Sunday, October 26, 2008


Gavin, as you know, spent 32 days in the neonatal intensive care unit. Thirty-two days of leaving the hospital with empty arms, comforted only by the knowledge that I at least had a son to someday take home.

Some days, though, I was able to carry home a quilt, made by some wonderful anonymous quilter who wanted to give some comfort to the moms and dads of those tiny babies. I have three, all of which were used liberally and are now packed away carefully. On those days, I felt less... adrift. I don't remember the first 32 days beyond traveling to the hospital, holding Gavie, coming home, going back to hold him some more.

Somehow the house was kept to a minimum of chaos and the cat was fed and the big guy and I functioned as normal humans, but I just don't remember how those things actually got accomplished. So adrift probably needs aimless in there, too.

I never met any of the women who made those wonderful quilts. I never will. But I got to meet one who does the same in her hometown, working with her fellow quilters to make not only quilts but also tiny funeral gowns.

Alice wasn't part of the rowdy four in the carriage, and I fear I lack a picture, but she and I met up in Indy as well and enjoyed an absolutely lovely time, having a late breakfast and then heading to the local museums, escorted through it all by her charming husband. Alice has edited my last three writing projects (God love her) and has put up with a good many of my quirks (again, God love her). She is the bee's knees, gang, not only because she's waded through what tallies to 800+ pages of my writing over the last six months but also (more importantly) because she's a quilter queen bee who gives NICU moms and dads something to hold on to when we can't hold our babies.

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