Peace Be With You

One week ago, we welcomed Aaron Michael into our arms.  Today we laid him to rest, trusting that he will now rest peacefully in the arms of God. 

Despite the cold rain that fell all day today, we have been surrounded by nothing but warmth and beauty from all those who celebrated Aaron's life with us.  Father John conducted a Mass that was truly beautiful and was exactly what we had wanted for our son.  He has treated us with so much compassion and done absolutely everything in his power to help two grieving parents celebrate their child.  He spoke from his heart and his sincerity was evident in every word that he spoke.  The woman who helped coordinate all the elements of Mass is one of the kindest souls I have ever met; she shared a piece of her heart with me and worked so hard to make sure everything today was as perfect as it could be.  The folks from the funeral home have truly been a blessing throughout this process and have gone above and beyond more times than I can even count to help us honor our little boy.  The sweet ladies who prepared a small luncheon for our friends and family to enjoy following the burial provided us all with a place to meet and spend some time together after saying goodbye to Aaron. 

We also had so much support from family, friends and coworkers who came to celebrate Mass with us...and so many more prayers from those who couldn't join us today.  I don't know that I have ever been one who can honestly say that I've ever personally felt the power of prayer before, but that is the only explanation I have for the peace and comfort that we have felt today.

We are, of course, grieving the fact that we never got to bring our son home, but at the same time Chris and I both feel calmer tonight than we have at any point during the last week.  We truly feel that we have passed Aaron's spirit into the arms of God and that his earthly body is resting comfortably in its proper place here.  The peace that has brought to both of us is like nothing I could ever have expected.  Truly, I expected to battle a lot of emotions today, but I did not expect peace to be at the forefront.  

I know that in the weeks to come, this peace may sometimes be overshadowed by the grief and the loss that we will continue to feel for the rest of our lives.  We will never forget that our sweet son was taken from us in time that we felt was all too short, but my hope is that we will always be able to find our way back to the peace that we feel tonight. 

(I do plan to post all of the details from Aaron's service, maybe later tonight or tomorrow, but this was on my heart and I wanted to share it, perhaps to help others who are grieving our loss alongside us tonight.)

So Many Questions

One of the hardest conversations I have ever had in my life started this afternoon with my oldest child telling me, "Mommy, I just want to cry because I miss my baby Aaron so much."

I have posted several times in the last few months about how we have handled all of this with both girls and our approach has always been pretty straightforward.  Despite the honesty that we have maintained with them, we are still very careful that they will rarely see us cry about all that has happened.  It isn't because we want to hide the sadness or tears, it is because they are still babies themselves and we don't need to add any stress beyond that which is unavoidable.

So when Tori climbed into my lap this afternoon with tears streaming down her sweet little cheeks and told me that, I was caught a little off-guard.  Thankfully Chris and Abby were both nearby and we got to turn it into a fairly positive family moment, but it was a rough one.  I scooped her up, hugged her tight and told her that it was perfectly fine if she felt like crying because it's okay to be sad.  We let her know that Mommy and Daddy are sad too and sometimes we have to cry just like she does.  We also made it a point to tell her that it's okay to be happy too, because Aaron is safe in Heaven with God and knows that we love him very very much.  Abby was snuggled into Chris's lap and would occasionally come over to pat my cheek or look up and say "Heaven? God? S'okay Momma."  

I honestly can not remember the whole conversation or exactly how it went because I was so moved by her emotions and overwhelmed by my own - my intense grief over the loss of my son, but also the equally intense love I have for all three of my children.

We ended up spending nearly 45 minutes comforting her and answering so many questions.  She wanted to know if God was going to hold him and snuggle him for us, if he would give him kisses good night, and if God had a special crib waiting for Aaron in Heaven.  She wanted to know how Aaron got from here to Heaven and if someone had helped him get there -- then she said she thought that maybe Grandma used her wings to fly down and pick him up because if he tried to get there himself he might get squished by a car or truck when he crossed a road.  She wanted to know if Aaron could hear us in Heaven and wanted to know why we can't hear God talk to us but He can hear us talking to him.

We have tried several different times to try to explain what will happen at Tuesday's funeral and struggle with explaining the casket to her, but we've let her know that we'll be going to church to pray to God and ask him to always keep Aaron safe for us.  We've let her know that when people die, their angels go up to Heaven and we bury the box so their bodies can rest safely here.  (To this, she responded adamantly that Aaron was in Heaven, not still here.  So we left that one alone for now.)  She knows that the toys she and Abby got for him were sent to Heaven with him.  She and Abby both plan to release a balloon for him at the cemetery on Tuesday...Tori thinks he would like a blue one and Abby insists that he's getting pink. 

She also decided tonight that he needed something else to to snuggle, so we suggested that we could get him something and put it on top of the ground where we will bury his box.  She tapped her chin thoughtfully for a minute and informed me, "Umm...no I don't think that's going to work.  But, we can do this - let's bury them in the sand next time we go to the beach when it gets warm and then Aaron and Grandma can come get them from the beach!!  But you have to put them in a box first so it doesn't get dirty!!!"  I have no idea where she came up with that plan, but it seemed important to her...so looks like we'll be burying something on the beach next time we go.

She did eventually get settled down and we went on with our day.  There were a few more random questions since we went to purchase a crucifix and a rosary for Sunday's service, but overall she seems to be satisfied with her answers for now. 

Empty

I've been staring at a blinking cursor on a blank page for a few minutes now and can not, for the life of me, figure out what it is that I want to say tonight.  Honestly, I had hoped that we would be in bed by now but a combination of insomnia and a 3.5 year old who woke up covered in urine and vomit delayed that a bit.  It isn't that we aren't tired, because we are and we absolutely need the rest. 

But as long as I'm awake, I can find something to work on or something to do...anything to keep my mind busy.  I even rearranged our computer cabinet and organized our tax documents tonight because I ran out of legitimate tasks that actually needed completed right now.  It's just easier to keep making up excuses to stay awake than it is to decide to get some sleep.
 
When we start preparing to go to bed, that's when I start to feel the panic rise up.  In the dark, in bed...all I can think about is the baby that is supposed to be sleeping in the pack-n-play at the foot of our bed just like his sisters did.  It helps me remember what his weight felt like against my chest but that also reminds me that my arms are so empty without him.  Going to bed forces me to realize that I can roll over and sleep in any position I want because there is no longer a big belly or a baby forcing me to sleep on my side.  As much as I hate sleeping on my side, I loved feeling him shift around inside of me and feeling his little hiccups bounce around.  Now there is nothing there but the memory. 

Everyone has told us in these last months how incredibly strong we are ... tonight, I don't feel strong.  I feel empty.

I was looking for a quote tonight and this is what I found.  I want to believe it, with all my heart I want to believe that all of this grief and this pain is all for something greater.  On the good days, I am even comforted by the thought.  On the bad days, it's harder.  Today is one of the bad days...today, I just want my little boy back in my arms. 

10,000

Wow - today, the pageview count for our blog surpassed 10,000 views (as of right now - it's 10,555).

I have no idea how many individual readers that translates to, but I do know that I never expected so many to be following our story and to read the words I've written.  It seems appropriate though that today was the day we hit such a milestone, because I've been doing a lot of thinking these last few days about all the support, love and encouragement that we have received in the last four months.  It has been so humbling and so incredibly uplifting.

It baffles me that the time has gone by both incredibly quickly and shockingly slowly.  I can remember the day of our ultrasound like it was yesterday and the crushing emotions that we experienced in the days that followed are never far from my mind.  At the same time, it's hard to believe that we're just four short weeks away from delivery now and are putting together the final pieces of the preparations to meet our little angel.  

Through all of this, I have had so many people tell me how I'm such a strong person and with what grace we've handled these last four months.  The truth is...a lot of days, I don't feel strong and on those days, I would describe myself as anything but graceful.  Yet, here we are...still standing, still facing each day, still preparing for all of the practicalities that need our attention.

I honestly don't think our personal strength alone would have gotten us to this point. We have had so very many who have reached out to us and many more who have held us up in prayer.  We have had loved ones and strangers alike who have opened up their hearts to hear our story and to share their strength with us.

We have been positively blessed that everyone we have encountered so far on this journey has been nothing short of amazing.  My family and friends have been there every step of the way.  Our doctor and her entire office have shown us nothing but love, support and compassion.  The funeral director and counselor are some of the most sincere and kind-hearted people I have ever met.  The priest who will be handling our baby's funeral put us so much at ease and made sure we knew that he would do anything he could to help us say goodbye in the way that we want.  Complete strangers have offered their support and kept us in their prayers. Acquaintances that we haven't talked to in years have reached out just to let us know that they've been thinking of us.

I will never be able to say enough thank-you's to all of those who have been with us on this journey and I know this won't be the last time I get the urge to reflect upon it.  But as I sit here tonight, thinking about all of those who have been walking with us...I can't help but feel overwhelmed by such a blessing in the wake of such sorrow. 

Island

I don't know how to explain what I'm feeling exactly, because I'm not sure it even makes sense but I feel like I have to try.  Even with all of the love, support, encouragement, kindness and prayers of family, friends and strangers...the only word I can come up with right now to describe how I feel is "alone."  It is what I imagine it would be like to stand alone on an island in sight of the mainland with no boat to get you across the waters ahead. 

I know it isn't really rational because at the very least, I have Chris by my side and we can still talk about anything.  I know I also have a number of family members who would be there for me in a heartbeat, even if all I needed was someone to listen to me cry.  I have an amazing online support network of women who have been through this and would do as much as any stranger from across the globe could do if I asked.  So I'm not really looking for anyone to say "I'm here Katie...just give me a call or a text or a message."  In my heart, I know that all I need to do is make a phone call and there would be someone on the other end willing to do anything they could if I asked. So that's not my point...honestly, I'm just hoping that by putting it somewhere other than my head, maybe I can figure out what's going on. 

Part of it is just my usual Monday funk...after working basically alone for 35 hours over the weekend, I know I usually have a little too much time in my own head, but I honestly don't mind that too much most times.  Actually, that part is kind of nice sometimes...of course there are times of chaos, it is a crisis center after all, but most of the time it is pretty tranquil and relaxed.  Our house is hardly ever what I would call tranquil!  :) 

I think another part of it is that there are several people I have reached out to recently but from whom I have gotten no response.  It isn't that I'm upset by the lack of response, exactly...I know our situation is tough and it's too much for some to handle.  That's okay, but I think what is hitting home is that, even though you receive countless offers of "If there is anything we can do, just let us know..." many of those aren't sincere.  For too many, it's just one of those things you say when you don't know what else to say to someone in crisis.  So this one isn't really a shock, but it's still kind of hard to accept.    

I think the majority of this feeling comes from the fact that we are just six weeks, or less, away from the birth of our little girl and the enormity of that is almost crushing.  I want so badly to enjoy these last weeks and I want to be prepared to celebrate the brief time that we'll have with her, but trying to balance that with keeping a grasp on reality leaves me feeling unsettled.  I know that there are those who pray for a miracle up until the moment their baby takes his or her last breath and to have that kind of faith is fine, but that isn't my faith.  I do believe that God can work miracles, but I just don't feel like that is the plan for us.  Don't get me wrong, every once in a while I catch myself daydreaming about what it would be like if this was all some terrible trial and we get to leave the hospital with a healthy baby but those fantasies are pretty brief.  For me, and for us, it's important to be prepared for the much more likely reality. I know there are mothers who have refused to make any arrangements before their baby died because it didn't make sense to plan a funeral for a baby who was still alive; I don't fault them, but that's not the way we have chosen to approach this.  Trying to balance the enthusiasm that your body wants to feel near the end of a pregnancy with the restraint that your brain is cautioning you to exercise is a constant battle. 

I can try my hardest to explain it and I'm sure it makes at least some sense, but there is no way I could ever share everything that is in my heart because there is so much that I don't even think can be put into words.  That is what leaves me feeling alone on my island...my heart and my head are so full of grief, joy, anger, frustration, love, bitterness, anxiety, anticipation, longing, and a thousand other things that I can't describe.  I know I have plenty who would jump in that boat to rescue me at all hours of the day or night, but what would I say when they reached the shore? 

Carry Them Forth

Carry Them Forth
If He were to shield us from these moments of great loss
He would have to do so at an unthinkable cost.
For if from our pain and suffering He sought to save us
He would be forced to limit the free will He so lovingly gave us.
In this world we will struggle and many days face heartache and strife

But in this world we will also know many wonders, each making up our life.
As we face a moment as dark and uncertain as this seems to be
We must challenge our heart to lead our soul to the light our spirit can see.
This too shall pass but not without first our mourning and tears
And as it passes and we go forth we do so with their memories for the remainder of our years.
Carry them forth, each and every day, make them known to all
For this will ensure their eternal influence upon the world and allow you to answer this call.

- Dg2012

 

 This was actually a Facebook post from a man I met ten years ago at my confirmation retreat; he is a youth pastor at a nearby parish and was one of the leaders there that weekend.  At the time I was a very lost 18 year old who wasn't anywhere near sure about my thoughts on God, let alone whether or not I wanted to commit myself to the Catholic Church.  I distinctly remember arguing about a number of points and I remember him patiently addressing each one with me.  I've since gained a lot of clarity on my faith and continue to work on my own walk with God, but am so grateful that I chose all those years ago to continue a path of learning and growing.  Three years ago, I saw him on Facebook through a mutual acquaintance and added him, because I never forgot his impact on me that weekend. 

 

Fast forward to now and I saw the words above show up in my newsfeed and although they were actually intended for the families impacted by a recent tragedy in my hometown, they really spoke to me too.  He's given his permission for me to share them here because I hope they will help someone else in the way that they've helped me. 

 

I don't have much to add to his words, because really they stand alone quite well...but I will add this thought: it's incredible that someone I met ten years for one weekend brought me such incredible peace with words that were intended for a situation wholly separate from my own.  We never know what impact we may be having on the life of another...

 

 

I Will Carry You

I Will Carry You

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxZhEcTzn6Q (This link has lyrics with images set to the song .)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2CnUtVY35o (This link is tougher to watch - Todd and Angie Smith lost their little girl to another condition that was "incompatible with life." Todd is in the Christian band "Selah" and produced the song in honor of Audrey Caroline; this video is a slideshow that a friend created for them with images of their family before, during, and after the birth of their daughter.)


There were photographs I wanted to take
Things I wanted to show you
Sing sweet lullabies, wipe your teary eyes
Who could love you like this

People say that I am brave but I'm not
Truth is I'm barely hanging on
But there's a greater story
Written long before me
Because He loves you like this

So I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All my life
And I will praise the One Who's chosen me
To carry you

Such a short time
Such a long road
All this madness
But I know
That the silence
Has brought me to His voice
And He says...

I've shown her photographs of time beginning
Walked her through the parted seas
Angel lullabies, no more teary eyes
Who could love her like this

I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All your life
And I will praise the One Who's chosen Me
To carry you


I think this song is probably going to be sort of an intro for a number of posts to come.  As I said above with the YouTube links, it's by a group called "Selah" and one of their members, Todd Smith, lost a daughter named Audrey Caroline shortly after her birth to another condition that is "not compatible with life."  It is a beautiful song and theirs is a beautiful story.

Todd's wife, Angie, actually kept a blog throughout her pregnancy and since.  She also wrote a book entitled I Will Carry You that details her pregnancy and her walk with God throughout.  It is a wonderful book and when I'm done reading it a second time, I'm planning to pass it on so that someone else can feel the comfort I've felt from her words.  (You can find her blog at http://angiesmithonline.com/ if you are interested.) 

The book was actually sent to me by my friend Ruth; in my eyes, it was one of those situations where God puts someone into our lives but it may take years before we know why.  Ruth and I met in college, but hadn't really stayed in touch (other than reading statuses on Facebook). Shortly after our diagnosis, she wrote me to let us know that she was praying for us and wanted to share Angie's book with us since she had recently read it.

Not only was I touched by her offer, I was struck by the ways in which Angie's book spoke to me.  There have been so many times that I've been reading and just stopped to think "Wow - that was exactly what I needed to read today." Or "Huh...that is exactly how I've been feeling." Her faith in God is an inspiration and I hope that one of these days, I can approach this all with the faith that she lives daily. 

I plan to do a few more specific entries on passages that were especially meaningful to me, but for now I just wanted to share their story and Audrey's beautiful song.

Wouldn't Change A Thing?

On one of the bad days recently, I started a pretty angry post with this same title.  I had read several other blogs where the mothers stated that they "wouldn't change a thing" about what they had been through.  The post was to have been along the lines of "Really - what kind of lunatic wouldn't change this situation if given the choice??" ...

I still firmly maintain that any mother who has had to walk a similar path would have loved nothing more than to leave the hospital with a healthy, happy baby who had a chance at a long life with them.  This morning, it struck me that there was a different way of looking at it. (Isn't there always?)

What I realized is that, at least for us, it means that I would do everything essentially the same way if I were faced with it again.  Chris and I have talked at length about whether we intend to have any more children, and honestly, the answer would depend on the day that you ask (and ultimately, I suppose, on God's plan).  We have also discussed the possibility of this situation happening again, as our risks for a neural tube defect are now slightly higher a second time around. 

On the bad days, we say that we could never be strong enough to endure another pregnancy like this and don't know what we would do.  On the better days, when we are a little more sane, we realize that we actually "wouldn't change a thing." The child that we created together would still be "our baby."  His or her life would still have value and it still wouldn't be up to us to choose when that life should end. 

Chris doesn't particularly care for it when I get on this topic and most of the time, I'd agree with that feeling.  We don't even know whether we'll have any more kids, so why think about this when there are so many other more immediate things that need my attention?  Well...for a couple of reasons: Most practically, I have a lot of "free thought time" at work and these are some of the things that plague me in the middle of the night.  More importantly, somehow it helps me to reaffirm the decision that we've already made this time.  It reminds me that though all of the pain and sadness, it's the right decision for us.  

(I know that statistics show 90-95% of mothers in this situation don't agree with our reasoning...I'm not judging them, just speaking from our place.)

Footprints

Footprints in the Sand

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.

Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.

In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.

Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,

other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed

that during the low periods of my life,

when I was suffering from

anguish, sorrow or defeat,

I could see only one set of footprints.

So I said to the Lord,

"You promised me Lord,

that if I followed you,

you would walk with me always.

But I have noticed that during

the most trying periods of my life

there have only been one

set of footprints in the sand.

Why, when I needed you most,

you have not been there for me?"

The Lord replied,

"The times when you have

seen only one set of footprints,

is when I carried you." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   This has always been one of my favorites. I've always enjoyed the notion that God was there to carry us through our darkest moments.  I actually like it so much that I even got four little footprints tattooed across the top of my left foot a few years ago.   It is no secret that I have been struggling with my faith this last month and I'm nowhere near the end of the quest. There are days where I want nothing to do with God and am so angry that I don't want to even think about talking to Him or uttering a single prayer.  There are other days where I desperately try to still believe that He is in control and is truly there for us.  There are even occasional days where I feel His strength or see some circumstance that has helped prepare us for all of this and know that we aren't entirely alone. There is no real rhyme or reason as to what category a given day will fall into; at this point, it is still kind of random.   Last night, however, as I was putting Abby to bed and had some quiet moments to myself as she was drifting to sleep, I started thinking about the footprints on my foot and what they mean to me.  I got them shortly after Chris's mom passed away in 2006; it was partly because of how much I have always loved "Footprints" but also because it was one of her favorites too and it seemed like a fitting way to honor her memory.  I have always thought of them as a reminder to myself that God is always with me and will carry me when I need Him.   In the last month, I have completely ignored that reminder and felt like we were just roaming the beach of life without anyone to walk beside us.  Tonight, however, I ended up having a quiet conversation with God, not really intentionally but just as a natural consequence of pondering our footprints right now.  I found myself asking God to help me let him carry me right now because I'm overwhelmed and not sure how to keep making footprints of my own.   I think that's what it comes down to...I don't have to ask God to carry me.  I have to figure out how to let that happen.  That is the biggest obstacle to my faith these days: I want to believe in God, I want to trust God, I want to find comfort in God... I'm just having a rough time with knowing how to do it all right now but I do believe that I'll get there eventually.

A Powerful Ripple

We have been so positively blessed with overwhelming support from our families and friends in the last few weeks.  It has meant so much to us to know that so many are praying for us, thinking about us and reading my words here.  We are truly grateful to those who have reached out to us and for us.

But today, I ask for a different kind of support and maybe a different prayer.  I ask that you will think of the other family members affected by the life and death of the angel that I am carrying. I ask that you say a prayer for each of them.

You see, Chris and I aren't the only ones hurting. I've been so wrapped up in my own grief and in trying to survive these last few weeks that I haven't really thought as much about everyone else as maybe I should have.  There are grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins who are hurting right now.  They, too, are mourning the loss of this child and struggling to watch their loved ones in so much pain.  They are also grappling with a profound feeling of helplessness because there just is so little that can be done right now.

I ask this especially for the sake of the grandparents.  It has occurred to me in the last few days, through reading some pretty powerful blogs and through some soul-searching of my own, that this is very likely as hard on each of the grandparents as it is for us as the parents.  On top of the grief that naturally comes along with a death that takes a loved one much too soon, they have to watch their own children struggle with one of the most unimaginable pains a human being can suffer.

I think of how excited Mom was, before the diagnosis, to be telling people that this would be her eighth grandchild.  I think of the amused look on Dad's face when Tori unwittingly told him about "the baby in Mommy's tummy" far sooner than we intended to share.  I think of Mike's excitement when he found out he would be getting yet another grandbaby so soon after the arrival of granddaughter number three in November. 

Then I think about the pain and devastation that was so obvious from all three when we had to tell them about the diagnosis.  I think about the tears that I heard in each voice and the strength that each one has struggled to summon forth when they knew that their children needed it more than ever.  I think about how hard it must have been for my Dad to have to call my siblings because I knew I couldn't do it that day - although I am eternally grateful that he was able to do that for us. 

I have been selfish the last few weeks and wanted them to be there to support us, but I realize now that they need support just the same that we do.  This isn't easy for anyone and it isn't fair to ask anyone in these circumstances to "be strong" for the sake of anyone else.  We all need supported sometimes and sometimes we need to be there to support others.  Even the strongest tree will fall if it isn't permitted to bend a little when the wind blows.   

Struggling with Our Faith

I have so many many things I need to write about and I don't know exactly what order to do them in, so I'm just going to try my best and apologize along the way if it doesn't seem completely logical.  Unfortunately, I'm struggling a little in the logic department right now.

I have always been the type of person whose relationship with God has been a work in progress.  From the time I was old enough to start asking questions, I've been asking them.  For the most part, I have found a lot of answers in the last twelve years and up until about four days ago, I would've said that my faith in God was stronger than ever.  Today I don't know that I can really say that.

I pray.  I always pray before I go to sleep and whenever else just feels right.  For the last few nights I haven't.  This is mostly because we wait until we are so exhausted that we can just fall into bed and go to sleep immediately.  Today I had to take a nap since I will be trying to go to work tonight, and when I went to say my prayers I found that I just couldn't do it.

I am, of course, still thankful for the good things in my life - my husband, my daughters, my family, my friends and all of the other blessings we have. It seemed, however, that for one of the first times in my life I was having a hard time wanting to talk to God.  I wouldn't necessarily say that "angry" is the exact right word for how I am feeling right now. Chris is furious and he has no problem putting that into words; I don't blame him for that.   I, on the other hand, don't even know what word I would choose for my emotions right now.

Many of the blogs that I have found in the last few days chronicle the struggles of mothers who have such a strong faith in God that they believe this whole experience has given them a better relationship with Him and who truly believe that this is a part of His plan.  Truthfully, if someone tried to tell me right now that the death of my child was part of God's plan - I might just punch him/her.  I am not, by nature, a violent person but to stand in front of me and tell me that a God I have always believed to be loving and benevolent planned for my family to suffer and lose a child...that is just more than I can bear.  I applaud the people who can believe that and, maybe, one of these days I will find the strength to believe it too.  For now, however, I take no comfort in that statement and find myself facing Square One again when it comes to evaluating my relationship with God as I used to know it.

*Now that I am done with this post, I am honestly debating whether or not to leave it or delete it.  I don't want it to be interpreted as my having lost my belief in God or turning my back on God.  I want it to simply acknowledge that, for me, this is just one small part of what I'm working through.  Ultimately, I think I will leave it because I know that other mothers in this situation will likely be having similar thoughts and if it helps them even a little bit, then I'm ok with sharing it.*