A gift from Joaquin Benito Ruiz

In January I attended the funeral of a six-year-old boy named Joaquin Benito Ruiz.

I didn't know him, but his mom used to be my sister-in-law. And his sister is my niece.

Joaquin died of complications from congenital heart disease, but he had other problems too--problems with long names that I can't pronounce or remember--and he actually lived three years longer than expected.

As soon as I showed up at the funeral I immediately fell in love with Joaquin and his family. Joaquin's many brothers and one sister (my niece) touched me deeply as I watched them gathered around his casket, stroking his hair lovingly. And longingly. The image of it lingers with me even three months later, as do the life lessons I scribbled down on a piece of yellow card stock during the service.

The funeral felt like a spiritual eye opening somewhere in the corners of my heart. My sister and her husband, who lost a child 12 years ago, agreed and later said it was life changing for them.

Joaquin's father gave such a beautiful tribute to his little's boy's life, that I dug into my purse for a pen and paper to write down the poignant insights to share here on The Magic Quilt with those of you who have lost your own children.

I have been wanting to record my experience at the funeral, but somehow, somewhere the yellow card disappeared into thin air. I searched high and low for weeks, but to no avail. Finally yesterday I said a silent prayer, asking God to please, please help me find the yellow card so I wouldn't lose those comforting messages. And then I stopped searching.

Later in the day I started moving some bookshelves around and transferring books from shelf to shelf. Just as I was completing the project, the yellow card fell from one of the books and landed at my feet.

I wasn't surprised.

Allow me to briefly share exactly what I jotted down during the funeral. (I promise to expound on these ideas at a later date):

1. From death we learn about life.

2. You haven't lost a child, you've gained a guardian angel.

3. A touched heart is not a changed heart.

4. Sometimes you have to break a heart to change it.

5. Some souls don't come here to learn, but to teach.

The most powerful message came when Joaquin's father talked about how stunned and discouraged he and his wife were after the sonogram revealed his son's physical deformaties. They prayed to God saying, "Lord, this wasn't supposed to happen to us!"

Six years later, after loving and losing Joaquin, they have changed their prayer to "THANK YOU, Lord, for allowing this to happen to us."

Love is never wasted or lost. No matter how fleeting.

Even the most painfully fleeting moments of loving, and being loved in return, are abundant blessings.

I wrote down a quote by Winnie the Pooh, that was framed and displayed among all the family pictures at the funeral. It felt like a direct and personal (yet universal) message from Joaquin:

If ever there is a time when we're not together, there is something you must always remember; you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think, but the most important thing is that, even if we're apart, I'll always be with you.

I am going to ask Joaquin's parents to donate some flannel in his honor to our magic baby quilt.

(By the way, I am still receiving fabric from mother's who have lost children and will continue posting photos throughout this week.)

The Magic Quilt's Moves On

In January of 2011 I received the following  email from a woman named Corrine:

I just wanted to let you know that this week, Lila and I passed along the quilt to its new owner, my great friend Kathy.

Stan's wife, Lila, and daughter-in-law, Corrine passed the quilt on to a pregnant friend, who had, during her pregnancy, received the news that she also had breast cancer.

The following is the post from Corrine's blog, Littlest Bird:

Passing on the Magic Quilt

Remember Stan, my sister's father in law, who passed away last October?

Do remember the magic quilt that was given to him as a gift, to help him through his journey?

The magic quilt was ready to burst with the need to give its magic to someone new

and I thought of my friend:

Kathy.

My book-club companion and fellow lover of the written word.

Six weeks after finding out she is pregnant with her third child

she was diagnosed with invasive breast cancer.

As of this week, she has already had surgery and several rounds of chemo (that began when she entered her second trimester).

Her baby boy is doing amazing.

They are holding off on more chemo, now, until he joins us on this earth and then she gets to start again.

But this incredible woman needs all the magic she can get right now.

When I asked if she was interested in being the next recipient of the magic quilt,

she said yes.

So on Tuesday evening, Lila and I went to her home.

She and Lila sat on the couch while I helped Kathy's daughter, Naomi.

Lila told her about the quilt, the love that went into making it and the strength that she and Stan found in its folds.

I took their picture (along with the darling Naomi).


I had Naomi hold my camera and take a picture of all of us.


May the quilt works its magic of peace and heart-healing for you, Kathy, and your family.

You're in my prayers.

In June 2011, Kathy finished her chemo. On her blog, Bobblehead-ology, she describes it perfectly:

Friday, June 24, 2011

Done

I finished chemo on June 3. It was a date that couldn’t come soon enough. I really didn’t want to spend any more time in a room hooked up to Taxol and my one-time friend Steroids. Decadron was supposed to help my body accept the chemo called Taxol. I’m sure it did. But Decadron, you’re such a bi###. You seem all nice at first, giving me these wonderful break-from-the-norm energy bursts. But when that energy kick runs out, you’re just left with puffiness, swollen feet and ankles, weight gain and roid rage.

Note this important equation before taking up a friendship with Steroids:

Before steroids - 1 slice of bread = 110 calories
After steroids – 1 slice of bread = 1100 calories**

**(Actual calorie numbers may vary. This estimate based on fatigue and roid rage.)

Anyhow, as I was saying, June 3 couldn’t come fast enough in my mind. I almost felt like if I could just fast-forward time, I could somehow escape the dizziness, fatigue, joint pain, hair loss and loss of feeling in my feet from chemo.

But my fast forward button broke. So I just went through the 12 weekly treatments like every other mortal.

And now I am done. DONE. I felt pretty drained after that last chemo session. My body feels and looks like some poisons had a party in it for six months. I look in the mirror and wonder who that person is. My hair grew back during the break from chemo to deliver Kilian and is now mostly gone again. But chemo is over. It is time to kick those poisons out, clean up the crap they left behind and move forward. I’m not waiting for radiation to be over to start this process. I’m reclaiming my body now.

I joined Weight Watchers. And I’m making myself exercise with whatever energy I can muster. I went to a kickboxing class at the gym on Saturday. The girl in front of me wore a pink shirt. Since pink is the symbol color for breast cancer, I focused on her shirt during every kick and punch and imagined myself kicking cancer right in the nose. I’ve heard tales from runners about a euphoric feeling they experienced after running a certain distance. I never understood that feeling before. But after that kickboxing class, I did. I felt like there was this light exploding out of me and smashing into that pink shirt.

Die cancer. Be gone Taxol and Decadron. Take your side effects and leave. You all are no longer welcome here.

Friday, October 4, 2013

3 Years Later

I saw someone at church this week who reminded me of something I've known for a while: I should probably tell all the awesome people who followed the blog and helped us that everything is going well for us. I recently passed my two-year anniversary of ending treatment. Last week I got a clean mammogram.

Kilian is now two-and-a-half, healthy and seemingly a normal, curious, talking two-year-old despite growing in my belly through surgery and half of my 6-month chemo regimen.

The biggest health scare we've had from him so far was a case of walking-pneumonia last spring and some extremely picky eating behaviors that made him suddenly drop off the charts for his weight, despite maintaining an average height.

But thanks to weight-gain Pediasure, bacon, fruit smoothies with ice cream and scrambled eggs cooked in olive oil, we recently celebrated him returning to a more normal 11 percentile weight.

(Below are two photos I took of the kids last spring in our garden out front).

The Passing . . .

There is something about the song, Temporary Home, by Carrie Underwood that always chokes me up. Maybe because we're all just passing through, and Earth is just a stop on the way to where we're going. Some pass through so quickly--they come and go in a flash--and for others the passing is long and drawn out, but they all leave a searing and lasting impact on those who were stricken by their love.

My daughter once went to The Festival of Colors and she came back different. Messy different. Her shirt had been splattered with all kinds of new colors, stained together forever. They are a permanent part of the shirt now. A permanent beautiful part.

Love is messy like that too--messy with joy, and with pain that changes us for good, even when it's bad.

Lila Tolman came back changed after her husband's death. Permanently, and beautifully changed. For several months after Stan's passing, she kept the magic quilt as a source of comfort. But in time, she did the only thing there is to do with comfort. She passed it on. 

The following is the letter I received from Lila after she found a new recipient for the quilt: 

I have found new strength in my Heavenly Father's love.  It is so strong.  I know I am not forgotten.

It was such a special experience to pass on the quilt.  I gave Kathy a journal to record her journey.  I also printed out the stories of the quilt and Stan's story and put them in a binder and gave it to her.  I told her it would be nice for her to add her story to the book when she passed on the quilt. 

I want to thank you for the wonder and comfort the quilt brought into my life.  When I took the quilt to Kathy I wanted to give her the Mozart CD  you gave to Stan with the quilt, but I couldn't find it.  Today when I was driving Stan's car (the one he drove to work everyday until just before he passed away),  I turned on the CD player, and the CD you gave him started playing.  That was the car he drove to work until was listening to your CD.  Thank you for making his life richer.

Grandmas are people too!

The fabric keeps on a comin'! Woohoo! I love it. Keep spreading the word. I want to make at least 10 baby quilts in the next few months and start them on their journey to comfort those women around the globe who are mourning the loss of a child. I need flannel. To represent those who are lost. But never forgotten.

Look at this adorable flannel I received today! Have you seen anything happier? It's the happiest fabric on earth.

This fabric comes to us from this sweet, spunky woman named Marilyn Larsen. She is little Ladybug's grandma.

A few weeks ago I got an email from her which said:

I'm Amy's momma and Ella's grandma. (the Matriarchal Madwoman) I would LOVE to send you some flannel because I want other grandmas to know of the love and compassion I have for them. So often we focus on the mommy (as it should be), but the grandparents suffer as well. I never saw my husband cry so hard as when we were watching our daughter hold her baby as her little heart stopped beating. We suffer for the loss of a precious grandchild, but the pain of watching your child suffer is incredible.

I have spoken to several other grandmas who confirm this is TOO TRUE!

In the letter I received with the fabric, Marilyn says:

I'm donating this in honor of Ella Standage, who came into this world Dec 29, 2010 and passed a couple of hours later. I'm honored to be her grandma and hope that this bright happy fabric will comfort another grieving mommy.

I've given the fabric a big hug and am sending it with all my love and prayers for those parents AND grandparents who grieve for our lost little ones. I'm honored to know that I have a choice, perfect granddaughter who will watch over us always.

I just love it when people say things better than me.

Lady Bug, Lady Bug, Fly Away Home

Remember Amy and Ella? My inspiration for the Sisterhood of the Magic Traveling Baby Quilt project?

Well, the project is underway and Amy has contributed some flannel fabric for the quilt to honor her little Ella.

Ladybug was Ella's nickname whenever Amy talked about her online, and even though Ella was born and died on the same day, there is sonographic evidence which captures her perfect little ladybug loveliness while she was alive:

Ella Standage

Born: December 29, 2010

Died: December 29, 2010

Safe Passage Ella, as you fly away home.

Emma and Taylor

Here's a heartwrenching story:


I have received several emails asking for my address for the purpose of sending flannel for our traveling baby quilts, but today I received the first fabric in the mail.


It is in honor of conjoined twin girls. Emma and Taylor shared a heart. It's a beautiful metaphor, but the logistics of sharing a heart are quite a bit more complicated. This past August, at three years old, they underwent sugery to qualify them for heart transplants.


Neither one of them survived the surgery.


INCONSOLABLE!


This fabric was donated on behalf of the twins' mother, Mandy, by her sister-in-law, Sara.

Blue and purple were Emma and Taylor's favorite color.

This post goes out in memoriam to honor:

Emma and Taylor Bailey

Born: September 2o, 2006

Died: August 10, 2010

Be the comfort you want to see in the world

Yesterday was Ella's funeral. I read her mother, Amy's words this morning and one line in particular struck me: 

Hearts that have been broken wide open need to be filled up with something else. 

How profound!

Maybe that's why it is so important to fill broken hearts with love and comfort and compassion, before they get filled up with bitterness, anger, and regret.  Broken hearts are so darn vulnerable like that.  

I was just made aware of this family who recently lost their 14-month-old son, Andrew. He died in his sleep of SIDS. It's a parent's worst nightmare! The thing we all secretly fret over and fear. Let us all go and give this family a hug! 

I bet my sister will make another "for keeps" baby blanket like the one she made for Amy.

She just asked me yesterday to let her know if there is anyone else who needs one. Making baby blankets is such a productive way to grieve the loss of a child, don't you think? Just another way to fill up a heart that's been split wide open. 

Hey, I just thought of a new motto! 

Be the comfort you want to see in the world. 

I'm surprised Gandhi didn't think of that. ;)

So, to summarize: If you have lost a child, or know of someone who has, please join hands with the rest of us to soften the blow for others who are experiencing the same loss. It can be an adult child, or a miscarriage, it mattereth not. It can even be a grandchild or a niece or nephew. If you loved a child that has shuffled off this mortal coil, I am asking you to donate a piece of flannel in his/her honor. In remembrance. In memoriam.

So how can you join hands with us? 

1. Send a piece of flannel fabric which represents the child of honor. It can be a yard, or several yards, or simply a 12x12 square. 

2. Include your child's name and birth date AND death date. (My sister says the death date is very important to her since her son died.) 

3. The flannel will be cut into quilt blocks and sewn together with love, and with other quilt blocks honoring other children who have finished their earthly journey. 

4. The child's name, birth date and death date will appear in the corner of his/her quilt block. 

5. The baby quilt(s) (hopefully we will make dozens) will begin their journey as magic traveling quilts. Each person who receives the quilt will keep it as long as they need, until they feel ready to part with it and until they find someone else whose heart has split open wide and needs a filler. They will then pass it on. And so on and so on and so on. 

6. A notebook, which my sister is at this very moment making, will accompany the quilt on it's magical journey. The notebook will be for writing letters, messages, quotes, or little love notes to the absent child. This will be cathartic for both the writer and the subsequent readers. 

7. If you would like to include a love note to your child to be inserted into the magic notebook before it is sent out to the first recipient, please send it to me along with your fabric, or email it to ctddiaries@gmail.com.  

And please raise your hand if you would like to help sew "for keeps" blankets, or help piece together the traveling magic baby quilts once we get rolling.

Let's get to work, peeps!

Amy and Ella (and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Magic Baby Quilt)

I've been taking my dog for walks around the duck pond a few miles from our house lately, and while I walk, I think. Sometimes I think about life and sometimes I think about the ducks, who swim along the waters edge, trailing me, as I make my way around. They honk, honk, honk at me, as if to say "I'm starving! Did you bring me anything to eat?"

Ever since I fell in love with my dog, Lulu, I have developed this soft spot for animals. I can't stand to think of them hungry or neglected. Maybe that, coupled with the fact that I too know what it feels like to be hungry and needy, makes me feel enormously sorry for them.

So, of course, I've started bringing them food.

It's one of the benefits of pain and sorrow . . . once you feel it, you don't want others to feel it. And when you see them feeling it, you can't help but reach out and try to soften the blow.

But how do you soften the blow? With soft words?--I'm so sorry--soft prayers?--God be with you as you sorrow--soft blankets? --May I offer you a place to bury your head and cry. A place we have stitched together with love and compassion. You are not alone in your suffering. We have been there. We have all been there.  

I don't know if it's possible to soften life's blows, all I know is that we have to try. 


I recently heard a story about a mother who loses her child. It's an old story. A mother loses a baby. She is not the only person in the world to lose a baby--I could name dozens off the top of my head, and that's just who I know personally. I suspect you could name dozens too, but no matter how many mothers lose their babies, each story will always be immediate and deeply personal. And above all, agonizing. My sister, Melanie lost a baby 12 years ago. His name was Matthew and he lived for 12 hours.


Her only son.



You could say that sometimes bad things happen, and draw little analogies about life's challenges, but it doesn't help when you're the one suffering. I'm going to draw little analogies anyway.

A few weeks ago my daughter filled the car up with Diesel gas. It felt like a catastrophe at the time, but out of all the stress and worry we found something we've been looking for for a long, long time--a decent mechanic who we can trust 100% and who makes house calls and who only charges half the price of other mechanics. And who, when we said, "Thank you for your help," he said, "Thank you for the work."  

And like last week when my hub lost the remote control . . . he was tearing the house apart, meanwhile my boys couldn't change the channel so guess what they were stuck watching? The 700 club with Pat Robertson. Seems like a bum deal for a 12-year-old boy, but you know what they said about it?

"I'm kinda glad dad lost the remote because we got to watch all these miracles of Jesus Christ."

There's a moral here. There's a definite moral here. When bad things happen we often find what we've been looking for, and we get to watch the miracles of Jesus Christ.



God blesses the broken road that leads us back to him.

Meanwhile, the broken road smarts something fierce at times, and we need to try to soften those blows.

So I told my sister about Amy and the first thing she said was, "I want to make her a quilt!" She already had a lot of material because she's been collecting flannel for a while now, hoping for an opportunity to bring comfort to those who are going through the same loss she did.






Below is the fabric she chose to make the blanket for Amy. She chose white, which represents purity and the heavenly place where Ella now resides.


This is the finished product, which I mailed off to Amy this morning.



My sister and I decided that we would send Amy a small receiving blanket--the one pictured above--that she could keep forever.  Something just for her.

But we are also going to make a Magic Baby Quilt, which, when completed, we will send to Amy to kick off our Sisterhood of the Traveling Magic Baby Quilt project.  She will keep the quilt as long as she needs to, until she finds the next recipient--someone going through the same loss--and then she will pass the Magic Baby Quilt along.

And so on and so on and so on.

The magic will be grow stronger every time a mother receives the blanket and passes it on.

Along with the Magic Baby Quilt, there will be a Magic Baby Book. We will call it something like Letters to Heaven. Each mother who receives the notebook will write the name of her child in the book, along with a letter to her child. After a while, the book will be filled with letters to Heaven, which will hopefully be cathartic and bring comfort to many mourning mothers.

Questions?

How will the quilt be made? What will it look like? I was just getting to that.

The quilt will be made up of flannel fabric sent in by you. If you've lost a baby, or even an adult child, I am asking for you to send me flannel fabric--as much or as little as you like--which represents your child, along with your child's full name and birth date. We will cut the fabric into quilt blocks in honor of your child. We will then print your child's name and birth date onto clear iron-on decals and iron it into the corner of their quilt block(s).

I am thinking big. I want a lot of material so we can get a lot of baby quilts circulating.

I'm soliciting material from people I know who have lost a child, but if  you've lost a child or know someone who has, please spread the word and join our efforts.

If you would like to include a letter to your child before the magic book is delivered to Amy, please email the letter to me at ctddiaries@gmail.com.  You can also send the letters snail mail. Email me for my address.

Look to it, peeps!


P.s. To keep updated on Amy's story, you can find her on my sidebar at My Infernal Journal.

Dollars and blankets and quilts, oh MY!

Look what my boys did today:

They wrote a note to Matthew Blanchard on their own hand made cards and slipped him $1. Even Lulu did it, cept she slipped him a $5.

Even my twin's friend, who was here at the time, pulled a $1 out of his pocket and said, "Can I do it too?"

How sweet it was.

And then I sent him a magic blanket.

So excited. Just can't hide it.

You can still join the dollar drive and send $1 to Matthew at 8444 Brody Marsh Ave/Las Vegas, Nevada/89143. Just think, if 1,000 people send a dollar, Matthew will have smiled 1,ooo times. And I've heard somewhere that 1,ooo smiles are as powerful as pixie dust.

Click here if you want to find out more about Matthew.

If you read my post yesterday on my CTD Diaries, you'll also know that I made and delivered three more magic blankets to three little boys who have a very sick daddy. You can read all about it and see photographic evidence here.

And you can read about the sick daddy here.

If you are interested in banging out some magic blankets yourself, let me just say it's SOOO dang easy. All you need is 1 yard of fleece, preferably no-pill because it's so forgiving, and 1/4 yard of a coordinating solid color to tie up the loose ends.

Lay the fleece out flat and on both ends cut strips--1 inch wide and 5 inches long--all the way across each end of the blanket.

Next cut 1 inch wide, 5 inch long strips out of the solid coordinating color.

Tie a solid strip around each strip (aka loose end) on the blanket.

Viola! You're done!


And finally, guess what? Kritta's done it again. She made another Magic Quilt with all the original fabric contributed by the people. And for the people. And of the people.

Ain't it gorgeous!? Mahalo, Kritta.


I'll be back to expound very soon, so don't touch that dial.

Magical Money for Matthew

I need to spew forth a Magic Quilt update before I explode into a thousand tiny pieces. So many, many things to share, which I have neglected to share because I've been pounding the pavement trying to win myself a job.


Win or lose, this job race helped refuel my Magic Quilt fire. Plus I've made a few new friends and reconnected with a few old friends who have turned out to be Magic Quilt muses.

One of them is Dana. I only recently met her but she's been a huge supporter of my SAM-e Good Mood Blogger gig efforts and organized a voting tree with 60 of her most amazing friends.

Turns out she also makes fleece quilts. For friends. In need. (That's probably why she has so many amazing friends.) She has made 45 quilts within the last two years.

Her son made 100 fleece lap blankets for his Eagle project and donated them to the Huntsman Cancer Institute. (Apples don't fall far from their trees.)

(Hmmm . . . my son needs a great idea for his Eagle project too . . .)

Dana got her inspiration for the fleece blankets when her own world was tipped by a medical condition.

After years of medical challenges her husband was diagnosed with Amyloidosis. It's not cancer, but he had to go through Chemotherapy in 2008, plus undergo a stem cell transplant. While in the hospital Dana was given a little fleece blanket, which she and her husband kept on their laps for a month as they went through one of the most difficult challenges of their lives.

Since then Dana has been spreading comfort and cheer to friends in need in the form of what I like to call magic fleece quilts. The quilts are a little different than the blankets. They are twice the size of the blankets and have two layers of fleece, plus batting.

I went to her house last week to go shopping for fleece and learn how to make the quilts and guess what? She surprised me with a quilt of my very own. Me!

And guess what else? My fleece quilt has a twin.

These hands belong to Dana's friend and neighbor who is just like me. A mom. A wife. A daughter. A friend. The only difference is she has a brain tumor and she is almost done with her mission here on earth.

I've always wanted a twin and am deeply honored to share her magic fleece quilt. I will do my best to live up to the responsibility I feel to create a place of refuge and bring comfort to those who are suffering, sad and scared.

And GOSH DARNIT, there are too too many.

We have a lot of work to do.

So Dana took me shopping for fleece at Joann's Fabric. We filled two carts.

I've always said that addiction is BAD, unless you're addicted to oatmeal or IKEA furniture, but fleece is SUPER addicting. If you HAVE to get addicted to something, fleece is a good choice.

We picked out this fabric for a little boy named Matthew Blanchard.

He loves sports, but he can't play them anymore because he contracted a virus which led to chronic Lymphocytic Myocarditis.

Don't you hate big words that make you sick? It's just wrong. And it's just wrong that a 12-year-old boy can't play sports. I have two 12-year-old boys who love sports so I know what I'm talking about.

DeNae Handy, over at My Real Life was Backordered created a foundation for Matthew because not only can big words make you sick, they can make you poor too.

If you click on this button, you can grab a button of your own and post it on your blog. And so on and so on and so on. Plus you can read all about Matthew and make a donation on his behalf. (Don't tell my husband, but I made one when I only had $75 in my bank account.)

Dana gave me another good idea--something she did a few years ago for a friend who's little boy, Spencer got cancer. Yes, she made him a magic fleece quilt . . .

but she also started a dollar drive for him--she told all of her friends to slip $1 into an envelope and send it to Spencer.

Imagine a young, sick boy getting all of these letters in the mail.

And then imagine him opening each envelope and finding a $1 bill. It would be just like Harry Potter. (I bet that's where J.K. Rowlings got the idea.)

They would be like magic dollars.

I was thinking we could do that for Matthew.

It would be like magical money. For Matthew. I bet that would really brighten his Christmas season.

Okay, so you know how you're busy stuffing envelopes with Christmas cards right now? Would you mind adding Matthew Blanchard to your list? It will only take a sec to slip a $1 bill into it.

And tell all of your friends, okay.

His address is:

Matthew Blanchard

8444 Brody Marsh Ave.

Las Vegas, NV 89143

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

By the way, Spencer is completely cancer free now. He's been cured!

Just sayin'.

A moment of silence, and the 2nd magic quilt

Sometimes I think the most magical thing about The Magic Quilt are the relationships forged through the suffering and the compassion. The reaching in and the reaching out. I feel so thankful to be making new magic connections on a regular basis, and it only strenghtens my resolve to reach further and dig deeper. One thing I've learned from this is that EVERYONE has a story. And everyone needs a story. Please share yours and help us heal the world, one quilt at at time.


When I first started this project I wanted the magic to save people. Make them all better. Now I see that people don't need to be saved. They need to be comforted. We cannot decide who lives or dies, but we can decide to lend a hand in carrying the burdens and easing the suffering of those who live and die.


The magic quilt has exceeded my expectations by every stretch of my imagination. I never dreamed it would come to mean so much to so many so quickly. If you're new to this blog and don't know the story of Stan and Lila, this post and this post will help you understand them better.


I am deeply honored that I was allowed to be a small part of their journey. MAHALO!





Allow me to share an email I received after Stan's passing from a girl named Corinne, who knows Stan and Lila.

.................................................................................



I need you to know how much that quilt meant to Lila and Stan. When I first arrived at their home, Stan had passed about an hour earlier. The quilt was still on him, then, and was on him until the funeral home came and my husband and Tom helped them carry him to the car. Lila showed me different parts of it, told the stories and showed me, in quiet whispers, the names that had been sewn into it. OH the spirit was there. I am telling you. THANK YOU for the balm you handed to my friends.


Corinne

.................................................................................

I also found this beautiful poem/post on Corrine's blog Littlest Bird.




in the home where someone has passed away

after a long illness,

there is a blanket of peace.



it is made by the weight of an amazing life lived,

and by the strength of the people who

stood by bedsides

held hands

stroked foreheads

administered relief

pulled up blankets

taped cheerfully drawn pictures on the wall

told stories

and remembered.

remembered and remembered about life

before cancer.



hugs are tighter, then, in that home,

where the loved one is lying still on his bed,

his spirit released from the prison of his

ailing body.

it's as spiritual as the feeling in the temple, or the most

sacred place you can imagine.



feelings are raw but that rawness is absorbed

in a love that chimes with selflessness.

and when you look into the eyes of the woman who has lost

her companion of thirty-five years,

you KNOW

you KNOW

that God was watching over her

as she helped her husband

pass from this life

to the next

and that He will continue to be with her

as she waits to be with him

again.

....................................................................................................................

And finally I want to show you the 2nd magic quilt, thanks to April from Springrose Journals. She made a mini magic quilt for a young girl named Riley who was recently diagnosed with stage four spinal cancer. I really love this quilt because it is so happy. So very happy. And cheery. Springrose, did you put Mighty Man Adam's fuzzy blanket on the back?

Springrose! This whole design made my eyeballs completely sweaty! MAHALO Springrose! BIG HUGS! Look at me surrounded by Don and Stan and Lila and Mighty Man Adam. That's the closest I've ever felt to being queen for a day. ;)

Aloha Oe

Yesterday, October 7th, our first Magic Quilt recipient, Stan completed his journey here on earth and returned home.



The day before he passed Amanda sent me an email that poured chicken soup all over my soul. I printed it and shared with all of my kids before they went to bed. I have shared it below. When I awoke the next morning there was another email waiting for me from Amanda. This time telling me that Stan was done with his suffering.



I can't really describe how I feel to have been apart of this process in some small way. I feel completely honored that the Magic Quilt led me to Stan and Lila. They are two of the most beautiful people I have ever met.



Aloha Oe Stan, safe passage.




And please remember your promise to say hello to my dad for me.
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Email from Amanda:





I just wanted to take a minute and share something with you. I had a prompting to stop in to see Stan and Lila today, then I ignored it. I drove right past their street and my chest felt like someone just sat on me and I felt as if I were nearly possessed, as I didn't feel like myself. I promptly made a u-turn at the very next light, just a few hundred yards past their street. I instantly felt calm and knew that I shouldn't have talked myself out of following that initial prompting.



When I knocked on the door, Lila greeted me with the most welcoming smile. She is so beautiful and sweet and precious and there are not enough adjectives to begin to describe how amazing she is. She explained that her sister came to stay with her and how grateful she was that she arrived on Monday because Stan fell Tuesday night and she could not get him up alone. She then asked me to go see Stan. I declined, the 4 kids were screaming in the car. She said, "Just go hold his hand." How could I refuse?



I knew immediately that things weren't good, I mean, we've known the cancer was terminal, we've known he would get to each of these stages, but reading it, thinking it, even hearing it doesn't prepare you for seeing it. I couldn't help the tears that filled my eyes and my heart wept, also. Lila stood over him so lovingly, smiling constantly and adoring another opportunity to gaze upon him. I called his name, placed my hand upon his hand and looked into his peaceful eyes.



He can no longer talk and it's been 3 or 4 days since he's had any type of nourishment. His time left here is short, the veil is certainly thin. However sad that reality may seem to us, he is between two worlds and has the comfort of sight beyond ours. He is okay, he is at peace. Stan and Lila's sons were planning to come in for the weekend, but Lila had encouraged them to change their plans as Stan may not make it to the weekend. Lila is doing better than I could ever hope to be in a situation such as hers. She continues to tell people how graceful Stan has gone through all of this, but really she has shown tremendous grace, as well. And the love she showers him with and the attention she pours into him allows him to be so graceful during this truly difficult time.



Let me step back a few paces to when Lila introduced me to her sister. She said, "This is Amanda, you know Amanda...." Her sister teared up and rushed to my side to hug me and through all the tears and arms she said, "Thank you." She was thanking me for the Magic Quilt project. The quilt has made a tremendous impact on this family. Lila went on to explain to me that Stan always has the quilt with him. When he was able to sit in his chair, the quilt came with him. When he went to bed, the quilt traveled there, too. I know the quilt is seeing the beginning of its innumerable days of comforting others. And as this first chapter of the quilt's life is coming to a close, I believe the second chapter may open while being wrapped around Lila's shoulders in the weeks to come. There is love in every square of fabric and blessings in every stitch of its magical seams. Once again, I cannot thank you enough for birthing this project and allowing so many of us to share in your dream of sending magical love around the world. I wish everyone could feel the magic quilt in action, it is a beautiful thing!



With Love,

Amanda

GROUP HUG

I've been reading Lila's blog with updates on Stan today, and sweet Springrose wrote a beautiful comment of comfort in reply to yesterday's post. You must go read it.


Springrose is making two magic quilts, one for a child and one for an adult. The child is a four year old girl in her ward who was diagnosed with stage 4 spinal cancer last night.


Let us all keep her family in our prayers. What devastating news.


She immediately started on the quilt and will finish it and deliver it to the hospital today.


I stand all amazed.


I love this magic quilt project and feel so grateful for all of you who have donated fabric, time, stories and support to it. I can feel the comfort growing and I hope someday it will bring comfort to many many many more.


MAHALO!


LY everyone!


GROUP HUG!



P.S There are more stories on the way.

Super Grover and Mighty Man Adam

Aloha my magic quilt peeps. I am so excited (and touched) today because Stan and Lila, the first recipients of the first magic quilt, sent fabric to Springrose to include in the second magic quilt.



Doesn't it just give you chicken skin?

The blue fabric represents their four sons and the striped fabric is cut from one of Stan's shirts. Stan turned 6o years old last week. Read this short and simple, but sweet post about how Lila celebrated with him.


I'm also extremely excited (and extremely touched) by our next contribution. It's from Janna of Mighty Man Adam and Susan, from Susan's Scribble. I met Susan through Melanie J. at the LDS Storymaker's Conference last May. We sat by each other at dinner and instantly connected because she's a darling, and, if I'm not mistaken, she is a soon-to-be-published-author.


Meet Adam, Susan's nephew:



Susan wrote a post about him entitled Mighty Man Adam. I asked her if I could share the story with my magic quilt peeps and she immediately said YES and then asked her sister-in-law, Janna about donating some fabric for our 2nd magic quilt. I received the following email from Janna yesterday:

I'm touched by what you are doing. It was these acts of kindness that really helped us not feel so alone. The fact that you are creating a gift with meaning is really something special. I'm excited to be apart of it. I told Adam that we had to send part of (one of the three) his blanket and I asked him to choose which one it would be. I told him we are going to send it to a lady who is going to use it to make a nice, warm blanket for sick kiddos or grown-ups. He is really excited to send it to you!

Here's some of the story. Adam was Dx'd with Leukemia in March 2008. I won't go in to much detail simply because Susan covered it very well. We were in treatment for 5 1/2 months, having received five rounds of chemotherapy. Because of the nature of his illness, Adam was not able to go home right after he received his chemo. He could not get shots that would help him regenerate white blood cells (other kids were able to do that and them go home within a few days) because his cancer was his white blood cells. Anyway, we were there for what seemed like forever. Finally, we were discharged for good in September 2008 and sent home with a follow-up plan. When we left, I knew we had not seen the last of the leukemia and he was most likely going to relapse. At first, I tried to dismiss it as paranoia, but the feeling never went away. So when he developed a fever with no other symptoms in June of 2009, I immediately took him to the doc for a CBC. They called me that night with a white blood cell count of 57,000. I knew he had relapsed.

Between the first and second cycles of treatment, I took Adam to Target one day to find a blanket of his own. He had been bugging his older brother a lot by stealing his all the time. As we were walking through the bedding aisle, Adam pointed to the red fuzzy blanket and said, "Super Grover covers" (he was just barely two). I guess it looked like the cape that Super Grover wears and he liked that. So we bought it. When he relapsed and we were back in the hospital, I quickly learned that one blanket was not enough. He would throw up on it or get it messy when changing his diaper, etc. So I went back to target and bought two more red ones and a green one. Every time my husband and I would switch places, I would bring in the clean ones, and would take the dirty ones home when I left. During the second course of treatment, Adam was never without his "Super Grover covers". They went everywhere with him–to surgery, to the cafeteria, to the playroom... Next to myself, these blankets were his one consolation.

I decided to send you a part of one as our contribution. Hopefully, it will be what you need. I am also including a picture of Adam with his "Super Grover covers" at the beginning of the second course of treatment. I thought this one was appropriate because it shows the blanket "in action", so to speak.

Janna


I am also including Susan's Story below. Mahalo Susan and Janna. And much love and aloha to Adam.

When my brother and sister-in-law brought Adam down to the farm for the first time, when he was tiny and brand new, I remember thinking what an adorable baby he was. He had a dimple and was so goodnatured. I wanted to hold him lots, and I did. As he grew he was still enchanting and darling. But then things changed. He wasn't so good natured anymore--he cried and whined and kept them up at night, and I think his mom wondered what had happened to her angel. Months passed and it got worse. And worse. And worse and worse. The weekend before their world was flipped upside down, my whole family was down at the farm. I can't remember much about the weekend. I don't even know why we were there. I only remember that Adam was miserable. His mom said he wouldn't walk, and he'd been that way for a few weeks. She or my brother had to carry him everywhere. He didn't want any of us to hold him, only her. And he was washed out, lethargic and running a low grade fever. Something was definitely wrong. His mom had been taking him to specialists for months, trying to figure this thing out, but no one could.

I think my sister-in-law decided she'd had enough, and she took matters into her own hands. Something had been nagging at her for so long, but she was feeling helpless, I think. So she turned to the internet. One by one she googled his symptoms (brilliant girl) and slowly her nagging turned to panic. Every search had one scenario in common. Leukemia. And then she knew.

She calls my brother on the phone to tell him. Adam is flown by helicopter to the hospital.

I'm sitting at home, making dinner and the phone rings. It's brother Number Three. Usually he's so cheery when he calls and sings out one of his usual greetings like "Hey, Suzie Boozie." But this time he was solemn. He cuts right to the point. "They found out what's wrong with Adam. He has leukemia."

A big gasp and then "No," escapes my lungs. And then I'm crying because I know. I know what's coming. Fear. Fear like they've never experienced. This is not the first time I've seen cancer first hand. The last time, it took my brother in law who wasn't yet thirty, leaving my sister in law widowed with three kids. Number 3 tells me that Brother Number 1 met them at the hospital (I've never been so glad they live kind of close) and he said they were not doing well. I can picture them crumbling, terrified. I'll be honest--I wonder what they'll do if Adam doesn't make it, and then I shove that thought out of my head. I can't even think it. I know how much they love him, because I'm a mom, and I can't stand to even think what that would be like for them. I can't stand to think of my brother and his wife sobbing in that hospital while I stand there and cook for my three healthy kids. And I'm too far away to help them. And I hope they know how much I love them. It's not fair.

I gather my kids and my husband and I tell them the news. My kids prayed everyday for their cousin-probably five times a day. When we visited Adam a few months back my second son is asked to give the blessing on the food. He's only six so his prayers are pretty much the same every time. He has a list he's ticking off in his head. Please help Dad to graduate. Help mom to get her book published. Help us to be a forever family. And in this case, please bless the food. He opens his mouth to say one last thing and I hold my breath. Please don't let Adam die. My son doesn't even blink. He doesn't realize he just said that in front of Adam and his family. My eyes fly open and flash to my sister in law. Her eyes are glistening and she thanks Cole. She is touched. I exhale.

Back to the story.

Adam went through chemo. His older brother was tested as a bone marrow donor, and we all prayed he would be a match since he had the best chance. He wasn't a match. We all volunteered to be tested and my sister in law said we could, but the chances of any of us being a match were very slim. They move into the Ronald McDonald house next to the hospital (with a four year old in tow) for six months, switching off to be with Adam every couple of days. Can you even imagine what it would be like to not leave the hospital for more than a handful of days in that entire time? But then it's finally over and they return home. But the fear doesn't leave and less than a year later, the leukemia returns.

I believe I was making dinner again when I got that call. My mom called that time. She was steady as always, not crying, because she almost never cries in public. All her crying is done in private. But not me. I burst into tears. This time all my kids are out riding bikes in the neighborhood, except for my baby who's somewhere near my feet.

We get off the phone and I'm wondering why I don't feel a crazy amount of panic. Leukemia returning for the second time is a terrible scenario. I squat down and my head falls to my hands. Addy crawls into my lap and I hug her, and then I pray long and hard and fervently. I'm comforted knowing the rest of my family has to be on their knees at that same moment.

I go back to finish dinner and somewhere between serving and eating, I get the craziest good feeling inside. He's going to be okay! And not just okay. He's going to live. He's going to make it! I just knew it. Somehow this kid was going to beat this thing. So I call my sis-in-law and I say, "I hope this doesn't make you mad (you know, since I don't like to tell people I just got revelation for them. I don't make a practice of that kind of thing and can't stand it when other people do that to me) but I have this really good feeling that he's going to be okay." I don't know what I thought--that maybe she would collapse with relief, as if my words were gospel truth. But that's not what happened. I could hear her choking up and she says, "Well, I wish I had that feeling but I don't. Right now I'm just really, really mad at Heavenly Father." And can you blame her? Not only was this child sick and let's face it, dying, but they had also recently found out that their oldest son had Aspergers, a form of high functioning Autism. I can only imagine how picked on she was feeling. I mean that--I could only imagine. I couldn't possibly begin to understand. But I knew the Savior could, and I was praying she'd let Him help her.

Adam starts chemo and they are back at the routine. The doctor has told my brother and sis-in-law that there is no possibility that they could be matches for Adam for the bone marrow transplant he needs to have, but on a whim they decide to be tested anyway.

Here's the Miracle.

His mom is a 100% perfect match in every single way. I can't get into all the ways that this is just complete and total craziness, but it is. The doctor said is was higher odds than winning the Super ball lottery. Maybe they can comment below and explain the coolness of it because I don't think I can get you to grasp just what a miracle that is. Basically, this had to have been worked out generations ago, for my brother and the girl he was going to marry someday to have just the right genetics that she would be this match.

A light bulb goes off in my brain, and I know that that feeling I had was because of this. It was Heavenly Father showing us that his hand is in everything, and over everyone. How can I ever question that He is there? He is watching. He loves us so much and cares for us so much.

Just minutes ago, I found out that Adam got his one year bone marrow aspiration results back, and guess what? His bone marrow is 100% donor cells and 0% cancer. One year was the time limit the doctor gave for him to be considered cured. I'm sure Brother and Sister-in-law are afraid to let the word 'cured' squeak out of their lips lest they jinx him, and I don't blame them. But I'm hoping you'll join with me the next time you kneel down to pray and just send Him a little thank you for this blessing.

I didn't tell you this to make you think that I believe my family deserves some special miracle when others haven't received such a blessing. We are just normal people who make mistakes, just like everyone else. People die from cancer, heart disease, car accidents and thousands of other things every single day. I'm also aware that some trials are worse than death. And that some just plain hurt. Dealing with addictions of any kind, or not being able to get pregnant when you so desperately want a baby, or getting pregnant but then losing that baby or a thousand other ways that our hearts ache for our plans unraveled. I'm very aware of that, and I ache for my friends and family when these things happen. We've had some of our own pains. I only shared this with you because sometimes it's hard to see past all the hurt and sorrow and trials and exhaustion that can accompany this trial we call Life. And when we feel our lowest I hope we can all remember that He is there. He has a plan. Sometimes His plan intertwines with our own wishes, and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes someone else can stick their foot out and trip up that plan, and wreck something that was supposed to be beautiful and perfect. But sometimes. Sometimes, He gives us a little glimmer of His power and His love and we are reminded that there is more to all of this than what we can see right now.

It may not feel like it sometimes, but God really is over All.

Adam, you are a Mighty, Mighty Man. And you will forever be my hero.