It's So Hard to Say Goodbye

When I went into labor with Abbie,  I was prepared.

I had read all of the baby books.

I had required hubs to read all of the baby books.

I had prepared the nursery.

I had attended the requisite child birth classes, and (despite the fact that hubs and I were asked to leave after we got an intense case of the giggles one session where husbands were required to kneel behind their wives while the wives were perched on all fours,) I felt that we had acquired enough knowledge to birth my first baby.


I was prepared.


That is,  I was prepared until the contractions (complements of pitocin) doubled me over.

Hubs grabbed my hand and looked me in the eye and asked,  "What should I do?"  My mom and hubs' mom left the room and started praying in the hallway.  And me?  My eyes glazed over, and I howled.

I was worthless.

Enter Amy.

With her brown bob swinging at her chin,  Amy entered the labor and delivery room pushing her overflowing navy blue stroller.  Her bright "Hey guys!"  fell on deaf ears as I wailed and hubs tried to soothe me. Quickly, Amy's determined eyes scanned the room and took in the scene.  And then she got to work.

With ease,  Amy popped open a Tupperware container filled with cereal, and then she poured it onto the stroller tray for her daughter Cara.  Then she reached under the stroller and extracted a fast food bag from out of nowhere.  I swear, it was as if she were Mary Poppins and that stroller was her travel bag.  I smelled the yummy hamburger before she pulled it out.  With a smile she stated simply, "I figured that Paul hadn't eaten."  Then she lured a helpless hubs away from me, and over to the uncomfortable couch  with that hamburger.

Then, Amy came over to my bedside.

She gently grabbed my hand and said, "It hurts pretty bad doesn't it?"

I answered with a whimper, and her eyes widened with understanding. 

She patted my hand, wiped my hair from my face, and then asserted with no-nonsense, "I will be right back!"

I watched as she gave a quick check to Cara, and then over to Paul, and then she hurried out of that room and into the hall.

And as calm and in charge Amy was while in my room,  she was a crazed force when she went into that hall.

"WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE GET MY GIRL SOME DRUGS IN HERE!"  she bellowed in the hallway outside of my room.

And when no nurse responded quickly enough, Amy again took charge,  "WE ARE STILL WAITING FOR SOME PAINKILLERS DOWN HERE!!!"

Finally, a nurse took action, and Amy returned to my bedside calmly.  She restated the obvious and explained, "They will be right here with some meds."

Then she held my hand until that nurse arrived with the painkillers.

Amy was that kind of friend.

She knew exactly what you needed even when you, in fact, did not.  She was a mentor mom to me when I was new and inexperienced and doubting every damn thing that I did as a new mom.  She was another mom and friend that had "been there."  She got me without explanation.  And, she made me smile just to be around her and her warmth.


And that is why I can not believe she is gone.



Last Tuesday  Amy went in for a routine surgery to help with her migraine headaches.  There was a complication.  Amy never woke up.


She left behind her four kids and her adoring husband.

She left behind a doting family.

She left behind an insane amount of friends and people that she had touched.


And, she left a hole in my heart.


I will miss you my girl.


I will be lost without your compass.