#April2016

Let me start this blog by saying… I am so fucking sick of myself. By the way, if your delicate ears cannot handle a few swear words (at least 2-300 per paragraph) this is not the blog for you.

And also, this is a super long blog, more like a novel… or a police complaint.
Many of you have asked how I am. I hesitate to answer because it ain’t so pretty. However, be careful what you ask for because today I am going to tell you… I apologize in advance.

In all honesty, I feel like a death row inmate waiting for my execution for a crime I did not commit (or, did I?). Dead girl (not) walking. I have even considered my last meal (Mrs. Wilkes Savannah, Georgia fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, biscuits and 16 glasses of sweet tea). As you know, my French doctor has confirmed that I am in the final stages of ALS. I could die at any moment… but here is the thing… I keep waking up every fucking morning.

When I was young, my sister and I would get ready for bed… put on our floor length nightgowns and kneel by our twin size canopy beds, clasp our hands and pray…

“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take”

I swear to God, we said this prayer every night. I would say it, but did I really mean it? I was so young, but here I am, aged 46, finding myself laying here sacked with ALS looking out my window of the Palais Royal and uttering the same prayer…

“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take”

But this time, I mean it. I am ready to go but every morning I wake up and think to myself, “What are you still doing here, moron?”

For the past almost 6 years, ALS has been hard… very hard. But now, these past 2 months have been complete hell and I did not think that I was cut out for this kind of struggle and I was resigned to let myself succumb to the inevitable. I mean, how would you feel if you could not… hold your head up, open your mouth wide enough for a toothbrush to fit, swallow your favorite chai tea with vanilla soy milk, eat even old lady mashed potatoes or a fucking raspberry, or most importantly, dictate into your voice recognition software… which bring me to my next grievance…

Autonomy is the key to life. It truly is. Try having it taken away from you for one day and you will realize the importance of it. My voice recognition software was my autonomy… my freedom. I emancipated myself from ALS with my computer. I could do everything… my blog, my book, my shop, my emails, surf the web, write letters, research exhibits and do exactly as I pleased… and now that has all been taken away because my voice is too weak… and it is quite frankly, driving me crazy. I now have to rely on my 3 caregivers. Caregivers they are… executive assistants they are not. Try asking a grown Filipino man to design a Paperless Post greeting card for you. Let me tell you, it’s hell… Hell on earth. They are ready to kill me… and the feeling is mutual.

So I continue to ask myself, “Why the fuck am I still here?”

I thought that I had my house in order and was ready to depart. I even went to my beloved church and said to The Man, “Dude, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

However, for some reason, I am still here. Why? Why? Why? What else do I have to do, to accomplish, to resolve, to prove?

It turns out I don’t have to do any of those things… I only have one thing to do… continue to raise Gracie. Not that any child is ever “ready” to have their mother die but I thought that Grace was “ready enough.” How stupid was I? For Grace’s entire life she has been perfect. She has never even had a “time-out.” I never even needed to baby proof our house because Grace never touched anything… she just sat there, darling as ever, looking at her books. Even her teenage years were flawless. And then, #April2016 happened. Gracie decided to turn into an asshole. An asshole with support… let me explain.

I am not a conventional mother. That comes with pros and cons. Grace is my life and she can do no wrong in my book until she does and then my “unorthodox” parenting skills come into play. My husband explains it as, “You let Gracie slide and slide and slide and then you explode.” C’est vrai. It usually goes like this, “Gracie, please clean your room. Gracie, clean your room. GRACIE, CLEAN YOUR FUCKING ROOM!” She usually just ignores me and cleans her room whenever she sees fit and I usually just let it slide. However, there are certain things that I do not let slide… school work, job responsibilities, politeness, thank you cards and taking a minuscule responsibility in me.

The first day that I was diagnosed with ALS, I made a promise to myself not to burden Gracie with my bullshit. This was my disease and I wanted her to have as normal of childhood as possible. David and I have made this possible, thank you very much. However, occasionally, little Gracie is expected to help out. From time to time, caregivers flake… they are human (which is not an excuse, in my book). This is when Gracie has to help out, for fucks sake. She hates it, I hate it, David hates it… but it is necessary sometimes. Such is the case of #April2016. I had to unexpectedly fire my new caregiver because he was caught taking pictures of me while I slept. While I was flattered, I still had to let him go. Relax, I rehired him because he is a great caregiver even if he is a little bit creepy. I am laughing because he is the one who is typing this. Anywho, being one caregiver down, poor little Grace had to help out… for 4 hours. Boo Hoo. Grace protested. I exploded.

To make a long story short, Grace decided that this was the perfect opportunity in her career to rebel. Gracie convinced her (part-time) biological father, Dylan, that I was a lunatic and was, I think she cleverly used the term “psychologically verbally abusing” her by calling her a “selfish pig”… a la Alec Baldwin. I have no regrets, she was indeed, a selfish pig. This is what I was talking about with my unorthodox parenting skills. Well, Gracie didn’t take kindly to this criticism and decided to… convince her college professors (and the dean of her school, for that matter) that she was “under undue stress” and needed to excuse herself from the last month of the semester and finish her projects “remotely” and fly to California “to recuperate.” While I commend her for her initiative and manipulation skills, her actions are wholly inexcusable on every level, especially the part where Gracie did not tell me ANY OF THIS! Yes, you heard me correctly, I did not know about any of this. However, Gracie’s father knew… he paid for her plane ticket. Gracie’s aunt Heather knew… she called Gracie’s school to confirm Gracie’s request. Gracie’s grandparents knew… they picked her up at the airport. David knew… he ordered her an Uber to go the airport. My best friend, Jenny knew… she told Gracie that Gracie could stay at her house in LA.

NEEDLESS TO SAY,
I FUCKING EXPOLDED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My whole world collapsed. While I was busy trying to recuperate from the hellish previous 3 weeks at the palliative care center, little did I know, Grace and her cohorts were busy scheming for Gracie’s departure. Trust me, this took some planning. Without boring you with ugly details, mark my words… the word “catastrophic” does not do the situation justice.

The funny part and most rewarding part (for me) of this whole ordeal is that Gracie’s father, aunt, grandparents, David and Jenny were all used, unbeknownst to them, like pawns in Gracie’s federal prison like scheme. Gracie led all of them to believe that the stress of my ALS was just too much for her and that the stress of my ALS was affecting my “cognitive reasoning” and therefore, poor little Gracie needed to escape. What these fools didn’t know was that Gracie, in actuality, didn’t want to finish a 30-page school research paper due at the end of May, that there happened to be a boy in Los Angeles that Gracie wanted to see and she was craving an In-N-Out Burger. Of course, this gaggle of morons was not privy to any of this because they were under Gracie’s charming spell and because THEY ARE NOT HER PARENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And by the way, my cognitive reasoning skills are in tip-top shape… ask my doctor… and this is why I am fully aware of Gracie’s bullshit. Oh, also, Gracie told everyone that I was a terrible mother because I wouldn’t let her go to public school. Ask me if I care? By the way, this was the public school that had an on-site daycare for the student’s babies!  

Want to know my mental state after Gracie got on that airplane leaving Paris and me? Cry me a river is an understatement. Furor and revenge is more like it. I knew that I could get Grace back under control but what was more upsetting to me was the betrayal of those whom I trusted to take care of Grace in the likely event of my death. Here they were faced with Gracie’s first indiscretion and they failed miserably. I mean, c’mon, who lets a kid leave school before finals and go on vacation to LA leaving behind a mother who is about to fucking die? Idiots, that’s who!

So, now, I can’t die peacefully as planned. Now I have to stay alive to continue to raise Gracie because I don’t trust anyone else to do the job up to my standards (except Yolanda and Diandra, of course). I even went to my church and had to ask God to retract my request.

So, here I am, forcing myself, willing myself to stay alive. Ask me how difficult this is? I’ll tell ya…

ALS is ravaging my body. I spend the entire day fighting whatever it is that is trying to kill me. I have quadrupled the dosage of an experimental “drug” that is supposed to block the toxin of ALS. I never did this before because the safety has never been proven, but now I have nothing to lose, so fire away. I take it 10 times a day. I shove in my feeding tube every half hour the following: Kale, spinach, cucumber, fennel, coriander, coconut water, coconut oil, carrots, green peas, whole grain brown rice, sprouted quinoa, sweet potatoes, garlic, rosemary, ginger, lemon, flax seed oil, turmeric, almond butter, beets, pomegranate, blueberries, celery, broccoli, garbanzo beans, seaweed and every other healthy fucking thing I can think of. Bored yet? Think how I feel… I do it every half hour. Every half hour! I do it because I cannot die yet and let those incompetent Judases parent Gracie.

After 2 weeks of ranting and raving, I got Grace back to Paris… we had some words… she apologized… I did not (because I do not negotiate with terrorists)… and we are back on track. No, I do not forgive Gracie’s accessories in her crime… they can all fuck off except David and Jenny who I forgave… just because.

Sorry for this lengthy explanation but remember, it is your fault because you asked how I was doing.
So, where do we go from here?

I have decided that I will not leave this earth without kicking and screaming, fighting tooth and nail no matter how ugly it gets, even if I am on my last breath… I will not abandon my post… my daughter. This could be a week or 3 months. The stages of ALS can vary. Isn’t that fun?

I am sure Gracie will be just thrilled. To reward Gracie with her bad behavior I have decided to over-parent her even more than I already do. I have secretly inserted a tracking device under her skin… just kidding… no I’m not.

In the meantime, while I am trying to stay alive, I thought we should make the best of it.

Let’s talk about adaptation… I have had to adapt to a lot. Canes, walkers, wheelchairs, feeding tubes, handicapped toilets for fucks sake, breathing machines, daily medication, caregivers and adaptation computer software. I always told myself that I had my limits as well. I told myself that I would never live past the point when I could not speak. What’s the point, really?

But here we are… I can barely speak but I need to! So what are we going to do, my friends? I have to adapt, obviously. Enter Eye Tracking Computer Software. Geeky and embarrassing, I know, but fuck, what else am I going to do? Gracie needs her mother! I guess I should be grateful that eye tracking software even exists but #ItSucks.

On top of having to need eye tracking software, now I have to pay for it and it is expensive as fuck. If you want to know how expensive ALS is, please refer to everyone’s favorite blog posting of mine titled, Dear Fat Fuck, HERE. Leave it to me to get the most expensive disease on earth… 24 hour caregivers, breathing machines, imported feeding tube formula, medication (FDA approved and non-approved), doctors that charge 150 euros per hour, kinesiologist, massage therapist, daily nurses, and blah, blah, blah… I am so high maintenance it’s revolting. Thanks to my best friend, Yolanda Hadid, who established a donation page for me, HERE, I can afford some of the cost but it in no way covers all the expenses of ALS. Thank you to all of you who have donated and thank you to Yolanda.

Also, I want to thank all of you for your cards, gifts and flowers. Remember when Gracie called you my “imaginary friends?” Well, that same Gracie would rush over to my apartment and eagerly open every single one of your cards and read your kind words to me. One day, my caregiver, Michael, started to open the cards and Gracie protested, “Let me do it!” She loved it. Imagine that!

I am grateful that Gracie and I recovered from #April2016. The good news is that I know how to multi-task. I will continue to hover over Gracie, I will learn to adapt to the eye tracking software, I will continue to take pictures of the hot French guy outside my window and post it on Instagam HERE, I will continue my blog, go to exhibits, try to stay alive, take illegal medication, share my life with you… AND… I will reopen my shop!

You won’t believe this but little Gracie finally decided to take an interest in my shop. She has been in training for almost 21 years and has a trained eye that rivals the best of them. She can spot chinoiserie from a mile away. She knows good gilt mirrors when she sees one and her computer skills are magnifique! So Gracie is now my #1 Have Some Decorum Shop Girl. We have put together a fantastic collection of antiques that will be available next week!

As my friend Hollye says, “Look for the silver lining.” Even though Gracie and I barely survived #April2016, we did come out of it with a new understanding…
I am her mother and what I say… goes.

Thank you for asking how I have been doing. Are you disappointed that you did? Didn’t expect all of this, did you? I am sure many of you, if not all of you, have some sort of similar experience with your children as well. I am laughing thinking of the comments that I will receive for this blog. I swear to God, if any of you dare to tell me that Grace is just acting out of anger because of my ALS, I will puke. She isn’t… she just didn’t want to do her homework for the first time in her life.

THE END.

Life’s Lessons N° 5: Spaghetti Carbonara Both Causes Anxiety and Cures Anxiety.

Okay, let’s all take a deeeeeep breath. The last three days in Paris have been a wee bit crazy. I am still having a hard time processing it all… Did all of that just really happen? Did a gaggle of retarded people just storm Paris in the name of Islam, take hostages and kill more than a dozen innocent people? Unfortunately, yes. However, I have to say… I am proud. I am proud that I live amongst these Parisians… These brave Parisians who rallied without fear or intimidation in the Republic Square defending their right to free speech chanting, “Je suis Charlie.” Viva LaFrance.

Enter comfort food. Today, I think all of France needs a big helping of comfort food. Today is not a day for poached salmon or goat cheese salad. No, today France needs a big serving of spaghetti carbonara and copious amounts of wine. Spaghetti carbonara is a short-term solution until we find a long-term solution to all of this unrest. Yes Parisians, make a big bowl of spaghetti carbonara, shed some tears, regain your strength, go forward and, as my friend Diandra always says, (via Wilferd Peterson), “Walk with the dreamers, the believers, the courageous, the cheerful, the planners, the doers, the successful people with their heads in the clouds and their feet on the ground. Let their spirit ignite a fire within you to leave this world better than when you found it."

Even though spaghetti carbonara only has a few simple ingredients… It ain’t all that easy to make. You need to practice. Timing, execution and ingredients are everything with spaghetti carbonara. You can’t just throw everything in a pan like an asshole. You have to finesse spaghetti carbonara. There is a wonderful blog called Rachel Eats in which the author describes her six-year spaghetti carbonara anxiety. After finally overcoming her fears, she has perfected the recipe. Read the article HERE.

Okay, let’s start with some secrets from the experts for spaghetti carbonara…

Use whole eggs and then add one egg yolk.

Use the Japanese onsen egg method… Learn HERE.

Guanciale or pancetta is best… Thickly cut with plenty of fat… Fry until crispy but not crunchy.

Use a mixture of Parmesan and pecorino.

While heating the oil, add garlic cloves, infuse the oil and then discard the garlic before you add the pancetta.

Spaghetti noodles are good but short rigatoni noodles are better to capture the sauce.

Top with a dash of nutmeg.

Like I said, ingredients are key and if you want the very best, the very best, the very best ingredients for spaghetti carbonara you need to head to Italy and find Paolo Parisi. Signor Parisi is a Tuscan farmer/shepherd/gourmet/gastro-snob who specializes in raising Livornese hens and the near extinct black Cinta Senese pigs. Eggs and pork… Two of the most important ingredients for spaghetti carbonara. Signor Parisi’s eggs are lauded to be the best eggs on earth having “a fresh taste, a yoke that is softer and richer in fat than most, with an uncommonly long protein structure and a mild almond flavor. They also have the capacity to incorporate three times the amount of air than the average yoke when whipped.” At $4 a pop per egg, these “well worth it” high maintenance precious hens are all-natural, free-roaming and are fed goats milk. Signor Parisi’s pedigreed pigs are fed pinenuts and chestnuts and are allowed three blissful years of free roaming before being “reincarnated” into guanciale.fed Wow! :-)

 

Okay, now for some recipes…

Spaghetti Carbonara by Damn Delicious Blog. Recipe HERE.

 

 

Spaghetti Carbonara by Paolo Parisi. Recipe HERE.

 

 

Spaghetti Carbonara by Mario Batali. Recipe HERE.

 

 

Spaghetti carbonara… Mastered!

*Something you don’t know about me? My daughter was homeschooled for three out of the four years of high school. It was the best decision we’ve ever made and surprisingly, it was all Gracie’s idea. I chose to be the type of parent who actually listened to their child. I believed that I raised Gracie with enough intelligence that by the time she was entering high school, she was able to make her own decisions… Sort of. When Gracie was about to start the ninth grade, we decided to move to Paris. I, of course, started researching schools for Gracie. Gracie had a mini meltdown. Gracie is so incredibly shy that it actually hampers her life. She has always been like that and it is just her nature and I cannot change it. So… I needed to listen to Gracie. She did not want to start a school in France as a freshman, not knowing the culture and not knowing the language. She suggested homeschooling. Brilliant idea, I thought. I had already lost faith in  brick-and-mortar schools anyway. Homeschooling is the wave of the future. I continued my research and found the best homeschooling program for Gracie.…K-12.com. Gracie learned how to take charge of her own education, make her own schedule, have a one-on-one relationship with her teachers and feel proactive towards her future. Gracie was free to travel and explore the world as well which is an instrumental part of one’s education. Yep, Gracie woke up at about noon, had a cup of tea and toast, started her French lessons, had a home-cooked lunch, read her English literature in the sunshine, had one-on-one tutoring for math, did a little yoga and swimming in the afternoon for PE, went to a museum for art history, and escaped every inch of high school peer pressure that destroys self-esteem from bullies, stoners and slackers. Gracie actually came out of high school unscathed. No, don’t get the wrong idea, homeschooling is not just for the wealthy with a stay-at-home parent. There are completely tuition free public homeschooling programs that provide everything one would need including a computer, books and supplies. We actually received in the mail, delivered to our house, art supplies including clay, paint, canvases and everything one would need for art class. The good news is that I was not the teacher. The K-12.com program has a designated teacher for each class that Gracie could communicate with daily via text, email and Skype. I went to work part-time while Gracie was at home… Homeschooling. Yes, homeschooling is mostly successful if you have a responsible child, willing to work independently… Which Gracie was. As Gracie organized her own schedule, she was free by 4 PM when her friends got out of school to “hang out.” Gracie did not miss out on socializing. After a couple hours of going to the mall, getting afterschool burritos and smoothies, Gracie returned home and continued working on her studies until she went to bed. Selfishly, I was so happy Gracie chose to continue homeschooling in the 11^th and 12^th grade because I got to see her sassy little smile all day as I was in the beginning throes of ALS. (She went to “regular school” in New York for the 10^th grade.) By the time Gracie finished 12^th grade, she was ready for college… Confident, responsible, motivated and proactive. Best decision ever made over here at the O’Connell household. I know that there is a lot of controversy surrounding homeschooling. Dare I ask what your thoughts are on homeschooling?

Amazing Grace.

It’s painful for me to write about my daughter, Gracie, considering our “predicament.” If I even barely open the door for thought, I will crumble. I can handle everything regarding ALS…but that. However, considering today is her birthday, her 19^th birthday, a day that I did not think I would see, I thought maybe I would share Gracie with you.

 

Gracie was born a great big fat baby. She was basically a 10 pound toddler the first day of her life. She would gorge herself on milk and then power vomit. Baby bulimia? She was all rolls and blubber. Her little feet were so puffy that it looked like I had injected them with silicone. She had like five chins. She was the cutest thing I had ever seen. Like a baby doll. I started to question my choice of the name Grace, though. Could this fatso represent the name? It’s such an elegant name. Grace and cankles don’t really go together. Luckily, her fat phase faded and she has been an elegant swan ever since. Little did I know, stupid me, or maybe I did know that the name Grace was the most fitting name ever imagined for this little butterball.

Gracie is the same person now as a young adult as she was when she was little. Reserved. That is the perfect word for her. Reserved. Literally, the complete opposite of me and Celine Dion. Gracie does not like to make waves or have any focus on herself. After two weeks of her summer job this summer, she received a promotion with more responsibility. I asked her if she asked for a raise. Her response was, “No, that would be rude.” She has never gossiped (boring) or been involved in any sort of confrontation with a friend. Never. She has the same friends since elementary school and makes new friends easily. Gracie is kind, supportive, giving and present towards her friends. She minds her own business and never judges. Even if she doesn’t know it, I think her motto might be: To Each Their Own. She is not a big fan of taking “selfies” and for that, I commend her.

 

I promise you, I can take no credit for this. This is who she is. This is how she was born. This is her character. In having this type of child, my job has been harder as her mother. She is sensitive and delicate. If I even look at her funny, she will have tears in her eyes. I have spent the last 19 years defending Gracie’s shyness. Don’t get me wrong, Gracie is no shrinking violet. She will absolutely stand her ground, but very passively. Sometimes Gracie’s character can be judged incorrectly. I don’t know how many times I’ve told her, “Your shyness turns to rudeness.” She is not very forthcoming because if Gracie were to express her feelings… It might destroy her.

 

So, having her mother be sick is a cruel blow to this fragile yet brave flower. We have been up and down, backwards and forwards, laughing, crying, screaming with frustration, fear and desperation. There is no rulebook titled How to Behave When Your Mother Is Dying. Not even a trained psychiatrist could crack Gracie’s armor. Gracie does not want people to know or talk about my… malady. She doesn’t want people to treat her differently. She did not even tell her boyfriend or her friends at school that she has a mother who is sick. Gracie’s new best friend at college, Beatrice, was coming to our apartment in Paris for Easter brunch. Gracie has known Beatrice since the first day of college. Gracie told Beatrice that I was sick…at the last minute…as they were riding up the elevator to my apartment. Awkward?

 

Grace is intelligent, funny, witty, cultured, well read, independent, honest, responsible, upstanding, loves animals and children and has a moral compass that would make us mortals blush. She has never thrown a fit, slammed a door, pouted, or yelled. Wait, she did throw a fit once at the polo field in Santa Barbara because she wanted to change her dress…for the third time. She has conducted herself as a lady...almost her whole entire life. She’s always been extremely feminine…loves makeup, jewelry, nail polish, and fashion. She carried a purse to kindergarten with 42 lipsticks and a passport. She wants to receive her degree in art history and work at Vogue.

 

Now, don’t get me wrong, Grace can be a bit of a bitch… But only to me. She rolls her eyes at me, huffs at me, tells me I'm most likely undiagnosed bipolar, embarrassing, rude, not funny, loud, self-centered, and hates my hair, my blog, my decorating, my style, my shoes, my shirts, my hats, my makeup, my perfume, and my jewelry. Oddly, she wears my shoes, my shirts, my hats, my makeup, my perfume and my jewelry on a daily basis and asked me to decorate her apartment. Sometimes she will not answer my 250^th phone call of the day. How rude! Sometimes I think that she is separating herself from me before the inevitable. This is been a sore spot for us. One day, last year, I was pushing her and pushing her to talk to me about her feelings. She just sat there, stoic. Then finally she burst out crying and confessed to me, “Do you know how hard it is to have my mother unable to put her arms around me and hug me?” I saw a pain so deep and foreign that it terrified me and I finally understood that my way of coping is not necessarily Gracie’s way of coping. We both decided that day that we were not going to open this wound, and that we would get through this way our way…through denial and laughter.

What kind of mother have I been? Let me see… The word overprotective comes to mind. I admit it and I don’t care. Gracie had a fever once of 100° and I called the ambulance. The ambulance! She has only needed a Band-Aid once in her life, and we still talk about that “horrible” day. When she suggested that she be homeschooled in Paris, I was thrilled because I knew I would get to have lunch with her every day. I still check on her at night when she is sleeping to make sure she’s breathing. Now that she is older, I still call her every day and remind her to take her birth control pill, not talk to strangers, stand up straight, read a book and budget her money. Her polite response? “Shut up.” Poor Gracie, I followed her to college, for God’s sake. My friend Yolanda always tells me that I need to let her fly out of the nest. I know that Yolanda is right and I will let Gracie fly but I will be flapping my wings as long as I can right behind her.

 

My heart is broken. It can never be mended. It’s not about me. It’s about Grace. The thought of Gracie going through life without me makes me lose my faith. My faith in everything… Religion, humanity, medicine, etc. The only solace that I have is that I know I have raised a strong girl. I have told her over and over to go forward…boldly go forward. My demise does not define her and will not obstruct her future. I have also told her with absolute certainty that it is imperative after I pass away that she calls Teresa, the Long Island Medium, for a reading and I will absolutely “come through.” And I will most likely tell her that she needs to iron her shirt. We have already discussed our secret word so that she will know it’s really me. She looks at me like I’m crazy, but she will thank me later.

 I don’t have any advice or any answers for this. There aren’t any. All I know is that I am lucky. I am lucky that I was blessed to have this child in my life for one day, let alone 19 years. So, whoever you are up there, thank you. Happy 19^th birthday, Gracie. Love, your overbearing mommy.

 “If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together… there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think  but the most important thing is, even if we're apart… i'll always be with you.”-Winnie the Pooh