Wishing and praying for Gage to run in any

direction his life will take him.

And for it to be his choice.

We were watching the sunrise in our pajamas on this day.

We counted the seconds until the entire circle of the sun was over the horizon of water.

It was windy and the kids were running and looking at what new gifts the ocean brought us.

The sunrise always brought the promise of something.

Gage, oh Gage.

You perplex me and amuse me.

At the same time.

You don’t go with the flow,

always fighting against it. Demons live in you

from your experiences, your mind boggling

experiences that saved your life.

Always a little off but never appearing to outsiders

there is a reason.

But you have a SPARK.

A spark that others sometimes cannot see

inside you with smartness, ingenuity

and resourcefulness.

Resourcefulness that kept you alive and fighting against

the challenges handed to you.

Gage, oh Gage.

How I love you.

We’ve been to see this Santa for 10 years now. The longest wait is about 10 minutes, but usually we can walk right up to him. He resides at a small mall around the corner, at least between 10-7pm, probably 7 days a week during December. We love seeing this Santa, although admittedly he’s been shrinking over the years, doctor’s orders he says to get healthy. He’s a lovely Santa who does a great job, and for two or three years standing behind the chair to hide from Quinn because she was having none of the white bearded man’s lap.

I present crazy tradition (Where Gage and Quinn say they know the Santas are fake) photo 2009, for which Quinn excitedly said, “I look like a teenager!”

And 2002

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it!

Remember when he was happy? And he didn’t talk about dying young?

I do.

I want him back.

Let this be a lesson from Quinnlin.

Post-Transplant, Pre-Bath

Post-Transplant, Post-IV

How does Gage really feel about school? And no, we won’t allow him to wear it to school.

“Homework Kills Trees, Stop The Madness!”

So happy for an easy post on my posting everyday month thing.

Just your typical day at the graveyard.

Oh Gage, I know you aren’t happy much. In fact, when you are happy we notice it because the moments come so few and far between. Occasionally we have a camera on hand, like last week’s impromptu trip to do something, anything outside in the beautiful sun that Atlanta offers in November. The cemetery you love and have visited many times. You love the big stones with designs, you are respectful of the graves, you like to see if doors are unlocked and you try to move fallen flower pots upright.

One thing I’ve always noticed about our trips to cemetery is that you always want to know how old people are who are buried there. From the tombstones we count the years. “How old is he?” you say to me. You notice the babies and kids buried there with interest and we talk about their lives. We talk about their parents. We talk about how in 1901 that there weren’t many doctors and treatments and that those babies aren’t as lucky as you and Quinn are to get dialysis and kidneys. Because a long time ago they didn’t even have medicine and doctors to take care of you.

I always let honestly lead me when we talk about the death of children. I always say, yes, they did, but they didn’t have what we have to take care of you. I say that Mommy will make sure that you and Quinn always have the right doctors and medicine. I say that Mommy is not worried about you because you are healthy and strong and you have kidneys and medicine and you have me and your daddy. And there isn’t anything we won’t do to help you live. To be happy.

And I promise to always help you through whatever you are feeling, even when you don’t understand it and don’t want to. I know that the cemetery brings out these conversations, but you still want to go and so we go. And I will always talk to you honestly and I won’t ever shut down the talk about death because it is a part of your experience as a child. I wish it weren’t because each time we have to talk about death to help you deal with your trauma a little piece of the innocence inside of me as a mother leaves me forever.

But we will deal with it together. Always.

I hope that by doing that you will return to us. Little by little.

One thing I’ve learned is that if you can get a kid to draw when they can’t find the words then they might find it through pictures. So last week during her clinic visit when Quinnlin was really feeling frustrated at having to have IVs and lab draws, we decided to wait and give her some time. During that time at clinic I asked her to draw a picture of how she was feeling.

This pretty much sums up the last week.