Although winter has been pretty warm here this year, a writer friend of mine posted a photo of a new little fireplace/stove she had installed in her study. It looked so lovely and cozy and I was immediately jealous. But then it occurred to me that I had money my dad had given me for Christmas still unspent. And since my study is the coldest place in my house - which is a good thing in the summer when it's sweltering here, but not so good in winter - why not get one for my study. I currently have a little Pelonis space heater to make it comfy in there when I'm writing and don't want to crank the heat up in the entire house. So, I did my research.

I found that the cost of running an electric fireplace was far less than using the heat pump that is part of my AC system. And even the smallest units will heat up to 400 square feet easily. Well, my whole house is only 800 square feet! Add to this the fact that the best - or only - place to put it is right between my living room and study - it could heat both and be seen from both rooms. I started looking. Home Depot had only one small one and I wasn't impressed. Apparently this is not the the time of year to be on the hunt for them because right now all the summer stuff is showing up in the stores. So, I went online, found this lovely little oak fireplace and ordered it. It was even on sale - better yet.

This morning I was excited because according to the tracking number it was on the truck and out for delivery. Sure enough the Fed-ex man pulled up out front shortly after lunch and unloaded my box. I hadn't eaten lunch yet, but that didn't matter - I was anxious to see my new acquisition and began unpacking at once. Tons of styrofoam later, I revealed my prize. Only problem was that my prize was not all in one piece. I don't mean that it was a "some assembly required" item. I mean that it was falling apart. I found screws, chips of wood and wood pegs that should have been glued firmly into holes to hold the assembly together. I might still have been inclined to get out my wood glue and put it back together, but I also noticed that the metal firebox was damaged. This has an electric heating element inside and the very last thing I need is a fire hazard. Talk about disappointment!

The form has been filled out, photos have been submitted and a case number assigned to my complaint. And now I wait with a big box sitting in my living room. And tomorrow the temperatures are predicted to return to seasonally cold. I really would have liked to fire up that thing, make myself a cup of tea and curl up with a good book to watch the make believe flames and get cozy. Guess I'll have to settle for warm stockings and my fleece lined hoodie.

  Welcome to the Next Big Thing Blog Hop. A neat way for readers to find new authors and perhaps a whole stash of books you haven't checked out before. My Gratitude to Kellie Sharpe for inviting me and to Vicki Hinze who invited her.
Vicki's website
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About this Blog Hop, I and my fellow authors, in their respective blogs, have answered ten questions about our book or work-in-progress (giving you a sneak peak). We've also included some behind the scenes information about how and why we write what we write -- the characters, the inspirations, plotting and other choices we make. I hope you enjoy it. 

My first published non-fiction, WHATEVER IT TAKES, came out in June - available at Wings Press.com, Amazon.com and B&N  Three Men are in a very close race for the White House. Each will face a tough decision. Decisions that will determine the caliber of the man, the kind of leader he might be and possibly even the outcome of the race.

Please feel free to comment and share your thoughts and questions. Here's my Next Big Thing!

I'm actually working on a Women's Fiction series with strong romantic elements. Two of the books in the series have been written and four more are in various stages of plotting. WORRY STONE and WHAT TO DO ABOUT ZOE are the first two. To be followed by A HEART IN HARM'S WAY, OWEN'S PROMISE, BROKEN SOULS and DARE TO LOVE. In addition to this being a family saga, the books deal with the agony of soldiers learning to live as civilians again and men and women who serve as firefighters and policemen, and the scars left by PTSD. The first book, Worry Stone was inspired by the struggle many of the young men I came of age with who returned from the ravages of war in Vietnam to a country that scorned them and the sacrifices they had made. The rest of the books in the series are contemporary. Our soldiers return to a much different welcome, but the struggles they face on every other front are the same. Here's a teaser for my current WIP:
"

Meg shrugged her backpack higher up onto her shoulder as she joined the stream of passengers filing past the empty chairs of the waiting area and toward baggage claim.  Her scuffed and dusty boots made a hollow sound on the tile floor.  A man in a navy blue suit jostled past her, then stopped and thanked her for her service.  She took the proffered hand absently and accepted the thanks in spite of the feeling she didn’t deserve it in the least. 

As she approached the top of the escalator down to baggage claim, she halted abruptly.  Her heart began to thump painfully.  Ben would be at the bottom of the escalator watching for her.  Maybe the boys as well.  It had been 358 days since she’d last seen them.  358 days that had changed her forever. 

The crush of people flowed around her like water flows around a boulder in a riverbed.  For a moment she felt like she couldn’t even breathe. 

All those days ago when she’d been walking the other way with tears in her eyes, she’d been an innocent.  An idealistic innocent.  She wasn’t the same woman who’d said goodbye to Ben that day.  She was no longer innocent.  And her idealism had fled in the face of the things she’d seen.  And done.

Would Ben notice?

Would he see it in her eyes?  Feel it in her touch?  Surely he would hear it when she called out in her nightmares.  Would he still love her if he knew the whole of it?  If he knew how far she’d grown away from the woman she’d once been?

Meg drew a deep breath and stepped out.  He was waiting however much she had changed, and she couldn’t put off the moment of their reunion forever.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ben shifted his weight from one foot to the other in order to peer farther up the descending staircase.  He’d left the boys at home so he and Meg could have these first few moments alone.  Or at least as alone as it gets in a crowded baggage claim area.  The buzzer announcing the arrival of the luggage had sounded several minutes ago and already there were people crowding several lines deep around the carousel.  He’d been keeping half an eye on the moving jumble of luggage, boxes, golf clubs and carseats, watching for a camouflage duffle bag.

But so far, none had appeared.  Neither had Meg.  But she would.  Soon. 

She had called after she’d boarded this plane in DC to let him know it was on time and she had made the connection.  Her voice had sounded matter-of-fact and unemotional.  Very military, he conceded.  She was a Marine, after all. And she’d been in a war zone for almost a year.  A place where emotions didn’t belong.  At least not those reserved for the husband you left behind.

He glanced back at the carousel, then again at the escalator.  And there she was. 

Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, but he could see the black sheen of it glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights.  Head up, she looked straight ahead.  Shoulders back.  Very squared away.  His Marine.  His Meg.

Ben’s heart leapt in his chest and shuddered into a staccato rhythm.  His Meg was back.  Whole and unharmed.  And as beautiful as his memory had promised.  He couldn’t wait to haul her into his arms and kiss the daylights out of her.  He couldn’t wait to feel her arms circle tight around his neck.  To feel her lips returning his hunger and longing.  It seemed to take forever for the escalator to bring her down to him.

At the bottom, she stepped off, turned sharply right and almost ran him down before her gaze finally connected with his.

Be sure to check back here often - I'll be sure to let you know when the book is coming out.

Other authors on this Blog Hop...

Nancy Quatrano - Co-author of The Method Writers, Snowbird Christmas and more...

Sharon Drane     Touch the Sky and Swept Away (WIP) 

Kellie Sharpe - author and publisher - Salt Run Publishing, where romance lives on.

  More than a year ago, my family decided that this year they were all coming to my place in Florida for Christmas. Don't forget I live in a little seaside bungalow, but fortunately for me it shares a lot with another bungalow that happens to be a rental so I was able to reserve it to accommodate the crew. Two little houses right next to each other worked out wonderfully well and we had a terrific week. I'm exhausted, of course, but it was so worth it. Every minute filled with fun and family. My work began before they arrived - not just the usual shopping, wrapping and cleaning, but sewing as well. When we all get together someone always seems to decide that it would look really cute if the kids all had outfits that match and since I sew - guess who gets to make them?

The Fun began on the 19th when my son and his crew as well as my youngest daughter and her family arrived at JAX. We spent the next day on the beach since St Augustine had blessed us with a lovely warm day that felt like summer for my visitors. On Friday we all got up long before the sun and headed to Disney where we were met by my step-son and his family and my middle daughter and her family (who had tried the novel idea of putting their van on the train from Maryland which conveniently delivered them to Florida not far from Orlando.) The little girls were all wearing princess dresses and got Bippity Boppity make up sessions. We met all (or most) of the princesses, too, as well as Mickey, Minnie, Daisy Duck, The White Rabbit and so many more characters. We also had tickets to Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party, which meant we didn't leave there until Midnight. Now you know why I'm exhausted!!!
   
At the Beach                                        My Grandkids at Disney

One of my neighbors owns some of the carriages that take folk for rides about the old city in St Augustine and I was able to make arrangements for us all to have a wonderful ride to see some of the historical sites as well as the Nights of Lights Christmas display for which St Augustine was just chosen one of the 20 best cities lit up for Christmas.
  Sean was a terrific driver and they kids were all enchanted with the horse and they fact that he gave them all a turn to "drive." Suzie was a very well behaved animal who treated them well and listened to Sean in spite of the kids.

Then came Christmas...  The Elves (on the Shelves) had arrived with the kids and kept an eye on them during the week leading up to the big day. I have to assume a favorable report was taken to Santa because he was very good to us all!

On our last full day together, we visited the Pirate Museum downtown. We had a lovely tour with one of my favorite pirates, Capt. William Mayhem. The guys abandoned us to have a pint of Guinness at Anne O'Malley's - just think of the fun they missed!

Lynn steering the ship             Theresa & Jacqui in             Julie and Jacqui with
                                                  the rigging.                            Capt. Mayhem.
But eventually all good things come to an end. The troops have all gone home to work and school leaving me with a cold they could have kept for themselves and a ton of wonderful memories. It's on to 2013 now - Happy New Year everyone. May God bless you with a year filled with love, laughter and good fortune. 

               

My kids have organized things so that on the odd years, they all go to their in-laws for Christmas and we get together for Thanksgiving. On the even years, we switch.  Once upon a time, not too long ago, they all came to my house for the turkey feast or the traditions of Christmas. But then they began to have homes of their own, and families of their own so we began to take turns. When I moved to Florida, to a cute little beach bungalow, I thought my days of hosting were over. Hah! Apparently the lure of a warm holiday was good enough to have them all decide last Thanksgiving that this year they would be coming here. Fortunately, my little bungalow has a twin that shares the courtyard and it’s a rental. I put my bid in early and we’re going to have a little family compound going for Christmas.

Many of the traditions we keep were started long ago. One is having Mary and Joseph travel from the furthest point in the house to the Manger, arriving on Christmas Eve and then having the baby Jesus appear while we are at church. Another is the white tablecloth, that once dinner is done and the plates cleared, colored pencils are brought out for everyone present to draw a small picture of something important in their lives that year. I always got to do all the embroidery after the holiday, but it’s such fun to look at all the drawings from years past and remember when….

A newer tradition is one my daughter-in-law dreamed up. She thought it would be fun to have all the kids dressed in similar outfits. A couple years it was pajamas that they ordered online, but sometimes I’ve been solicited to put my sewing talents to use and create matching outfits. This year it was skirts for the girls and a vest for Jack. (Christopher’s too grown up to get gussied up like  his cousins, now.)

       

Showing off Grammy made dresses        Waiting for Santa...

          Haven't seen them

A sled load of kids                                                                                        on yet this year!

We have lots of other great traditions. Like green punch that forces me to make the rounds of grocery stores on the hunt for lime sherbet. Letting the kids help play Santa when they first realize Santa doesn’t wear a red suit or hang out at the North Pole most of the year. Being secret Kris Kindles to each other during Advent, lighting the purple candles on our dinner tables at supper time to mark the passing weeks of Advent, making a game of tossing balls of discarded wrapping paper into a big box in the middle of the floor and dozens of other things that make it a family holiday. The kind of holiday you remember fondly and ache for when you have to spend Christmas far away from family and friends. The sort of thing that bring reminders of family members who are no longer with you, or make you feel like a kid again.

Christmas is a lot of things. For Christians, it’s the celebration of the birth of our Savior and all that implies in our lives of faith. But it’s a holiday for the world as well. Christmas trees and Saint Nicholas come from our roots in Europe and so does the idea of gifts left in stockings or shoes. But in our melting pot country where not everyone is Christian, the holiday has become more secular, with carols like Silver Bells and White Christmas.  Menorahs are as common a sight as mangers, and most every kid hangs up a stocking whatever their parent’s beliefs or non-beliefs. Christmas is a season of family and friends, of good times and great memories. It’s a time for giving - of ourselves, our time, our treasure and our talents, not just to family and friends, but to those less fortunate than we. It’s a time to reconnect with folk we don’t get to see as often as we’d like, at parties and in the sending of cards.

For my Christian friends, the candles are lit and prayers offered for a blessed season and a new beginning with Christ. For my Jewish friends - Shalom. For everyone else, Happy Holidays however you choose to celebrate. For the world - I wish for Peace and Prosperity.

Take a moment and share your favorite traditions whatever your faith. Click on the comment button below. I’d love to hear how you celebrate the season.

Was this you, this past Thursday night?

Thanksgiving, for me, has always been family time. A day when we come together with all our noise and laughter, our love and enjoyment of just being together in a world where far too often, the demands of school and job take us away from family. All the traditional holiday dishes are prepared, the best china dragged out of the cabinet and the silver polished. And then we sit down to a table laden with turkey and all the fixin’s, and thank God for the blessings we far too often take for granted.  The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade entertains before dinner and football afterward. Sometimes played out in the yard in the crisp fall air while the grandparents nod off in the living room after dinner. There’s always at least one game on TV that the adults, even those who rarely watch football, sit around and enjoy together. When I was in high school and marched with the band, football was local, in the morning against our arch-rival. And the house, when we returned, enveloped us in the scents of roasting turkey and apple pie and happy chatter.

But things change and while most of us cling to at least some of the Thanksgiving traditions of our youth, we give ever more ground to encroaching materialism. When I was a child I never saw Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving. Then the music and the sales began after Halloween. And now they barely let school get underway in the fall before we are inundated with the lure to buy, buy, buy. One doesn’t have to be a Christian to be appalled by the changing face of Christmas, but that’s a topic for another day.

I also remember when most of the world returned to work on Friday as usual. But as families became more mobile and moved away from each other the idea of having a long weekend to allow for travel so we could still be together on the holiday began to take root. More and more companies gave their employees Friday off as well as Thursday.  And of course, the opportunity to turn that extra day into a sale day to kick off what merchants hoped would be a banner year of holiday sales or a way to end a bad year on a high note was not to be missed. I think I must have shopped on Black Friday once upon a time, because I avoid being in the stores on that day like the plague now. I find the rude, pushing and shoving crowds to be the last place I want to be. I know quite a few people who love the idea of getting all their shopping done in a single day and especially love the idea of saving a ton of money at the same time. And I’d be happy for them, if Black Friday had remained Black FRIDAY.

But it didn’t. In an effort to be first to open their doors, shops began opening at 5:00 am for the early bird specials. Then it was one minute past midnight. And now it’s come down to shopping at 8:00 pm on Thursday night. Folk are willing to spend the entire night curled up in a sleeping bag in a line of hundreds to be first into the stores. I suppose if you have no family you might as well spend your time doing this sort of thing, but what about the rest of us? Instead of sprawling in the living room with their waistbands unbuttoned, laughing and sharing and just enjoying the leisure of being with our families, we are encouraged by sales-hungry merchants to suck in our bellies, button up our pants and warm up the credit card. And for the most part, to spend more money than we can really afford for things we probably don’t really need.

One of my favorite recent series on TV is Blue Bloods and the thing that most appeals to me about that show is the family aspect. Every week, at some point all four generations sit down to dinner together, offer thanksgiving to God and share a meal. I wonder what the Reagans would think of Black Friday and the scramble to begin it on Thursday night? What do you think? I know there are two sides to every story, so I’m really interested in your ideas, even if they oppose mine. (Click on the word comments below to share your thoughts.)

 

 

 

  As if Superstorm Sandy wasn't enough, the Northeast was treated to yet another storm, the second in 9 days. This one a Nor'easter packing gusty wind and snow. This pic was taken on Long Island. My daughter, who lives there, is still without power, but she's gotten inventive. She and her sister-in-law got up at 3:00 am to gas up the cars without having to wait for hours and hours in the gas lines. Turned out to be a good move. She also discovered that their newly installed gas fireplace could be operated without the electric switch. Although that discovery was attended by fumes that set off the smoke alarm and totally freaked out her daughter. Somehow the information that this fireplace needed to be "cured" before running had been lost in the shuffle. So, with no power and no heat, they had to run it with the windows wide open until it "cured."  At least now they have one warm room in the house.

Others have not been so fortunate. There are still hundreds of people with no homes. Power crews have come in from all over the country to try to reconnect everyone, but snow and below freezing temps have hampered that effort. And here's a downright outrageous sign that appeared on FB:
What are we paying them for anyway? Isn't dealing with no home, no heat, no water, no belongings, and now snow and freezing temps enough, but they have to WAIT for Fema folk to get over the snow and get back to work? My bet is all the Fema workers are being housed in warm hotels and eating hot meals.

We won't even discuss the election - my blood pressure is already high enough. So, I think I'll sign off here and go say a few prayers for folk with bigger problems that I have.

My granddaughters - crafts by headlamp after the power went out on Long Island

For Days they had been predicting the storm of the century. Of course, they've said that before so maybe some folks could be excused for taking the warnings with a grain of salt. But this time they were right. Hurricane Sandy, which barely kicked up a fuss here on the northeast coast of Florida, plodded doggedly northward to meet a nor'easter and a high pressure front that wouldn't let it go "out to sea" as so many tropical storms do. Instead, she barreled into the mid-Atlantic coast, destroying the New Jersey coast, whipping up a devastating fire in New York that took over 100 homes, flooding areas that had never been flooded, driving sand several feet deep into streets, basements and fields a long way from the beaches, flooded the New York subway system and tunnels going into and out of the city, took homes off foundations and left them in the middle of streets and left millions of people without power and thousands without homes. The Associated Press reported that at it's peak, Superstorm Sandy had a diameter of 1,000 miles; killed more than 100 people in 10 states; cancelled almost 20,000 flights; left more than 12 inches of rain in Easton, Md.; covered Gatlinburg, Tenn. with 34 inches of snow; and left in its wake an estimated $20 billion in property losses, placing the storm among the most expensive natural disasters in U.S. history. And if that weren't enough, a Nor'easter is now headed their way, bringing chilly temps and more rain and high wind.


Even if you weren't in its path, folk all over the country seem to have been touched by this storm. Here in St Augustine, there is much sadness for the loss of the HMS Bounty which took on water and sank 80 miles southeast of Cape Hatteras. The Coast Guard was able to rescue all but two of the crew, for which everyone is thankful. But a beautiful bit of history is gone.
Here's the Bounty when she visited St Augustine last spring. With her spars all lashed to allow her to slip through the Bridge of Lions, she dwarfed even the pirate ship, Black Raven.

Two days after the storm raged through East Coast and was whipping up enormous waves on the Great Lakes, here in my neighborhood the sun rose on an ocean was so calm it looked like the proverbial mill pond. I don't think I've ever seen the ocean this still and flat.


It's been a week now since the storm came ashore in New Jersey. 2.5 million homes and businesses are still without power, upward of 50,000 are homeless, schools are still shut in many cities and towns. The scope of the damage boggles the mind. It is heartening to see how Americans can pull together to face such a disaster, but these people still need our prayers and if you can afford to and haven't already, open your pocketbooks and write a check to help those who have lost everything.

 

 

The sudden arrival of fall weather over much of the country that less than a week ago was experiencing unusually warm weather got me to thinking about the changing seasons. Growing up my favorite season was summer. The reasons seemed obvious at the time. No school! No homework. Staying up late. The luxury of sleeping in. FREEDOM! From the last day of school until the first Tuesday after Labor Day my time was mine to do with as I liked. In June the days seemed to stretch endlessly in front of me, but by August they were roaring past at the speed of a freight train with a schedule to keep. Summer was never long enough.

    

It wasn’t just being out of doors because I was outdoors year round back then. I played in the snow in the winter and reveled in shuffling through gutters filled with piles of crunchy, colorful leaves in the fall. I was especially fond of the scent of lilacs in the spring and the tantalizing hints of summer in the air. In the fall I marched with the band at high school football games. In the winter I skied. Come spring I raced my dad’s sailboat at the small lake in a neighboring town, and I rode my bike in the dark hours of predawn delivering newpapers in all four seasons.

 

But then I joined the Peace Corps in my mid-fifties and they sent me to the South Pacific. A vast change for a Yankee from New England, but by the time I returned home, I’d become accustomed to year round summer. The woman I lived with in the South Pacific and I used to sit on her veranda in the warm dark tropical nights, weaving mats, doing homework or just chatting. It was one of my favorite times of day. Being able to go swimming in the ocean any time I pleased was another perk of the job. I loved it. And when I returned home to Maine, I discovered just how depressing the unrelenting cold and dark could get. Summer seemed shorter than ever.

 

I live in northeast Florida now, and most of my year feels like the lovely, long days of my childhood summers. The feel of the sunlight on my shoulders as I walk the beach, wading through the tumbling surf and the rush of warm summer night wind through my hair in the dark have become a way of life. The days get shorter here, but never as short as they were in Maine in mid-winter and I’ve never been happier living anywhere however beautiful some of the places I’ve lived have been. Some day I’ll probably make a trip to New England in the fall just to revel in the brilliance of the foliage. Last year I spent Christmas with my daughter in the White Mountains and we had a lovely Currier and Ives scene of gently falling snow on Christmas Day. I’ve yet to visit Washington DC during Cherry Blossom time and I know I’ll have to spend time where the lilacs grow in the spring now and then. But summer is still my favorite season of the year.

What’s your favorite season? Click on the comment button below and tell us what you love most about it.  

Although we were on an island surrounded by water and swimming was a frequent pastime, we knew we were going to have to keep a close eye on our two littlest boys. One evening, as we sat around the table chatting after supper, Philip decided that the fire bucket looked like a fantastic opportunity. When most of us weren't paying close attention...(and those that were viewed the upcoming experiment through the lens of a camera) he considered his options.  You can see the look of mischief and calculation in his eyes . . . .
 
"Hmmm... there's water in this bucket. And Mom's not looking... What happens if I just put one leg in?  Or better yet, all of me?"
  
Delighted with the result, Philip discovered that if he sat down quickly, the water would slosh up his front and into his face. The game was on, accompanied by contagious little-boy giggles. Even when he managed to tip the bucket over and land face first in wet pine needles, he was eager to get right back in once the bucket was refilled for him.

There are dozens of images of Philip that will remain in my heart and memory forever, but Philip's adventure with the water bucket is one of the best. Second only to the way he cuddled into my arms to fall asleep when I rocked him and the sound of his little voice calling "Gamma" to get my attention. I miss you, Philip. More than words can ever express.

Like most little boys, Philip loved to explore his world, play in water, climb on things and follow his big sisters around. At a year and a half, he was smart and eager to try new things. He loved balls and airplanes, his bath, Elmo, the color green and silky things to caress while he sucked his thumb to fall asleep. Before our big family vacation this summer, the last time I'd seen him he was in May, and he had only a few words in his spoken vocabulary. But at the lake in early August, he quickly learned to call me Gamma and would call out to me, then grin when he got my attention. I also enjoyed quiet times with him snuggled against my chest as I rocked him to sleep. I was looking forward to a trip to New York to visit Philip, his sisters and his Mom (my daughter) at the end of September when I got a heart-stopping phone call from my daughter, Lori.

Philip had been at the park, had been hit in the head and airlifted to the hospital unconscious. She had been at work and was on her way to the hospital when she called. I later learned that it had been an unsecured chain link gate left leaning up against a wall that toppled over and crashed down on Philip. In a heartbeat, life in our family had been dealt a blow we will never fully recover from. As I scrambled to find a flight to New York, I prayed, no begged Jesus to reach out and heal this sweet little boy. But Philip died in the dark hours of the early morning despite all efforts to save his life.

My mind screamed in protest. NOT AGAIN! Please God, not again! Seven years ago, my son's little boy Sam died of SIDS at five months of age. The reasons for these two precious children being rushed to the hospital were very different, but the vigil that followed, the prayers and pleas from parents, grandparents, sisters, friends, aunts, uncles that went unanswered as their little bodies began to fail and tests revealed there was no hope of recovery were eerily the same. It was a nightmare that just wouldn't end. We all wanted to wake up, but there was no waking up from the heartbreak and loss. The unthinkable descended on us once again.

Philip's funeral was hard. Just about the hardest thing I've ever borne save Sam's. When my husband died of cancer, I could comfort myself in my grief and loss with the knowledge that Cal was at peace after fighting a long and difficult fight. When my mother passed away, I could rationalize it with the knowledge that she had been spared the worst that Alzheimer's can inflict on its sufferers. But with Sam and Philip there were no thoughts, no words, nothing to make it easier to bear. Two beautiful little boys, at the very beginning of their lives, gone in the blink of an eye leaving their parents stunned and devastated. As a grandmother, I cried buckets for the loss of two very much loved grandsons. I will never see them grow into manhood or celebrate all the things that should have been a part of their lives. I won't have their childish artwork decorating my refrigerator, nor pictures of them growing older scattered about my house. I will never rock them to sleep again, or get sticky kisses, then eager boyish hugs. There is so much I will miss. But the hardest part of all is looking into the eyes of my own child and seeing the immeasurable pain and suffering there and knowing there is absolutely nothing I can do to make it better. I can kiss their tears, hug them tight, pray for them and listen when they need to talk. But I can never give them back the thing that they loved most. Nothing I have lived through has ever been this hard.