There is something rather universal, I think, about the way in which we send food to one another when times are tough. We deliver meals to new moms and dads. When a parent dies, we bring by a pizza to our grieving friend. And when kids are in the hospital, we show up with snacks or bring meals to the rest of the family at home.
What we wish we could do is wave a magic wand and get rid of pain and suffering and sickness. Especially in children.
But we can't. So we make a lasagna in a foil pan, or call to have groceries delivered, or mail a Dunkin Donuts gift card. Take it and eat, we seem to say to one another. Nourishment in this very concrete form is one way we hold out hope--life is still worth living! eat and sustain yourself!--and keep the darkness at bay.
That's why I appreciate so much all you have done in these last couple months to nourish Eddie's family. Eddie remains in the ICU--he will not be coming home, the doctors have said, until he receives a double lung transplant. This is really terrible news. Meanwhile his mom, Kori, rushes between the hospital and her home many times a day, trying to sustain both of her boys--Eddie in the hospital, Marshall at home.
It's an in-need-of-extra-nourishment kind of life.
We have lots of opportunities to help them in the coming months as they wait for Kori's beeper to ring, announcing the arrival of new lungs for Eddie. If you are able to make and deliver a meal, consider joining our community group online and signing up on our online calendar at https://www.lotsahelpinghands.com/c/664128/ You'll have to request membership there; please do!
And if you're not nearby to their hometown in Salem, MA but would like to help, consider these options:
Consider calling in a meal for them from a local restaurant or delivery shop. We usually have meals delivered there about 5:30 p.m. (it's helpful to us if you join the online community and put this on the calendar so Kori can see which days to expect deliveries). Local restaurants they enjoy include:
Yan's China Bistro in Swampscott (781) 593-3308
John's Roast Beef in Lynn (781) 595-6105
Mandee's Pizza in Salem (978) 745-6400
Or, consider mailing a gift card for food to the family; those can be super helpful to them on days we haven't signed up to bring or deliver them a meal--which include weekends--and when Kori is in Boston at the hospital. Restaurant gift cards you might consider (that are local for them) include: Panera, Bertuccis, lots of fast food places (McDonald's, Burger King, and Taco Bell are all within walking distance of their home), Au Bon Pain (for use at the hospital), and Dunkin Donuts. Finally, nearby grocery stores (should you want to purchase a gift card and/or have groceries delivered to them) include Shaw's on Highland Avenue in Salem, Market Basket (same location), and Whole Foods (in Swampscott). (To request their mailing address, please email me at mnwinchell (at) hotmail).
Whatever you choose to do, know that your kindness is so much appreciated. What we do when we feed each other is, perhaps, one of the simplest and most profound ways we have to celebrate and encourage life in the midst of painful and nearly-insurmountable circumstances.
Thank you for being a nourishing-friend to Eddie and his family,
Melissa for Eddie's Fund
Friday, January 18, 2013
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
on being in the muck...
(a re-post from Facebook)
I've spent my day tending to a sick (but slowly recovering) Moriah. She has the flu; no pneumonia (we did a chest X-ray today to be sure). Her fever has broken. I'm so grateful to have had this day with her; she was surprisingly sunny for a girl so sick. She will stay home again tomorrow, too, as she works to fend off this flu.
The truth is this morning I woke up after only a couple hours of sleep feeling a bit sorry for myself. There are lots of things that help me when I feel this way. One is gratitude, and when I woke up on Moriah's floor this morning feeling that bit of self-pity, I looked into her sleeping face and decided to give a lot of thanks for her little life, which is challenged so often. My thanks was suddenly crystal clear: Thank you, God, that she is here. Thank you.
And here's a less spiritual and less high-minded mind trick that works, too: I often turn my attention to folks who are in this muck with me. I spent a very busy day changing pants and Pull-Ups and driving to and from X-ray and attending to a needy girl. But part of the busyness of my day was also the texts and phone calls and voice mails I received. One friend whose son has special needs who was also trekking to a hospital today for tests, and will go back tomorrow for more. Another who cares for her son at home, day in and day out, and messaged me on Facebook. Another who I reached by phone, whose kids with special needs are all sick and all on antibiotics, who was also up a lot of the night last night.
And, of course, Eddie. Our bone marrow transplant friend Eddie. His mom and I have texted back and forth a lot today, and the news has not been good. Eddie has been in the ICU again this past week, and he is in seriously declining health, and he needs a double lung transplant, and soon. Today brought more difficult and painful news--the kind of news that makes a mom's heart almost physically rip in two--and I cried on and off through the day with Eddie's mom today, and prayed for her, and for him.
If you need perspective on your life, friends--if you want to be convinced that you are not being singled out for suffering, or difficulty, or sadness--I'd suggest you befriend a family with special needs near you. Because walking through life with others who are sick, and disabled, and struggling...this is some of the best spiritual medicine I know. It's not a magic bullet. It's life-with. You look up and realize you are surrounded by folks who are in the muck with you, and this does something to your heart, to turn your attention from the muck to the people stuck there with you.
We can't do much about the muck, you and I. We can look up, though, see that we are not alone, find comfort in our community of muck-ers, and pass along to one another what we know about life-as-muckiness.
This is friendship. So to all my dear friends who texted and called and Facebooked me today--to all whose kids are also sick and struggling, fighting for their lives or living with disabilities--thank you for saving me from my pity party today. I wouldn't survive the muck without you. I owe you my sanity, and by that I mean, my life.
I've spent my day tending to a sick (but slowly recovering) Moriah. She has the flu; no pneumonia (we did a chest X-ray today to be sure). Her fever has broken. I'm so grateful to have had this day with her; she was surprisingly sunny for a girl so sick. She will stay home again tomorrow, too, as she works to fend off this flu.
The truth is this morning I woke up after only a couple hours of sleep feeling a bit sorry for myself. There are lots of things that help me when I feel this way. One is gratitude, and when I woke up on Moriah's floor this morning feeling that bit of self-pity, I looked into her sleeping face and decided to give a lot of thanks for her little life, which is challenged so often. My thanks was suddenly crystal clear: Thank you, God, that she is here. Thank you.
And here's a less spiritual and less high-minded mind trick that works, too: I often turn my attention to folks who are in this muck with me. I spent a very busy day changing pants and Pull-Ups and driving to and from X-ray and attending to a needy girl. But part of the busyness of my day was also the texts and phone calls and voice mails I received. One friend whose son has special needs who was also trekking to a hospital today for tests, and will go back tomorrow for more. Another who cares for her son at home, day in and day out, and messaged me on Facebook. Another who I reached by phone, whose kids with special needs are all sick and all on antibiotics, who was also up a lot of the night last night.
And, of course, Eddie. Our bone marrow transplant friend Eddie. His mom and I have texted back and forth a lot today, and the news has not been good. Eddie has been in the ICU again this past week, and he is in seriously declining health, and he needs a double lung transplant, and soon. Today brought more difficult and painful news--the kind of news that makes a mom's heart almost physically rip in two--and I cried on and off through the day with Eddie's mom today, and prayed for her, and for him.
If you need perspective on your life, friends--if you want to be convinced that you are not being singled out for suffering, or difficulty, or sadness--I'd suggest you befriend a family with special needs near you. Because walking through life with others who are sick, and disabled, and struggling...this is some of the best spiritual medicine I know. It's not a magic bullet. It's life-with. You look up and realize you are surrounded by folks who are in the muck with you, and this does something to your heart, to turn your attention from the muck to the people stuck there with you.
We can't do much about the muck, you and I. We can look up, though, see that we are not alone, find comfort in our community of muck-ers, and pass along to one another what we know about life-as-muckiness.
This is friendship. So to all my dear friends who texted and called and Facebooked me today--to all whose kids are also sick and struggling, fighting for their lives or living with disabilities--thank you for saving me from my pity party today. I wouldn't survive the muck without you. I owe you my sanity, and by that I mean, my life.
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