotsford airport.  We had lots of time to play tag in the airport parking lot with Great uncle Garry and Aunty Toby and to eat funeral danishes out of the back of the car.  Once we were through security Emily made fast friends with another boy in the waiting area.  Before we knew it we were at our departure time and we still hadn't boarded.  I had thought about the fog as we had driven through it to get to the airport but there was no mention of delays so I wasn't worried.  Then they got on the intercom and canceled the flight - the pilots couldn't land.

You have to love Canadians for not making a fuss.  We all went back to the ticket area, all of us grateful that the pilots had made the harder but safer choice.  No one was yelling.  Some were stressed about getting to their destinations but were happy with the Westjet employees for their assistance.  Even though we were displaced from our original plans all seemed to be well and I ended up getting Emily and I on the next flight going to Edmonton which my parents and brother were on.  The fog hadn't seemed to abate yet though so I was skeptical that we would actually leave on that flight.  And as we lined up for security the second time my questions were answered - our second flight was also canceled.

Back on the phone with Westjet who was thoroughly apologetic because they knew we were flying for bereavement (not that fog is their fault).  I decided we should fly out of Vancouver and booked an afternoon flight out of Vancouver and so did my dad and my mom rented a car and we drove to the Vancouver airport.  All in all it was pretty easy to do but I was struck by all the people in the airport on their cell phones trying to get home to their safe spaces.  It was striking to hear so much about refugees over the last few weeks and to be stranded with a bunch of Canadians with luggage and altered plans trying to get home or to loved ones.  This is even more striking when I had just said goodbye to one of the most important people in my life who also came to this country as a refugee.

My grandparents on both sides were refugees.  They had been persecuted in Russia for being Mennonite and were conscripted to the war or worked gruelling conscientious objector duty.  My grandmother talked to us as children about how people came and took everything from the farm - they found every sac of flour - they looked in between door jams and took it all.  She watched my son run around with bittersweet happiness remembering that she had been so malnourished that she didn't walk until she was 4.  I remember the stories of the soldiers coming to rape my great aunts and how my grandmothers siblings all held hands to keep them at bay in the middle of the night.  I know the stories of how my Uncle almost didn't make the train to escape Russia with my Oma.  I watched my great aunt shake my whole life for how hard she'd been worked in Siberia.  I heard only a fraction of the stories and I know that they all suffered.  Making it to Canada was always a part of the prayer over an evening meal together - the blessing of security was not lost on them.

I think about that as I watch the Syrian refugee crisis and the Canadian response to it.  We have so much in this beautiful country and most of us came from somewhere else.  Fear is not the appropriate response.  I'm not a political science person but for the people that are afraid that accepting refugees will threaten our national security - don't you think that pouring love into people who have lost everything will return love for our country one hundred fold?  I think most Canadians believe that we can do better and I truly hope that's reflected in how we vote for the country we want moving forward.  I want to be proud of our country again.  Canadians are amazing people and our leadership should reflect that.

So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.” ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

Grandpa's Funeral

We said goodbye to my definition of the "best man" (Note: Keith is a close second and my dad is pretty great too).  Nonetheless, my grandpa was the man I compared all men to.  It's hard when the immortal in your mind succumb to their mortality.

My parents, Emily and I flew in the day before the funeral to get things ready. I had the music and we had to ensure that the technology of the seemingly stuck in time Mennonite church would be compatible with all my Apple gear.  We met the pastor of the church who I have known since we were young at camp and who we have met with as each of my grandparents have passed over the last few years.  He had gone to see my grandfather the day he died and although Grandpa struggled for words under his dementia and delirium he managed an "Amen" for Pastor Brown.

We finally figured the technology (it took a bit of work) and went back to the hotel.  I had shown my parents the slideshow before we went to the church. They both liked it which was a relief because it's hard to do something so personal on behalf of your family. My mom loved the songs too which seemed to fit perfectly in my 2am decision-making stupor but were still meaningful for her in the light of the day.  My brother came that night and watched it and my grandpa's tag phrase "well there you go" is written at the end and my brother burst into tears. The grief comes in waves.

The next morning we met up with family over breakfast and got ready for the graveside.  My "baby cousins" and I had only seen each other 3 weeks ago and this was far different circumstances.  The tears bubbled up and wouldn't be denied.  I met my cousin Kelly's boyfriend Kyle and went to shake his hand and he hugged me.  I told him that I had been waiting to meet him - he was the sunshine of my day.  Emily and I had a big talk about how she had to be quiet at the graveside.  Her tante Betty gave her a flower and she was very good.  She was quiet for the prayers and put her gerbera daisy on the casket in her bobby socks and Mary Jane shoes.  I told Em to go and hug Uncle Brandon's hand and she went up to him and said "Boo!"  I promptly shushed her but then realized that is exactly what my grandpa would have said. There in the hot midday sun I stood arm in arm with my Aunt Betty and at the same time we said how Grandpa would have loved that sunny day - he would have been outside not wearing a shirt.  Great minds think alike and speak aloud at the same time.

We had a quick trip to Starbucks before the church service.  Emily entertained with her strawberry milkshake and her singing and giggles.  Before we headed to the church I walked her around the pond behind the hotel.  A middle-aged Aboriginal lady asked the time and since my cell phone was at the church for the music it was the first time I hadn't known in a really long time.  Lily talked to Emily and asked her how she was and Emily went and held her hand for a minute.  The man sitting with Lily asked how "mom" (that's me) was doing because "they cared about mom too"  - it was so reminiscent of the walks I used to make with my grandfather.  People would always come up to him and talk about anything and soon it felt like they had known each other forever.  Everyone was a friend for Grandpa - just waiting to be discovered. 

The music at the church wasn't the orchestra I would have wanted for him but it was the familiar songs that he would have played loudly on the record player.  We walked in to "Shall we gather at the River" and I can hear him singing it.  Aunty Betty went first with the Eulogy. She referenced how my grandpa used to always have a quote when he would write cards to us and he did.  I treasured those cards and the thoughtfulness he put into the words he chose.  Bets settled on Winnie-the-Pooh and friends to help weave her story about the man my grandfather was.  She talked about how he was a wealthy man - not in money perhaps but in all the ways that truly count.  I think of how some of my medical colleagues talk about how they can't afford things and I am baffled that I had a childhood where I felt like I wanted for nothing on a far more meager salary in my grandparents' home.  She talked about his faith, his work ethic, his love of music and his gratitude.  That he certainly has instilled in all of us - we can credit him for that.  How thankful he was for everything he had here in Canada, all the people he met, the food on his table and the faith in his heart.  Bets did such a good job or representing what Grandpa meant to her and in turn what he meant to all of us.  My dad read a piece that he had written a few months ago about my Grandpa and how he was preparing for his chapter beyond this life.  It centred around the hymn Blessed Assurance which we sang subsequent to that and all of us were holding hands and bawling.  The soprano just couldn't do it on that one - the music caught in my throat. 

My cousin Syd, who seems to have grown up suddenly into a man and a dad, read my grandpa's favourite scripture reading and we all watched the slideshow together, again in tears.  My second cousins on my Grandpa's side laughed about how my aunties on my grandma's side cooed at my grandpa's picture from younger days but you can't blame them - he was a looker.  At the end the pastor spoke and shared some personal stories about Grandpa where he also got choked up and had a hard time getting his words out too.  That is how beloved my grandfather was - not just by his family but by everyone that knew him.  The pastors words meant a lot to all of us.   

After the service we had some refreshments downstairs at Eden church which feels the same as when I was a little girl.  My dad's siblings had come to pay their respects as well as other people I had meant through a lifetime of loving my grandparents - neighbours, fellow residents at the senior estates, quilters, church workers and extended family.  It was nice to be around people who knew what a gem of a person we had lost.  After the service Emily was so hyper after hours of being quiet (and she did it - Hallelujah!)  She ran around the hall downstairs and my second cousin lifted her high to touch the ceiling just like I remember his dad doing to us when we were small.  Kyle (Kelly's boyfriend) dared Emily to get a pickle from the kitchen after they were put away and darned if she wasn't all up for a dare (she nailed it - did I mention this Kyle guy seems great).  She then helped the old guys stack the chairs and rolled each circular table to its place with a different Henry at Eden but I felt the Henry I knew smiling in approval - cleaning up after services like that was often his job and seeing Emily take that torch with such gusto was very heartwarming.   

We went back to the hotel exhausted and ate in a haphazard grazing-type fashion at the hotel restaurant and they lovingly accomodated us.  It was nice to be together after such an exhausting heart-heavy day.  Even though we don't see each other often it was nice to so easily take comfort in each other.  That is again the legacy of love that my grandparents left.  Despite all the hardship that they saw in their life they poured love into us til our cups runneth over.    How blessed I was to love them both so much and be loved so completely.  How thankful I am for having them in my life, for having them at my wedding, for their love of my husband, for their cuddles of my children.  How brave they were to take the lives that were handed them and mould it into something so beautiful and kind and generous.  I have a different knowledge of grief now as I have had such a loss in my life - but how lucky I am to feel this loss because I was loved and loved so much.

Grandpa's Memorial

My Grandpa

My grandfather passed away this past week.  He had just turned 90. 

I told Keith several years ago that when my grandfather passes away I will be a mess.  True to form – I did not disappoint.  Keith will turn in a corner in our house and I will be at the computer with tears streaming down my face.  Emily told me “Mom, I’m a little sad about your grandpa too – you can share my grandpa if you want.” And Cian slept on the floor beside my bed the night I found out and when I got up and went downstairs when I couldn’t sleep he woke up and followed me.  Despite my Grandpa reaching his milestone birthday a few weeks ago and having the opportunity to spend time with him just a short time before he passed away I can’t help feeling a little lost without him.

Losing my grandpa feels different than when we lost my grandma a few years ago.  We all stood at her grave wounded like we had witnessed a trauma.   Even though she died of cancer in her 80s it was shocking and felt unfair to lose her so quickly and violently.  My grandpa has faded without her.  In some ways we lost them together and now I just feel the aching pain of the finality of it all.  The two people that cradled my childhood are gone.   Despite watching them age in front of me I have never seen them as old.  They are still in their 50s in my head; strong and working in the garden.  My grandfather chasing me around with his shirt off – hanging me upside down as I shove raspberries or a plum in my mouth.  I think of our long walks as he bestowed the wisdom of a lifetime of hardship and adversity which never hardened him.  No matter where we walked someone would come up to him and be touched by his kind spirit –it was infectious. 

I have been planning some of the music for his funeral this week and I keep being drawn to songs from the Muppet Show, which seemed so strange and inappropriate but they kept coming up nonetheless.  Then I finally realized that we used to watch the Muppet Show after Wheel of Fortune.  I have memories of being fresh from the bath and sitting on his lap as the opening song would come on the TV in the little TV room- cosied up all together.  How lucky I was to have a childhood full of cosy memories and feelings like that.

Grandpa always had music playing in the house; usually loud hymns on the record player in the living room.  He usually made a joyful noise J.  When my mom called to tell me he passed away that’s exactly what I did – loud hymns and baking – it was like they were with me.  Poor Keith when I woke him up at 0730am insisting I was in desperate need of more eggs.

When I was a little girl my Grandpa used to get up really early to go work at the hospital and would be back mid-afternoon for tea time with my Grandma and I in the backyard garden.  When I would visit him at the hospital everyone clearly loved and respected him very much.  When I would get hurt, as children are wont to do – especially me, he would put his glasses on and sit me up on the bathroom counter, take out the hydrogen peroxide and the Q-tips and clean whatever wound I had gotten myself into.  So, of course, as a child I thought my grandpa was a doctor.  And I wanted to grow up to be everything he was.  I work at the operating room table instead of cleaning the operating room floor and I am liked in my job but I hope that one day I have the love and respect that my grandfather had in the hospital – by the doctors, nurses, everyone.  That kind of reverence comes from a lifetime of character and I hope to keep plugging away at it.  Mostly I want to do him proud.  The opportunities provided to me that he couldn’t even dream about – the divide is not lost on me and I am so very thankful for every opportunity as a grandchild of refugees.

Character is the defining feature of my grandfather.  He knew who he was and he made deliberate choices to be the kind of man that we all loved and respected.  He did not take the easy road.  He cultivated his faith and it truly was his foundation.  So much of my faith in God is because of how I watched God move in him.  He had tremendous compassion for all people.  He was Christ’s example in my life.  He was the example of a loving family man I searched for and found in a life partner.  He was my hero and I miss him terribly and I am so thankful to have had him in my life for 35 years. 

Rest in Peace Grandpa.  Picturing you and Grandma in Heaven together gives me such comfort.  We all love and miss you very much.