handling what’s hard.

This week was hard in an inexplicable kind of way. I just felt really jumbled, confused and disoriented all week long—feelings that grief, unfortunately, has acquainted me with all too well.

I’m sorry the last few days have been so saturated with sorrow. It’s simply what is. I’ll pull it together when I’m ready.

In the mean time, I’m resting in this beautiful painting. If I play pretend, I can almost feel his warm little body against my chest—his weight centering me. . . keeping my heart and mind connected to the things that matter most.

Gosh I miss him.

But handling what’s hard is simply a part of this Earthly existence. Our ability to find calm within the inevitable storms of mortality is developed line upon line, as we trust in Him and retain an eternal perspective. Right? Right.

So on we’ll march. One foot joyfully in front of the other, until one day, all is made right again.


PS. This masterpiece was painted by my sweet cousin Ash Mae. If I had all the rainbows in all the world they wouldn’t be enough to help you see just how much light and joy this woman brings to the world. And thank you to Mom for commissioning her to paint it for me! Mom, I love you more than every star in the heavens . . . times infinity.

Today, I did something that I’ve been really, really afraid of. I spoke to a reporter about childhood vaccinations.

For the past year and a half, I’ve been an open advocate for the importance of adult booster vaccines. I’ve been actively involved in the Sounds of Pertussis Campaign where, in conjunction with the March of Dimes, we’ve promoted the importance of the Tdap booster to create a sort of “cacoon of protection” around infants who are too young to have yet received their Pertussis vaccination.

But childhood vaccinations? This, my friends, is a whole new ballgame.

I’m afraid I’m heading blindly into a war zone. . .  like a lamb to the slaughter, you might say. Only time will tell.

Dear world, Go easy on me, K? I didn’t ask for any of this.


I knew this girl once.

She was happy and brave. She had a skip in her step and a song in her heart. She loved the world completely, and the world loved her right back again.

The girl grew up.

And sometimes, she felt as if the world had stopped loving her quite so much. . . or just maybe, he’d forgotten about her altogether.

The girl felt all alone.

The girl cried. She cried and she cried and she cried.

A hundred rivers, she cried to overflowing, and then she cried some more.

Then one day, the girl woke up, and she didn’t want to cry any more.

The girl wanted to laugh.

She wanted to laugh, and she wanted to sing! She wanted to skip, and she wanted to dance!

She wanted to love the world, and she wanted to show the world how to love her right back again.

The girl declared war on her hurt, and she sang as loud as she could to overcome the sound of her sorrow.

The girl had forgotten how to skip, so she learned how to RUN instead.

She ran and she ran and she ran.

She wasn’t running away from the wanting, or the anger, or the sadness, oh no! NO no no no no! She was running right over the top of it all. Showing herself that she was strong, and brave, and that she had so much fight left in her. Enough fight for all the world (and then even more left over, just in case).

The girl found her smile again. The girl found her courage.

The girl had proven that she (and you) can overcome anything in life, just so long as you stay brave and keep right on loving (and believing in) the world, no matter what.

So even though the girl knows that in a different life, on a day like today, she’d be buying balloons and baking a cake. . .

Or that in some other world, she’d be living through a cleaning frenzy, preparing for a neighborhood full of smiling faces and hours upon hours of happy celebration. . .

Or that in another life, she’d be singing Happy Birthday To You and dancing the night away. . .

She’s Ok.

Bruised, but not beaten.

Yes, today, she’s dying from so much ache. The wanting is heavy on her chest, and the hurt keeps finding it’s way to the girl’s stomach until she can literally feel the vomit rising into her throat.

Yes, she wonders what he’d look like.

She wonders how he’d sound.

She wonders how his little 2 year old fingers would feel in her hand or how his sweet head would smell as it rested upon her shoulder.

Yes, the girl has much to wonder about. . .But one thing is clear.

He’s hers, not matter what. He’s her’s forever, and though, on a day like today, she’s filled with pain so deep and so wide that no number of tears could ever hope to wash it away, the girl knows that this day will be but a moment. And one day, sooner than later, this pain, so deep and so wide that it threatens to swallow her away, will be filled with joy twice as deep as is her sorrow.

Happy birthday handsome. Mommy loves you times a MILLION.

Finishing up the packing and about to head out. . .

As of yesterday morning, a new family owns our little white house on Wahinepe’e St.

My heart is heavy and light, all at the same time. I am profoundly happy for the family who bought it, they are remarkable, and so very, very deserving. It’s also a very meloncholy (or should I say melon choly)  feeling to say goodbye to a home that has cradled us as we’ve weathered so.many.storms. I remember my brother‘s room (before he moved out and set up camp on the beach… like a bona fide hobo). I remember where I was sitting (4 years ago tomorrow) when my Dad told me that had died. I remember where the baby‘s crib had been, and how joyous I felt as I assembled it. I remember how sorrowful I was as I broke it down and placed a dresser in it’s place… so I wouldn’t have to wake up every morning and stare at it sitting there, empty. I remember hours on end of laughter, plenty of yelling and madness, and so much friendship and love that I could burst at the seams just thinking about it.

But. . . I keep reminding myself, home is where we are, together. WE are what makes a house a home. Not friendly neighborhood kids in and out of the house all.day.long, not belly laughs, or tickle fests, not dance parties or trampoline wars, not more joyous memories than I can count… it’s us, and we’re sticking together.

Aloha ‘oe beautiful Laie. A hui ho!

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Video Courtesy of KSL.com

Reporter Jennifer Stagg did a fantastic job on our family’s feature that ran tonight on KSL in UT. Of all the interviews I’ve given over the last year and a half, this one was by far the most well done. (Just one quick thing, the piece mentions that we traveled with Gavin at 1 week old. He was actually 2 months old when we took that trip.) PLEASE share this video! We need to spread this important information any way we can. Here is the direct link to Gavin’s story on KSL. From there you can easily tweet, like on facebook or get the embed code to post this video to a blog or website.

Go Gavin GO!