Acknowledgments

Before I get too far into this saga, I need to thank some people. When I started this project two years ago, I wasn’t sure where I was heading. Momentarily, I imagined this becoming a book but I let go of that fantasy pretty quickly for two reasons. First of all, I remember the kind of mom I was while in the PICU. I was brain dead mommy. I could barely follow the directions to safely open a can of Diet Coke let alone read a whole book. Secondly, I have published a book and it is a gruesome amount of work (although I am proud to say it is a bestseller …after 1,270,942 slightly more popular books.)


So I ditched that idea and turned to the internet. Slight problem. I know nothing about writing in “blogalese” or creating a website. The utter lack of graphics, video or uber-cool interfaces are completely mea culpa. I will try to jazz things up as I overcome my technical ineptitude.

I am not a blogger but I am self-absorbed. For the years I kept journals about Henry’s multiple surgeries, I was really trying to figure out what was happening to me. About two years ago, I got enough nerve to start going through them and piecing them together into one, somewhat cohesive, piece. I thought this would be easy to do since I am both verbose (annoyingly so) and a researcher (of OCD caliber). I had lived through Henry’s medical crises, surely I could retell it. However, I often found it impossible to bring back the emotions of those years. It was if I could recall the events but not who I was during those moments. Those were the chunks missing from journal entries, the parts I was yet unwilling to consider. Luckily, I had friends who nudged me to write first for myself and then, if this reached a wider audience, so much the better. For these people I owe a great deal.

Meredith and Jenny, Miranda and Misti, thank you for reminding me that all mothers crack and those trying times are only worth it if you can crack jokes about it later. Thank you to Sylvia who organized hundreds of my emails and journal notes that, before her kindness, lived in a dilapidated box. Deena and Goldie reminded me to remain faithful. And for the dozens of fabulous women in my life who are guilty of spoiling Henry rotten. My son has an brigade of fairy godmothers. Robin, Tammy, Stephanie, Susie, Connie and Susan – my front line girlfriends who swooped in to care for all of us. I adore each of you. Heather, forged of iron with a marshmallow center, you amaze me. And for Wendy, who set us on the path to Stanford, which led us to St. Louis, and finally home with a healthy boy.

Ned, Gwyn and Ian, thank you for letting me share this story because all of us got Henry to where he is today. Gwyn and Ian are awesomely awesome kids. I fought so hard for Henry because I could look at these two and see he would also be filled with unbelievable potential. Ned, Henry adores you and one day he will know how you sacrificed all you had to see him thrive.

I can’t seem to find the right words to thank my wider family. I was raised by a mother who taught me compassion and resilience and a father who instilled in me a “suck it up” attitude. Grandpapa, Jean, Patricia, Andi, and the Weathers clan -- always calling and praying, reminding me that the miles between us truly didn’t matter. Mil gracias to Evie who often set aside her life to be the loving tia we needed. Thank you to my grandmother who helped this vagabond finally find a home in the wide world. And for Martha, my safe harbor in so many stormy years.

Thank you Jack. You are pathologically patient, overseeing our chaotic home front while I hide away to write. You are steadfast and you are mine. To my bonus kids -- Kelby and Gabby -- you made it utterly impossible for me not to fall in love with you, also.

I thank, with a full heart, my church, St. Paul’s Episcopal Cathedral of Oklahoma City, for becoming my tribe. Your generosity is a testament to agape. I am also fortunate for my professional colleagues who showered my family with gifts, leave time and prayers.

Henry, you are mighty. Your spirit has touched hundreds of people. I will always be proud of who you were and who you will become. Thank you for fighting so hard to stay with us.

I reserve my biggest thank you for Pattye, my fellow “heart kid” mom. Pattye took me under her wing when Henry was born and remains the mother I turn to for advice, solace, courage and red wine. She nurtures and battles in equal measure. My friend reminds me of an old Oklahoma saying, “Sometimes you just got to put on your big girl panties and take charge.”