Monday, May 13, 2013


Friday I ventured out by myself to go to physical therapy (I've got a bum knee) and for the first time to do a little local shopping. I stopped at our medical supply company to get a brace for my knee as the therapist recommended it. I picked out what I needed, went to pay, and right there beside the register was an oxygen machine and a suction machine, just like we had to use for Amy. I felt my breath being taken away. It was like she couldn't ring me up fast enough so I could get out of the store.
At physical therapy I saw a friend also getting some therapy and he asked how I was doing and if there was anything he could do to help. So many people tell me this. I am grateful that I have so many friends that want to help, but nobody can bring Amy back. No one can give me just a few more minutes to hold her in my arms and sing to her, to tell her I love her. That is what I desire. I will never bathe her again, paint her nails, fix her hair, dress her, give her her meals, sing her to sleep, or read to her. NEVER AGAIN on this earth.

So, I am trying to move on with life without  Amy.

We live in a small community and so seeing people who know me is very likely, even the pharmacist at Wal Mart mentioned Amy and that she was sorry for our loss. Every aisle seemed to remind me of something that Amy would have liked. I drove through McDonalds and saw that the Happy Meal toy was fairies. Amy loved butterflies and fairies. I didn't make it out of the parking lot before the tears came.

Our children either weren't in the state or had to work on Mothers Day, so my husband and I decided to just go away for an overnight and not be around anything that would bring back memories. I think that is impossible.  The only vehicle we have is our van and there is this big open space behind us where Amy should be.  We did try to enjoy ourselves, though. We visited Fort Necessity, Friendship Hill and Ohiopyle State Park.

Ohiopyle State Park
flowers at Fort Necessity

Friendship Hill

 We ate Mothers Day brunch at a family owned restaurant in a little town. While we were eating I noticed a young man getting some food at the salad bar. He had on a dress shirt, nice brown pants, black shoes and white socks. One of his pant legs were caught up in the top of his white socks, making them very noticeable. As I looked at his face and his actions, I could tell that he had special needs. He was confused as how to hold his plate and put the food on and a man (his father?) came to help him. Again the tears came and could hardly be stopped. I left a brochure of Amy's story on the table with our tip as I'm sure the waitress wondered why I was crying so much.

Amy opened our life to a whole word of people we would have never known if she had been "normal."
She has had so many caring people over the years. Therapists, doctors, teachers, aids and van drivers.
I have so much compassion for anyone that struggles with special needs children and adults or even someone who has to be in a wheelchair. I am very aware of the inaccessible places and the places that say they are accessible and are really not. Amy has made us aware of so much.
I don't think that I will be able to visit anywhere without thinking of my precious daughter and how she would have enjoyed seeing the flowers, the beautiful waterfalls with the cool mist on her face, the cow in the middle of the road that wouldn't move, the museum with the "talking" statues, the cold wind on her face and all the beautiful scenery.

 That was my Mothers Day weekend. Many tears, a few smiles.

"Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions NEVER fail. They are new EVERY morning; great is Your faithfulness" (Lamentations 3:21-23)


  1. Everyone of your posts brings tears to my eyes. I ache for the heartache you are going through now (and at least in part, even though not as strongly as now, will forever be with you). Praying for you!

  2. Grace said it very well. Thank you for continuing to share your heart with us. I love you.

  3. Your words make me remind of every corner of Bedford, your home, and the van. As a friend of Amy(I am at the same age of Amy) and a mother of a baby, all the words above penetrate my heart and make me think about the string connecting mom and baby: the string that God allows. Cheryl, you were and still are such a great mom...I really want to be a mom like you.

  4. Oh, Cheryl, I had to cry when I read this. I have never experienced the loss of a child so I can't feel your pain the same way that you do. I spent Mother's Day with all my Children/Grandchildren except Colette and her family. It doesn't seem fair that I can have that joy while you are so deep in sorrow right now. If you could talk to Amy right now, she would probably tell you about all the awe and wonder that she is experiencing in Heaven right now. That is something that I hope and pray gives you comfort. We continue to pray for you.