tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14626657896600585762024-02-02T16:10:41.992-06:00Superman SamSam was diagnosed with AML in June of 2012, and relapsed in April of 2013. His bone marrow transplant was in August of 2013, but he relapsed again in November and died in December, 2013.
We miss him every day.
This blog is called Superman Sam not because he loved Superman, but because he was OUR superman.Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.comBlogger446125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-36905221850466645292023-11-08T17:06:00.000-06:002023-11-08T17:06:05.269-06:00Never an adult...There's something about turning 18, isn't there? A whole new list of adult things you get to do, places you can go, responsbilities you have. You can sign your own permission slips! <div><br /></div><div>When a person turns 18, they think they're so old. And yet, the older I get, the more achingly young 18 seems to be.</div><div><br /></div><div>And yet...it's the 10th time we're celebrating Sam's birthday without him.</div><div>Read that sentence again. The TENTH time. How can it be that we've done this ten times? </div><div><br /></div><div>I read back over my old posts and I think about each year, how I wrote that we were just baffled by how the time had gone by. This feeling never goes away. How did we get here? How can ten years have gone by? How can we be counting in the double digits?</div><div><br /></div><div>And yet we are. And he is not here. </div><div><br /></div><div>I talk a lot about grief, and how it evolves. Like one of those trees that grows around something else, adapting to its environment - we've grown around the Sam-shaped hole in our lives. We've healed around it, stronger in some ways and weaker in others. We're never going to be an ordinary tree again. We're something new, something different. (Picture below for illustration because it made me think of Sam and our <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/10/eyebombing-r4-day-23.html">eye-bombing adventures</a>.)</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiD1VBJ4YbYhN6GoXwoSiZrUne4AyVkbV6kLodTTIJ5LsBryhrJ7i2cJxQf1EsPqZfqTUW9vvFFHMBaItL5iGFEEStLLwwYn5nMzjuZaxYqjfEVI4OrrKkwyKxv87uhcCxXMW7QmU96Eg1WTO-YK5fUO3tAxia3-xipG4huZIR0hNmvU5n3MCcxnY9_Xd2j" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="731" data-original-width="634" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiD1VBJ4YbYhN6GoXwoSiZrUne4AyVkbV6kLodTTIJ5LsBryhrJ7i2cJxQf1EsPqZfqTUW9vvFFHMBaItL5iGFEEStLLwwYn5nMzjuZaxYqjfEVI4OrrKkwyKxv87uhcCxXMW7QmU96Eg1WTO-YK5fUO3tAxia3-xipG4huZIR0hNmvU5n3MCcxnY9_Xd2j" width="208" /></a></div><br /> And it breaks my heart that Sam isn't here to evolve with us.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy 18th, Sammy. We miss you every day of every week of every month. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Solly is shaving this year, and maybe you'd like to make a donation? <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/events/Mitzvah2023">https://www.stbaldricks.org/events/Mitzvah2023</a></i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo9vq8naPUPNzmsOrRQSfOrI_mUWK9eRxknzfroyCD1TJnczgAIGjXjmSK4CBZB9xkiYhCKqc94d6AMSz4iPT1gWKix5G4SJUTZz52hyDjJFOdit-HBI3fm-u2jIf2qltw-2smb71QPlFgdK6V6YFjZifep6afl7SMjWWJLfRJQw12R3fXeOVgdIKDXhxM/s1024/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo9vq8naPUPNzmsOrRQSfOrI_mUWK9eRxknzfroyCD1TJnczgAIGjXjmSK4CBZB9xkiYhCKqc94d6AMSz4iPT1gWKix5G4SJUTZz52hyDjJFOdit-HBI3fm-u2jIf2qltw-2smb71QPlFgdK6V6YFjZifep6afl7SMjWWJLfRJQw12R3fXeOVgdIKDXhxM/s320/22.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmLRMlAeDoiZlpwkwtGWlhXpCnq_OOtvkstRfkpAF_q6uy1gvwGrUT5wB7GOUs2H_qzIjvG4A4trYsztV0zaDSOdrgNscX7DqytiSdQnXh3BdzxyJdC-RND3TmVSLLKKcWjl-PXzslT3E0BbVusR70V_eiTn84V4TJ5nCFm4VvSYxY7GbqeMUBBLOiJRCL/s1600/DSC00537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmLRMlAeDoiZlpwkwtGWlhXpCnq_OOtvkstRfkpAF_q6uy1gvwGrUT5wB7GOUs2H_qzIjvG4A4trYsztV0zaDSOdrgNscX7DqytiSdQnXh3BdzxyJdC-RND3TmVSLLKKcWjl-PXzslT3E0BbVusR70V_eiTn84V4TJ5nCFm4VvSYxY7GbqeMUBBLOiJRCL/s320/DSC00537.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">2nd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2007/11/best-shot-monday.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Best Shot Monday<br /></a>3rd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2008/11/birthday-marathon.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Birthday marathon<br /></a>4th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-is-your-birthday-song.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">This is your birthday song<br /></a>5th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2010/11/five-is-big-number.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Five is a big number<br /></a>6th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2011/11/six-is-awesome.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Six is Awesome<br /></a>7th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2012/11/lucky-number-seven.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Lucky Number Seven</a> and <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/11/birthday-boy.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Birthday Boy<br /></a>8th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/11/little-things-bmt-73.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Little Things<br /></a>9th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/11/birthdate.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Birthdate<br /></a>10th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/11/" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Just Not Okay<br /></a>12th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2017/11/dozen-donuts.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Dozen Donuts<br /></a>13th birthday: <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2018/11/im-sure.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">I'm Sure<br /></a>14th birthday: <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2019/11/because-you-havent-grown-up.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Because You Haven't Grown Up<br /></a>15th birthday: <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2020/11/frozen.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Frozen</a></span></div><div style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">16th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2021/11/sweet-16.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Sweet 16</a><br />17th Birthday: <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2022/11/this-isnt-17.html">This isn't 17</a></div></div>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-40119522335064781422022-12-13T20:52:00.002-06:002022-12-13T20:52:31.432-06:00Unbroken Streak<p>There's a whole culture now around creating a "streak." What's your Wordle streak? How many days in a row have you done the Mini Crossword? Did you close your watch rings all the days this month?</p><p>I have a love-hate relationship with these streaks. I really like adding up all those numbers, but I also sometimes defiantly break my streaks so I'm not beholden to them. This week, I broke my Wordle streak but I hit a couple of high personal-high streaks - the crossword puzzle, Duolingo...</p><p>Somehow, all of these coming together THIS week felt...like something. Because it made me think of the streak I've never wanted to count - 3,288 days since Sam died. NINE years. Nine YEARS. It's more years than we knew him. It's more years than he was alive. </p><p>And it's just not right. How did we get here? </p><p>Our lives have changed so drastically in the last nine years. The Sam-shaped hole in our lives has softened, become a little pliable. We think of him, we talk about him, but the edges have blurred with time. There's less pain, and more ache. There are some memories that are still sharp, in full focus, and there are others that are cushioned by forgetfulness. The photos tend to bring smiles rather than tears. </p><p>We have had no choice but to continue to put one foot in front of the other, to grow older each day, even though Sam did not. We have had no choice but to make new memories and new stories, even though Sam is not there to be in them. We have had no choice but to switch to the past tense, even though Sam is always so very present. </p><p>Nine years have gone by, with us missing him each moment. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7QAacvuL4_37GiZo00suU4gAhIHtBoWhvpNwsuMghTiQP6QqDFLMn2Yc3MQVhPvHxN0zEUV-vgo9D6vo6M22596NPzMqZCqC0-4JSgh_9xjr-tdSH8NeNGNdr41gPaGbCU88VeXyM5cM7058JduzCMo_y8ezZ6hpTJAkbVc4dPK411RCueIsQ5cjLuA/s640/blogger-image-474997977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7QAacvuL4_37GiZo00suU4gAhIHtBoWhvpNwsuMghTiQP6QqDFLMn2Yc3MQVhPvHxN0zEUV-vgo9D6vo6M22596NPzMqZCqC0-4JSgh_9xjr-tdSH8NeNGNdr41gPaGbCU88VeXyM5cM7058JduzCMo_y8ezZ6hpTJAkbVc4dPK411RCueIsQ5cjLuA/s320/blogger-image-474997977.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigw1qFxN206uI9l1j9NL3E4UNKXSVVviJthd7B13V9jRQFHPyKPb-vcoC8zwJCkAJk8FX12SOici0htKYdx2KZ1KNCYATo_F1Ikuse-CoDiXv9WLerMZTZwAQKHJGniBDBG9I6b6uVTvAWh7eXwuXwMLiTFLxyED-nv7DeIlL6W52Zim_BHDsiPIFzA/s640/blogger-image-1379818342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigw1qFxN206uI9l1j9NL3E4UNKXSVVviJthd7B13V9jRQFHPyKPb-vcoC8zwJCkAJk8FX12SOici0htKYdx2KZ1KNCYATo_F1Ikuse-CoDiXv9WLerMZTZwAQKHJGniBDBG9I6b6uVTvAWh7eXwuXwMLiTFLxyED-nv7DeIlL6W52Zim_BHDsiPIFzA/s320/blogger-image-1379818342.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCIwHN1j_zqqdc9MSN0gqx3tvWT90q2HvUaR77V-pGIiZmL2vy4rYz_bdVNrEjN8728dm-Ro4QsobeuS4dRuIGPgGBVrnW-BfgwPRXvbW8xno39EuOa47M-n6N0xO1p8VyXuLvcuFKxmBItS56FNuHFtqZb-PwUmD9gdKXpYBrVItHOlT2QltwN-skrw/s2048/IMG_0328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCIwHN1j_zqqdc9MSN0gqx3tvWT90q2HvUaR77V-pGIiZmL2vy4rYz_bdVNrEjN8728dm-Ro4QsobeuS4dRuIGPgGBVrnW-BfgwPRXvbW8xno39EuOa47M-n6N0xO1p8VyXuLvcuFKxmBItS56FNuHFtqZb-PwUmD9gdKXpYBrVItHOlT2QltwN-skrw/s320/IMG_0328.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-70216091689218510432022-11-08T01:00:00.005-06:002022-11-08T01:00:00.179-06:00This isn't 17<p><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px;">Dear Sammy,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Possibly, you’d want to be called Sam at this point. Let’s start over.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Dear Sam,</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Nope. You're always going to be Sammy to me.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Dear Sammy,</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Today you’d be 17. You’re not here, of course, but if you were….it would be a big party, I’m sure. Or maybe a small one? Just a few friends over for a special dinner.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">You’d be deep in the throes of college prep, and filling out your application for Avodah. Would you be trying out for the musical? Or what about that French horn you might have asked for <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/11/just-not-okay.html">when you were 10</a>, maybe you’d still be playing that. Or none of those. And you’d be doing something completely different.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">There is a lunar eclipse this morning - for your birthday. It’s a fairly rare phenomenon, one that isn’t going to happen again for three years. I’m sure I would have made everyone learn about the lunar eclipse and eat something moon-themed. You probably would have rolled your eyes but also humored me. Because that’s what 17 year olds do.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">But you’re not 17, are you?</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">You’re forever 8.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">And we forever miss you.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Love,</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Mom</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJLSgbzBCZRWZ9zTXmv6lCkK4rZYbvWcHhYu26ubAWh-Kii06frxTgAF6ewkTGPat8sJB7tq2kole-r0HG_ZD5Jl4wMzZ1Lbjwq6x3Z-Apv9U5db-P_BOt99Y-h1pDOBjvJS4NM1rqcjwNEOCphTbIbGa8JAoEm3yldb_uiPsTqNoBt9TRuZGF8WwWYA/s3264/IMG_2521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJLSgbzBCZRWZ9zTXmv6lCkK4rZYbvWcHhYu26ubAWh-Kii06frxTgAF6ewkTGPat8sJB7tq2kole-r0HG_ZD5Jl4wMzZ1Lbjwq6x3Z-Apv9U5db-P_BOt99Y-h1pDOBjvJS4NM1rqcjwNEOCphTbIbGa8JAoEm3yldb_uiPsTqNoBt9TRuZGF8WwWYA/s320/IMG_2521.JPG" width="240" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnIobS5horBm6NeOU7wAxFJncoN3tGv8COJdCUYVNEsEKjKVaURdtnrYkeimC5G-9n7BQgMgnhpF7_VIM16tq8qdnz9oHTfjPZzoeZCCPIBur2UvM0fkTu1H4Eol4-Up_YPES4zrc2EdCC5gPxOFbYxNFl8ozhMJ9Rc-kfcjPLOwABReutALpjWr6fg/s3072/P1060025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="3072" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnIobS5horBm6NeOU7wAxFJncoN3tGv8COJdCUYVNEsEKjKVaURdtnrYkeimC5G-9n7BQgMgnhpF7_VIM16tq8qdnz9oHTfjPZzoeZCCPIBur2UvM0fkTu1H4Eol4-Up_YPES4zrc2EdCC5gPxOFbYxNFl8ozhMJ9Rc-kfcjPLOwABReutALpjWr6fg/s320/P1060025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-5754578795765825899" itemprop="articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 536px;"><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">2nd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2007/11/best-shot-monday.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Best Shot Monday<br /></a>3rd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2008/11/birthday-marathon.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Birthday marathon<br /></a>4th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-is-your-birthday-song.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">This is your birthday song<br /></a>5th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2010/11/five-is-big-number.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Five is a big number<br /></a>6th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2011/11/six-is-awesome.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Six is Awesome<br /></a>7th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2012/11/lucky-number-seven.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Lucky Number Seven</a> and <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/11/birthday-boy.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Birthday Boy<br /></a>8th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/11/little-things-bmt-73.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Little Things<br /></a>9th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/11/birthdate.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Birthdate<br /></a>10th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/11/" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Just Not Okay<br /></a>12th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2017/11/dozen-donuts.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Dozen Donuts<br /></a>13th birthday: <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2018/11/im-sure.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">I'm Sure<br /></a>14th birthday: <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2019/11/because-you-havent-grown-up.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Because You Haven't Grown Up<br /></a>15th birthday: <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2020/11/frozen.html" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Frozen</a></span></div><div>16th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2021/11/sweet-16.html">Sweet 16</a></div></div>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-57545787957658258992021-11-08T06:00:00.001-06:002021-11-08T06:00:00.172-06:00Sweet 16<p>It's been 2,886 days since Sam died.</p><p>He was alive for 2,958 days.</p><p>Those two numbers are remarkably similar. We had him physically with us just about as long as we haven't had him. </p><p>Today is his 16th birthday. </p><p>Several of our family members are currently binge-watching The Vampire Diaries (judge away, friends). Vampires are so interesting - they can live for hundreds of years. Of course, the show doesn't spend too much time on the existential questions about what it means to live forever...and yet, some episodes do address that deep question. What does it mean to fall in love and know that you either have to bring that person into immortality with you, or watch them grow old and die? And then there's the coming-back-from-the-dead, which people do with remarkably frequency on the show. A whole story line was devoted to the number of people in a mysterious "other side" that wasn't quite death, and then they all came back. (Even the bad guys.) On the Vampire Diaries, dead is not dead. It feels...temporary. And so each time someone dies, the characters talk about "bringing them back" - and they really mean it. But coming back from the dead is never without consequences. Something is always taken or given in return. Something is always not quite right. Death is still a supreme and terrible force, even in a story where it can be magically defeated.</p><p>So many questions swirl in my mind, especially in the evenings when we're hopped up on a few episodes.</p><p>What would I have given to bring him back, even for a moment?<br />What would I do if life-eternal had been granted?<br />What would he be like if magic had healed him, brought him back, given us the happy ending we wanted?</p><p>And yet...he's not here. And we're not the same. And this is real.</p><p>For several years, we tried to do "what Sammy would have wanted" for his birthday. We watched his favorite movie and we ate his favorite foods.</p><p>But last year, and this year, we have tried to think about which of the current favorites that WE have as a family - which of THOSE experiences that we're currently living - which ones would speak to him. It's really hard to guess. To imagine. To magically place him into our world for a moment, even just a silly moment like "what should we have for dinner?"</p><p>2,886 days is a long time to be apart. He's unchanged. <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2020/11/frozen.html">Frozen in time, as I said last year.</a> We are not immortal, but we continue to grow and change and make new stories without him. And we miss him. All the time.</p><p><i style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">To make a donation in honor of Sammy's birthday, click <a href="https://rmhc-easternwi.org/how-to-help/donate/" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">here</a> or <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/mypage/1040096/2020" style="color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">here</a>.</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzL8qJJ1D-JUfgCDlluHZVtkDpoZ355nXyBVtZgf10_vah6D0rg7iH8hWSfHgRhav9rsnBk_Vqd98lu9IG3vvexrEg6EZ80tZ87SyFmS2ffgLwvzgrut1o_NLtjTzNolXiItCXCXb90aRX/s3264/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzL8qJJ1D-JUfgCDlluHZVtkDpoZ355nXyBVtZgf10_vah6D0rg7iH8hWSfHgRhav9rsnBk_Vqd98lu9IG3vvexrEg6EZ80tZ87SyFmS2ffgLwvzgrut1o_NLtjTzNolXiItCXCXb90aRX/s320/1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">2nd birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2007/11/best-shot-monday.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Best Shot Monday<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">3rd birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2008/11/birthday-marathon.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Birthday marathon<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">4th birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-is-your-birthday-song.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">This is your birthday song<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">5th birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2010/11/five-is-big-number.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Five is a big number<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">6th birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2011/11/six-is-awesome.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Six is Awesome<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">7th birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2012/11/lucky-number-seven.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Lucky Number Seven</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;"> and </span><a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/11/birthday-boy.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Birthday Boy<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">8th birthday: </span><a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/11/little-things-bmt-73.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Little Things<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">9th birthday: </span><a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/11/birthdate.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Birthdate<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">10th birthday: </span><a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/11/" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Just Not Okay<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">12th birthday: </span><a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2017/11/dozen-donuts.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Dozen Donuts<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">13th birthday: </span><a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2018/11/im-sure.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">I'm Sure<br /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">14th birthday: </span><a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2019/11/because-you-havent-grown-up.html" style="background-color: white; color: #2288bb; text-decoration-line: none;">Because You Haven't Grown Up<br /></a>15th birthday: <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2020/11/frozen.html">Frozen</a></span></div>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-55498553603337339222020-11-08T00:30:00.001-06:002020-11-08T00:30:09.637-06:00Frozen<p>Today is Sam's birthday, and we've talked a lot about what he would have liked.</p><p>Would he still like McDonald's?<br />Would he still think dragons are cool?<br />What would a high school Sam sound like, act like, think like?<br />What would he think about politics, about food, about Minecraft?<br />What would he think about music, about math, about books?<br />What would he think about God?<br /><br /></p><p>We have no idea. None. </p><p>He is totally frozen in time, as we move forward through it.<br />Sometimes I make things up. I look at 15-year-olds and I close my eyes and I try to picture Sam in those situations, those stories, those ideas. But it's just make-believe.</p><p>I scroll through the old blog posts...and I realize that I keep wondering. I never stop wondering. <br />Will I ever stop wondering? <br /><br /></p><p>What would you be like? <br />I wish we had been able to find out.</p><p><i>To make a donation in honor of Sammy's birthday, click <a href="https://rmhc-easternwi.org/how-to-help/donate/">here</a> or <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/mypage/1040096/2020">here</a>.</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhPlSh_fwFhybEein6paa4ow19jbg5NUcyb7eM3s0TR5ll4AAJnVIgDTH0YZmAFPCwDLQNnYIUMjo9bS-n6VdObazLcyjhBu7-VNa9gJRbbGVvdZ3Yv7RwIeHExC-w6Cl7LiFFb_zfK6R/s3264/IMG_3805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhPlSh_fwFhybEein6paa4ow19jbg5NUcyb7eM3s0TR5ll4AAJnVIgDTH0YZmAFPCwDLQNnYIUMjo9bS-n6VdObazLcyjhBu7-VNa9gJRbbGVvdZ3Yv7RwIeHExC-w6Cl7LiFFb_zfK6R/w400-h300/IMG_3805.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><i><br /></i><p></p>2nd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2007/11/best-shot-monday.html">Best Shot Monday</a><br />3rd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2008/11/birthday-marathon.html">Birthday marathon</a><br />4th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-is-your-birthday-song.html">This is your birthday song</a><br />5th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2010/11/five-is-big-number.html">Five is a big number</a><br />6th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2011/11/six-is-awesome.html">Six is Awesome</a><br />7th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2012/11/lucky-number-seven.html">Lucky Number Seven</a> and <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/11/birthday-boy.html">Birthday Boy</a><br />8th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/11/little-things-bmt-73.html">Little Things</a><br />9th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/11/birthdate.html">Birthdate</a><br />10th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/11/">Just Not Okay</a><br />12th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2017/11/dozen-donuts.html">Dozen Donuts</a><br />13th birthday: <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2018/11/im-sure.html">I'm Sure</a><br />14th birthday: <a href="https://draft.blogger.com/#">Because You Haven't Grown Up</a>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-65350001585201404412020-08-17T19:45:00.000-05:002020-08-17T19:45:05.962-05:00It's the 18th, of course<p>These last few months have been strange.</p><p>For everyone. For the entire world. Everyone staying home, completely scared of a virus, washing their hands, wearing masks....it has also felt like deja vu. When Sam was in the hospital, each day felt something like this. A <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/06/happy-bubble.html">bubble</a>, our own little world, trying to make <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/08/surreal-hospital-fun.html">normalcy</a> amidst something totally out of <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/09/its-little-things.html">whack</a>. Our family talked about Sam a lot in the first few weeks of this strange quarantine, more than we usually do, remembering stories of how we kept ourselves entertained and how it felt to learn all the procedures to keep Sam safe. </p><p>I've always thought about the dates that are imprinted on my memory, my heart, my soul. I kept such careful track of everything, we documented each day, I always wondered if the dates would cease to hold power over me. Would I always feel a sense of dread around <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/06/430pm-on-tuesday.html">June 12</a>? Would <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/08/will-you-marrow-me-day-0.html">August 26</a> be an anniversary that we'd <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-invitation-that-wasnt-sent.html">continue to remember</a>? So far, those dates are a little less dreadful, but still pretty solidly a part of me.</p><p>And then came the plan to move into college. Yes, it's time for David to launch out of our nest and into the big wide world. He had a couple of options for move-in day, and he chose August 18. "<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/05/lchaim-to-life-day-18.html">Eighteen, mom</a>! It's such a good number." Yes, David, it is. It is a good number.</p><p>And my heart was so full, because the calendar in my brain gave a little ding, a little reminder bell. August 18, 2013 was the date that Sam moved back into the hospital to begin the bone marrow transplant process. But I didn't remind David about the other <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/08/back-in-business-day-9.html">August 18</a> move-in day. It was too much to ask of him, to tell him, to hold onto. It's too much remembering, even in these days that we remember so very much. It was too much sadness to put onto a joyous experience (even amidst a global pandemic - that's probably a whole other blog post!). The undercurrent is always there, but I don't need to bring it to the top. </p><p>This is different. It's completely different. We were vaulting into the unknown then, for sure, with uncertain results. We are vaulting into an unknown, yes, but it's not nearly as unknown. Along with thousands who have come before and thousands who are in it with him, we launch....</p><p>It's not the same. And I'm so glad.</p><p>But it's nice to know that Sam is with us every day, every moment, in our hearts.</p><p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqu6y77w75bu_WGCU9OXT1ZQ6_N9u8Cpx4XFDPDT33Yjr5o3zuC7_dJ2ET4GxO8X0fq4CbNn1mbJoYaaoXPlU-gHsn-zNUL5czaG26tusQFX6EN7cpUQthUs-bHJkFqNcECFbJUvekAvQN/s1334/IMG_8208.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqu6y77w75bu_WGCU9OXT1ZQ6_N9u8Cpx4XFDPDT33Yjr5o3zuC7_dJ2ET4GxO8X0fq4CbNn1mbJoYaaoXPlU-gHsn-zNUL5czaG26tusQFX6EN7cpUQthUs-bHJkFqNcECFbJUvekAvQN/w230-h410/IMG_8208.PNG" width="230" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First day - fifth and first grade<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJnDzmbD2lOrZa-Ez_osFk0aTfc5u73jZaY1jNSxa7nvOPedEI0KfbJaNXsKVyvQuC79dpcKEzvHXSzDT__HX461J8KKd-m_a6MXuclh1mRt6sJrZB6Xyn_ReQuptmom8crncokdhhhqze/s640/blogger-image--122821868.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJnDzmbD2lOrZa-Ez_osFk0aTfc5u73jZaY1jNSxa7nvOPedEI0KfbJaNXsKVyvQuC79dpcKEzvHXSzDT__HX461J8KKd-m_a6MXuclh1mRt6sJrZB6Xyn_ReQuptmom8crncokdhhhqze/w410-h307/blogger-image--122821868.jpg" width="410" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David was always Sam's favorite visitor<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcxIcQEsb0-OQ0qEhHO602wxrdPg8aukF5CjDfAkOyRb-E7WVzj2oqjwoNJZRqk6BZGd1TOhub9g2LrIhm9VY0rGnlftVMP6pD3JaOdsFVAoqUimg97YeRMm-X-4hvFCCSm9qkbevEuRW/s1600/sam+move+in.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcxIcQEsb0-OQ0qEhHO602wxrdPg8aukF5CjDfAkOyRb-E7WVzj2oqjwoNJZRqk6BZGd1TOhub9g2LrIhm9VY0rGnlftVMP6pD3JaOdsFVAoqUimg97YeRMm-X-4hvFCCSm9qkbevEuRW/w307-h410/sam+move+in.jpg" title="Sam, moving into the hospital on August 18, 2013" width="307" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moving in on August 18<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-10935157231505545612019-11-07T20:11:00.001-06:002019-11-07T20:11:25.217-06:00Because You Haven't Grown UpDear Sammy,<br />
<br />
Did you know that every time Solly walks by your name on the memorial board at the synagogue, he adds a stone? Every so often, I have to go over and un-pile his stones so that other people can use them too. And then he just piles them up again. It's almost like a game we play. Except we don't really talk about it. I just know that he does it. Maybe now he knows that I do it too.<br />
<br />
Your name is often on our lips. You'd think that after all this time, we might not talk about you regularly. But that's not true. We bring you up a lot. Sometimes it makes us cry. And sometimes it makes us laugh. Even though it's 2,155 days since we last saw you....<br />
<br />
Solly feels like we're withholding information from him. "Just start at the beginning and tell me everything," he said tonight. But I don't even know how to start to tell him about you, to breathe life into the stories that we all lived....how do I explain to him that there are just so many moments that I can't explain - the same moments that every parent holds onto - the moments when it was just quiet, and we sat together, the moments when we laughed, the silly and the sad, the hard and the joyous....how do I explain each moment that made up your short 8 years? I just can't. But I try. We try each day to share a Sammy story with him...because he wants to know you. He will turn 9 this year. And you will be forever his big brother who is now younger than he is. It's hard to wrap his brain around. It's hard to wrap mine around too. Where there once were four, there are now three. It's math, but it hurts my heart.<br />
<br />
We'd be registering you for high school. You'd have tagged along on college visits. You'd be planning your 8th grade trip to Israel (and I'd be worrying about sending you off, and checking to see if the doctors had any concerns, and everyone would just be telling me to stop hovering....and I would remind them that I have earned the right to hover over you).<br />
<br />
We went out for dinner to your favorite Indian restaurant, like we do every year. I said, "maybe if Sammy was here, he'd want something else for his birthday." But since you haven't grown up, we can't know. So we went for Indian food. Because you haven't grown up.<br />
<br />
You haven't grown up. But we're still here.<br />
We miss you every minute of every day.<br />
Love,<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
To make a donation in honor of Sammy's birthday, go here: <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/mypage/1040096/2020">https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/mypage/1040096/2020</a> (Yael will be shaving her head at her Bat Mitzvah, so we're getting a head (!) start.)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2E52XthgrFMcA-9BFkom836jpl_Cy8p2Ie7O29-1AvDyYXtepv0RGQqDa8qJoXpYmoC9X8iwrkW_IYC6NlgCHpjxCiXZwriA9i_94f5gQrMehIchmxzCTGP4MN-UTEiz_M0E8FvSGK8M/s1600/IMG_3922.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2E52XthgrFMcA-9BFkom836jpl_Cy8p2Ie7O29-1AvDyYXtepv0RGQqDa8qJoXpYmoC9X8iwrkW_IYC6NlgCHpjxCiXZwriA9i_94f5gQrMehIchmxzCTGP4MN-UTEiz_M0E8FvSGK8M/s400/IMG_3922.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
2nd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2007/11/best-shot-monday.html">Best Shot Monday</a><br />
3rd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2008/11/birthday-marathon.html">Birthday marathon</a><br />
4th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-is-your-birthday-song.html">This is your birthday song</a><br />
5th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2010/11/five-is-big-number.html">Five is a big number</a><br />
6th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2011/11/six-is-awesome.html">Six is Awesome</a><br />
7th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2012/11/lucky-number-seven.html">Lucky Number Seven</a> and <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/11/birthday-boy.html">Birthday Boy</a><br />
8th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/11/little-things-bmt-73.html">Little Things</a><br />
9th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/11/birthdate.html">Birthdate</a><br />
10th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/11/">Just Not Okay</a><br />
12th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2017/11/dozen-donuts.html">Dozen Donuts</a><br />
13th birthday: <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2018/11/im-sure.html">I'm Sure</a>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-23888934766644551452018-11-08T06:44:00.000-06:002018-11-08T06:45:37.949-06:00I'm SureDear Sammy,<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I bet you wouldn't be into turtles any more.</div>
<div>
I mean, I'm sure we'd still have your friend Speedy living in the house, but you'd have a new interest. </div>
<div>
Maybe.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm pretty confident that you would have a phone and be SUPER excited for today, the day that you would have been able to sign up for Instagram and Snapchat. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm sure that you would NOT be thrilled to wake up and go to school today.</div>
<div>
I'm sure that you would not be thrilled with early wake ups any day. After all, you'd be a teenager now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm sure that you would be reading books and watching tv shows and movies that are "way above your paygrade" because I'm sure that you'd be taking recommendations from your big brother. And I'm sure that you'd be sharing them with Yael, so I'd have that to cope with as well. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm sure that we'd be DEEP in the prep for your Bar Mitzvah today, so deep that I probably might say, "are you sure you want donuts?" and you would look at me and maybe you'd even joke: "mom, I had cancer. You can't go get me some simple donuts on my birthday?" And we'd laugh. Because I'm pretty sure that we would have so much to laugh about.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm sure that I would still be worrying about you a lot, but I'm here to tell you that is a parent's job. So I'm pretty sure that I would tell you how I plan to be annoying to you for a long time to come. Because that's what we say in our family. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm sure of all of this.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But what I'm surest about is how much we miss you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today you are 13. And you are forever 8.</div>
<div>
I'm sure that isn't right.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Love,</div>
<div>
Mom</div>
<div>
<br />
To make a donation to St Baldrick's in honor of Sammy's 13th Birthday, go here:<br />
<a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/fundraisers/sam13" style="background-color: white; color: #33aaff; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">https://www.stbaldricks.org/fundraisers/sam13</a><br />
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<br />
2nd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2007/11/best-shot-monday.html">Best Shot Monday</a><br />
3rd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2008/11/birthday-marathon.html">Birthday marathon</a><br />
4th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-is-your-birthday-song.html">This is your birthday song</a><br />
5th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2010/11/five-is-big-number.html">Five is a big number</a><br />
6th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2011/11/six-is-awesome.html">Six is Awesome</a><br />
7th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2012/11/lucky-number-seven.html">Lucky Number Seven</a> and <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/11/birthday-boy.html">Birthday Boy</a><br />
8th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/11/little-things-bmt-73.html">Little Things</a><br />
9th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/11/birthdate.html">Birthdate</a><br />
10th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/11/" target="_blank">Just Not Okay</a><br />
12th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2017/11/dozen-donuts.html" target="_blank">Dozen Donuts</a></div>
Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-60048593593391890442018-10-25T11:30:00.000-05:002018-10-25T12:43:23.178-05:00Bar Mitzvah PreparationsWhen I wrote my last post, <a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-invitation-that-wasnt-sent.html" target="_blank">The Invitation That Wasn't Sent</a>, several people told me that they thought it was going to be about Sam's Bar Mitzvah.<br />
<br />
I gave it a lot of thought. Why did I focus on that invitation instead of the one that I was even MORE likely to have sent? The Marrow Day party was a little bit of a pipe dream (I mean, come on, Obama AND Rowling AND Miranda?! Pick one, Phyl.)...but the Bar Mitzvah...that was real.<br />
<br />
And that's when I realized how very much harder this is.<br />
<br />
The Bar Mitzvah was ALWAYS on our minds. We talked about it very early on (<a href="https://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/06/guest-post-rabbi-annes-sermon-on-sammy.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://imabima.blogspot.com/2012/09/november-10-2018.html" target="_blank">here</a>). It's a milestone that is fixed, age-based. It's not like a graduation, which takes place alongside a whole group of others, or a wedding, which is individual and not related to a specific age. It's meant to happen at a certain time for a certain person.<br />
<br />
And that certain person just isn't here.<br />
<br />
And so it's been weighing on me, so so so much.<br />
<br />
What would we be doing in these days leading up to the Bar Mitzvah? How many challot would I be baking? How many suit fittings would we need? What kind of tallit would he be wearing? Who from all of the various important parts of his life would have honors? (Would we be inviting SuperMensch?) Which parts would he be playing on the guitar? How would we fit everyone who wants to be there into the sanctuary? Would there be enough tissues in the world....<br />
<br />
And yet, I'm doing none of that preparation.<br />
<br />
So yesterday, I made him a Bar Mitzvah Montage. It was one of my favorite parts of preparing for David's Bar Mitzvah. I loved looking at all the photos, glorying in his growth and change, and choosing just the right blend of pictures, videos, and music to represent who he was, who he had become, and who we hoped he would be. Doing the same for Sam...felt like a good project.<br />
<br />
It was harder than I thought, and I ended up using a compilation of pictures I had put together over the years, rather than looking at all of them. And of course, it has a different ending than David's.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="480" mozallowfullscreen="" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/297146259" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="640"></iframe>
<a href="https://vimeo.com/297146259">Montage Sam Bar Mitzvah</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/user42090417">Phyllis Sommer</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
<br />
Along with that, I decided that we should go somewhere with the pain of this date. So I turned my thoughts to how we have always dealt with the big Sam-sized hole in our lives, and I've opened a St. Baldrick's Fundraiser in honor of what would have been Sam's Bar Mitzvah. I hope you'll consider the $18 gift that you might have given to him as a donation to St. Baldrick's, in hope that the next child gets to celebrate a Bar Mitzvah....or whatever fixed milestone they believe in.<br />
<br />
Donate here: <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/fundraisers/sam13">https://www.stbaldricks.org/fundraisers/sam13</a><br />
<br />
Thank you.Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-61582902567356284422018-08-27T18:55:00.001-05:002018-08-27T18:55:16.338-05:00The Invitation That Wasn't Sent<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">You are joyously invited to a </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">massive celebration</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">for</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sam's</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">FIFTH</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Marrow Day "Birthday"</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">When: Today, August 27, 2018</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Where: The United Center</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Featured Guests: </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">President Barack Obama, </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">JK Rowling, </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Adele, </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Markus Persson*, </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Lin-Manuel Miranda**, and others</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Most Honored Guest: </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">SuperMensch, </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Bone Marrow Donor Extraordinaire</span></b></div>
<br />
This is the invitation that I wish I had sent out today. (We might have sent it out in advance, and we might have had to change venues several times because so many people wanted to come and celebrate with Sam and SuperMensch - so eventually we had to move to the United Center, since it got so big. And I'm sure we might have suggested that we could <i>wait</i> until the Bar Mitzvah in November to celebrate, but then we realized that we don't. wait. for. anything. anymore. So we went ahead with this big party.)<br />
<br />
You know, we could have skipped the party. After all, it *might* have been an ordinary day, I suppose. Perhaps we wouldn't have even really noticed, except that we would be trying to decide which day of the week to head up to Wisconsin for a checkup. Perhaps it would be a longer checkup, and I'm sure we would stop over to the HOT unit with some gifts, to the Ronald McDonald House with some toys, and we'd have to get frozen yogurt in town too. Perhaps things would have been so "normal" and so "ordinary" that I would have had to remind everyone that this "other" birthday was coming up and perhaps Sam might have said something like, "I have to go to school because I don't want to miss my algebra class." And I might have reminded him that we can't go later in the week because he has Bar Mitzvah tutoring. And so we might have compromised on a different day, and it would have been a joyous homecoming to visit our friends at the hospital. And they would, as usual, marvel at how tall and sturdy he is and how far he's come from the little second grader who terrorized the nurses with water-filled syringes and played soccer in the elevator and added googly eyes everywhere in the hospital and was SO sick.<br />
<br />
But none of that happened.<br />
None.<br />
<br />
1, 717 days have gone by, and not one day goes by without a mention or thought of Sam in our household. We are all deeply, consciously, constantly aware of his missing piece.<br />
<br />
<i>I must be truthful when I tell you that the pain is mostly like a big shiny scar. It's a part of me, and I subconsciously rub my thumb over it...occasionally it will hurt, but mostly I'm just aware of its presence. </i><br />
<br />
We're not throwing a big party. I really would have loved to throw that party.<br />
<br />
<i>*I decided that Sam would have loved Minecraft as much as Solly does</i><br />
<i>**I'm sure Sam would share the family love for Hamilton, right?</i><br />
<br />
<b>If you're looking for a way to honor SuperMensch and remember Sam today, let me suggest a <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/mypage/954468/2018" target="_blank">donation to St Baldricks</a>. There are so many kids who still need us. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxAtGWlOJlRHDKb14gXAke-5icdhVs97C4JswEZG8nIV5qPjMiIg9rqQS-mHReF0paN1rVh1hivrZNCkGK8EJa8aoJL8Gs4M6lue9oijmxxoKvIPnKalQ-2EdF4L9nEYsWiRVtOPIZsN0n/s1600/IMG_8083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxAtGWlOJlRHDKb14gXAke-5icdhVs97C4JswEZG8nIV5qPjMiIg9rqQS-mHReF0paN1rVh1hivrZNCkGK8EJa8aoJL8Gs4M6lue9oijmxxoKvIPnKalQ-2EdF4L9nEYsWiRVtOPIZsN0n/s320/IMG_8083.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqP4JcxtsQPHp8uL3DHV5u8i5hI4v7b9MOEYg6ibHsOz9NlI57-lgxPxj2D_N9u6aUi8cUt-ba2KpmG0qWcaBZKCbwGJBFDwLxGPzpnrVtwVG_QAGAVn8ttC6BpwQoZTk9RdApcKrKBKiI/s1600/blogger-image-903385577.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqP4JcxtsQPHp8uL3DHV5u8i5hI4v7b9MOEYg6ibHsOz9NlI57-lgxPxj2D_N9u6aUi8cUt-ba2KpmG0qWcaBZKCbwGJBFDwLxGPzpnrVtwVG_QAGAVn8ttC6BpwQoZTk9RdApcKrKBKiI/s320/blogger-image-903385577.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">welcoming the cells....</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc1wJHOBbwnkrSDGEvMezI94-_iFVnNtTW2AEXItR9c-IJFZSxxRqZ0kVZzRyzvtSv-qrtWHZU-lLCgFskVEu5FLYVuzMBpTaNr9RkJRLwBmo1CxJfJdBOgeVFFLQc898SywsKMuetfxwy/s1600/blogger-image--373847298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc1wJHOBbwnkrSDGEvMezI94-_iFVnNtTW2AEXItR9c-IJFZSxxRqZ0kVZzRyzvtSv-qrtWHZU-lLCgFskVEu5FLYVuzMBpTaNr9RkJRLwBmo1CxJfJdBOgeVFFLQc898SywsKMuetfxwy/s320/blogger-image--373847298.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">talking to his cells</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From 2015: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/08/" target="_blank">Caught Up</a><br />
From 2014: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/08/marking.html" target="_blank">Marking</a><br />
<b>From 2013: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/08/will-you-marrow-me-day-0.html" target="_blank">Will you Marrow Me?</a></b><br />
From 2012: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/08/short-stay-by-numbers.html" target="_blank">A Short Hospital Stay</a><br />
<br />Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-17495667497341381502017-11-08T11:20:00.001-06:002017-11-08T11:20:01.687-06:00Dozen DonutsDear Sammy,<br />
<br />
Knowing that Solly doesn't have much of a sense of the calendar, I mentioned that it was your birthday soon. "Oh," he said, "he will be 12!"<br />
<br />
I love that he thinks of you in the present tense.<br />
I love that he didn't even have to think about how old you would be. (As a mom of four, I have to think of how old *I* am so this is doubly impressive to me.)<br />
<br />
"And we'll have donuts for breakfast!" he said.<br />
<br />
And we did.<br />
<br />
Donuts this morning. A dozen, in fact.<br />
<br />
Instead of a birthday candle, we lit a memorial candle.<br />
<br />
Instead of balloons, we felt deflated. The mouthfuls of donut felt ashen and sad, hard and tasteless.<br />
<br />
There's an ache today, a missing piece -- you're always on my mind. But today...even more.<br />
<br />
Solly went on, by the way. "So next year will be Sam's Bar Mitzvah," he announced.<br />
<br />
And I didn't have a good answer. Because he's right. It would have been one year til your Bar Mitzvah, one year from now. This year should have been filled with joy, a year of preparation and learning, a year of growing and thinking and working and loving.<br />
<br />
Sometimes the weight of this hits me so hard. I have complicated feelings about the idea of the afterlife. Will we meet you again? Will we come together? Will our souls unite, our spirits join? Will we really see you again? I have no answers to these questions. I have no way of knowing if this message will reach you, because I really don't know if there is still a you...out there.<br />
<br />
But we are here. And I want, so badly, to imagine that you're somehow with us.<br />
<br />
But you're not. And this number is one more that you're not here. One more number past the 8 that you got. One more year without you. One more day in the 1,425 days that we've spent without you so far....and all the days that stretch before me.<br />
<br />
Oh, Sammy. I wish that this letter was different. I wish I that I was writing a joyful piece in anticipation of your Bar Mitzvah year. I wish I had forgotten to write a blog post about 1500 days post-transplant (today would be 1534) and I was so happy that I had missed the milestone because, for a brief moment, things were so "normal" that I didn't even count the days. (As if I wouldn't count...have you met me?)<br />
<br />Today, you are 12. And forever 8. It will never be right.<br />
<br />
I love you and miss you every day.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mommy<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1DL2wj2dj9CkA40yAMiGLBpwDh6J5Gl0Ly_pV7vdTVXw-7Nc0WH135bR5D7h7IFfpfHezRBnbWOsfjopH6sX1_-1FyyhdvfgJxtGtReqXrNgGX0UK6LrTc6KC3_Je-Buh1tCM2vX-xV6/s1600/IMG_0217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1DL2wj2dj9CkA40yAMiGLBpwDh6J5Gl0Ly_pV7vdTVXw-7Nc0WH135bR5D7h7IFfpfHezRBnbWOsfjopH6sX1_-1FyyhdvfgJxtGtReqXrNgGX0UK6LrTc6KC3_Je-Buh1tCM2vX-xV6/s400/IMG_0217.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2nd birthday (That's a Blues Clues cupcake.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQl0kSDNlsf5vcraaL2prWVBeSXrbUAXu2CQHg7c-c3Qje6W39J53MMcNsvqzkCeoKe5VXDaytWh9rbGndCjOn9xhlMZZ2h31DrpW5A0nqnp3QHqYogJeg4mSLGy3Tsi0d6ObJ-3fBwF9/s1600/IMG_0223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQl0kSDNlsf5vcraaL2prWVBeSXrbUAXu2CQHg7c-c3Qje6W39J53MMcNsvqzkCeoKe5VXDaytWh9rbGndCjOn9xhlMZZ2h31DrpW5A0nqnp3QHqYogJeg4mSLGy3Tsi0d6ObJ-3fBwF9/s320/IMG_0223.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6PDyKJ_4C6Ml9pH-ZBibZf_yx10j_MBboUXlpB5CZrzj8mdJKcqS4yDC4ho2v_KyfU8bdc3Ntzl1WDr1lrBjPFibzxTudHLfMjvthQ9tKp-yFzNjs_WD8jNO5oxJQ7infnw4OqF1PJUHz/s1600/IMG_0228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6PDyKJ_4C6Ml9pH-ZBibZf_yx10j_MBboUXlpB5CZrzj8mdJKcqS4yDC4ho2v_KyfU8bdc3Ntzl1WDr1lrBjPFibzxTudHLfMjvthQ9tKp-yFzNjs_WD8jNO5oxJQ7infnw4OqF1PJUHz/s320/IMG_0228.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">2nd birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2007/11/best-shot-monday.html" style="background-color: white; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Best Shot Monday</a><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">3rd birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2008/11/birthday-marathon.html" style="background-color: white; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Birthday marathon</a><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">4th birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-is-your-birthday-song.html" style="background-color: white; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">This is your birthday song</a><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">5th birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2010/11/five-is-big-number.html" style="background-color: white; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Five is a big number</a><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">6th birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2011/11/six-is-awesome.html" style="background-color: white; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Six is Awesome</a><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">7th birthday: </span><a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2012/11/lucky-number-seven.html" style="background-color: white; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Lucky Number Seven</a><span style="background-color: white;"> and </span><a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/11/birthday-boy.html" style="background-color: white; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Birthday Boy</a><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">8th birthday: </span><a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/11/little-things-bmt-73.html" style="background-color: white; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Little Things</a><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">9th birthday: </span><a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/11/birthdate.html" style="background-color: white; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Birthdate</a></span><br />
10th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/11/just-not-okay.html" target="_blank">Just Not Okay</a>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-17580550462721311882017-08-22T21:39:00.002-05:002017-08-22T21:39:27.133-05:00Only TwoIt's the night-before-the-first-day-of-school.<br />
<br />
It should have been the (first) year of three schools -- two at the elementary, one at the middle, and one at the high school.<br />
<br />
One at the middle.<br />
<br />
But it isn't.<br />
<br />
We're only at two schools. The elementary and the high school.<br />
<br />
It should be easier, right? Only two schools.<br />
It should be easier with only two.<br />
And yet it's not, of course. It's harder. So much harder.<br />
<br />
I should be kissing four heads goodnight and setting up four lunches and planning four backpacks and taking four first day of school pictures and worrying over how to get to three schools...<br />
<br />
But I'm not.<br />
<br />
So instead I said Shema three times and tomorrow I'll kiss three heads and I'll know that it just isn't quite right.<br />
<br />
Ever.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-LznQWeaAl5tMy9hVYa_JrqZipOclX3Q75u60BJ8PJPhSP85r6bskk8BM7vzVBM4mDWiz3ByS_Q7eMC_7lcew_HIhYkd0JUQbnMK1COYJqHbUdhMaC-ziW-5BODY33toIMMDnxPSmnxmc/s1600/IMG_3584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-LznQWeaAl5tMy9hVYa_JrqZipOclX3Q75u60BJ8PJPhSP85r6bskk8BM7vzVBM4mDWiz3ByS_Q7eMC_7lcew_HIhYkd0JUQbnMK1COYJqHbUdhMaC-ziW-5BODY33toIMMDnxPSmnxmc/s320/IMG_3584.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The annual locker tradition...the shirt was unintentional</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93JFmQcXoAEva4_gMJ95fjy44a_EKrG3PiCtnyvkkYQ9NBh7nRPgjCDnzb_9h6z2E2aY9uA0glAwimGLofcmK9nsTSV8PjvY-4uYcrLnDxkYHYge9Fsdd4AxzgYSzo_AvhGjymTpAMlqK/s1600/IMG_3586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93JFmQcXoAEva4_gMJ95fjy44a_EKrG3PiCtnyvkkYQ9NBh7nRPgjCDnzb_9h6z2E2aY9uA0glAwimGLofcmK9nsTSV8PjvY-4uYcrLnDxkYHYge9Fsdd4AxzgYSzo_AvhGjymTpAMlqK/s400/IMG_3586.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fifth and First Grade</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGyfX6b0Mj9IJaBHv5C3mZrg6toi7o0YCRSWIESYm8GHxshYuOVXCeNB933gxcgLw2awH9NzbATuaFH_PZhhm70W7Evk8T6V5JAKq2i6FnsMuvA0zrVNzT7Jzg83goPt3H7pTpkpaWDhYM/s1600/DSC05580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1434" data-original-width="1600" height="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGyfX6b0Mj9IJaBHv5C3mZrg6toi7o0YCRSWIESYm8GHxshYuOVXCeNB933gxcgLw2awH9NzbATuaFH_PZhhm70W7Evk8T6V5JAKq2i6FnsMuvA0zrVNzT7Jzg83goPt3H7pTpkpaWDhYM/s400/DSC05580.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kindergarten, First, and Fifth Grade</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-74784403686697988392017-06-09T18:03:00.002-05:002017-06-09T18:03:31.956-05:00Here we areWhen you a kid, you can't imagine that you have to do "real" stuff on important days like your birthday. You want to skip school, and you don't always understand that sometimes the rest of the world doesn't stop when you want to be having fun.<br />
<br />
And then when you're a grownup, you have do things like go to work on your birthday and even sometimes things that you don't want to do. It's just how it goes, right?<br />
<br />
Today is June 9, a day that I would like to spend under the covers in bed. It's the real beginning, the first time we heard the word "oncology" in relation to our child. It's the day that will, for our family, live in infamy.<br />
<br />
And today the sun came up. The sky is blue.<br />
It's the last day of school.<br />
There are pancakes to make and phone calls to answer.<br />
<br />
I'm not under the covers.<br />
<br />
Today would have been Sam's Fifth Grade Graduation. The end of his elementary school years.<br />
I can almost imagine the blog post I would have written about the poetry, the bookending, of this day falling on June 9th. I can almost imagine how tall and sturdy he would have been and how those hugs would have felt.<br />
<br />
I'm not under the covers, even though I want to be.<br />
<br />
So instead we are going to the graduation ceremony. To see Yael play the violin (it's not much to hear yet but it's cute to watch, let's be honest) and to celebrate with our friends. There will be an award in Sam's name.<br />
<br />
The sun came up today.<br />
The world continues to spin.<br />
Here we are.<br />
<br />
It will never feel quite right.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8kczrxDz0iyj2Z5tzKheYaElt9_uWT_4sEDXhqhtyM382ZFpeZsGyAJEeQt2vrSZ5FnLimnfJaLVTsKchO1mhADaxX2IfgUQfVGsOZPZ8ETZ2wwAz5B9x7pWX8QjR9fhwj90j61T28SkB/s1600/IMG_2095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8kczrxDz0iyj2Z5tzKheYaElt9_uWT_4sEDXhqhtyM382ZFpeZsGyAJEeQt2vrSZ5FnLimnfJaLVTsKchO1mhADaxX2IfgUQfVGsOZPZ8ETZ2wwAz5B9x7pWX8QjR9fhwj90j61T28SkB/s400/IMG_2095.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Which one would have been his chair?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-FeSkq_mwjbHTBCE72GmS_w0vfBBFpsVgOJqXsNmZFdN2jhLMU7ljLFUA4qQtJ7upTUekebW9EByBbd7U2o3f8_BcAMcrRydetn93fk7CZJH6Qrto1ZUMWdE0Zd5lT6Cug2UtPaBUDY7/s1600/IMG_2045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1224" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-FeSkq_mwjbHTBCE72GmS_w0vfBBFpsVgOJqXsNmZFdN2jhLMU7ljLFUA4qQtJ7upTUekebW9EByBbd7U2o3f8_BcAMcrRydetn93fk7CZJH6Qrto1ZUMWdE0Zd5lT6Cug2UtPaBUDY7/s320/IMG_2045.JPG" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">His Kindergarten "graduation"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Where we've been in June...<br />
2016: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2016/06/more.html" target="_blank">More</a><br />
2015: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/06/june-again.html" target="_blank">June, Again</a><br />
2014: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/06/the-bean-room.html" target="_blank">The Bean Room</a><br />
2013: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/06/one-year-later.html" target="_blank">One Year Later</a><br />
2012: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/06/430pm-on-tuesday.html" target="_blank">The Beginning</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<img src="webkit-fake-url://2585f888-da57-4c71-bbe2-94e9580f2486/imagejpeg" />Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-28692779103830377652017-03-13T22:17:00.000-05:002017-03-13T22:17:01.617-05:00Not-MeI haven't shaved my head in two years. I've <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/04/mirror.html" target="_blank">forgotten how it feels</a>...<br />
<br />
I have an image of myself, a picture in my head.<br />
And when I walk by a mirror, I'm a bit shocked. What's wrong with me? Who is that?<br />
<br />
"Are you yourself again?"<br />
I think that people look at me and they can forget. You can forget that I am not now and never will be the person that I was before Sam died.<br />
<br />
For the most part, I am the person you know. The person who laughs and tells jokes and (even if my children disagree) is very, very funny. The person who bakes scads of hamantaschen and tells stories and plays Uno.<br />
<br />
But it's always, always there. I am never ever going to be myself again.<br />
<br />
I guess I'm a new me.<br />
<br />
I realized that a lot has happened in two years. New people, new faces, new friends, new acquaintances. People who didn't really know the me that was <i>me</i>. The me that would never have dreamed of shaving her head. The me with four healthy kids, the me who didn't really know that it was so easy to go from me to not-me in just the blink of an eye.<br />
<br />
Yael shaved too. And she's dealing with the in-between-ness of tween-ness. So she cried a little before school today, worried that someone would say something hurtful about her shorn head.<br />
<br />
Before bed, we talked.<br />
"How did it go?" I asked. "Not bad," she said. "We did talk about my hair a LOT."<br />
<br />
"That's good," I told her. "It's one of the reasons we shave. Not just to raise money - even though that is important. But to get people to ask us about our funny hairdos. And we can tell them about raising money for St Baldrick's and about Sammy."<br />
<br />
She wanted to shave. And she didn't want to shave. And now that she's done it, she's proud, she's good, she's really good. But she's sad. And so am I. Because right now neither one of us can hide behind the pretend-me-that-isn't-quite-me.<br />
<br />
I'll never be (quite) myself again.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“The most painful state of being is remembering the future, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>particularly the one you'll never have.”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>(Kierkegaard)</i></div>
<br />
<a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/rabbiphyllis" target="_blank">To donate to the St Baldrick's Foundation in honor of our shave, click here.</a><br />
<br />
in 2015...<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/03/springtime.html" target="_blank">Springtime</a><br />
in 2014...<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/03/topsy-turvy.html" target="_blank">Topsy-Turvy</a><br />
in 2013...<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/03/no-worries-here.html" target="_blank">No worries here</a><br />
in 2011...<a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2011/03/snippets-florida.html" target="_blank">Snippets of Florida</a><br />
in 2010...<a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2010/03/purim-is-over.html" target="_blank">Purim is over</a><br />
in 2009...<a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2009/03/happy-hamantashen.html" target="_blank">Happy Hamantaschen</a><br />
in 2008...<a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2008/03/purim-fun.html" target="_blank">Purim Fun</a><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh165g7oQF4JW2pH6VbPjtURYmP8gDouutXgo0DPfNL_ZEpQmmIjw94rmUR6WWILLsBuNA2HlNKE-b8uSI0-tlEIs1Xmp8NPhtIxZ-QSNgRsQYSG7s7C4hWCGXwQk0FCG64MPhsRIYCHXpi/s1600/DSC_6562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh165g7oQF4JW2pH6VbPjtURYmP8gDouutXgo0DPfNL_ZEpQmmIjw94rmUR6WWILLsBuNA2HlNKE-b8uSI0-tlEIs1Xmp8NPhtIxZ-QSNgRsQYSG7s7C4hWCGXwQk0FCG64MPhsRIYCHXpi/s320/DSC_6562.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For one of us, this is a "before" picture</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Y8z4zMzlxJ1IOgLXX3WoLo6gPkoEW8mLinZxihAGtIyVqlNoLhUa8n5SwdYSOOXu8IZQGbqTXxdCHlcy8HE6C7CNqRJ76xQmMQxhXenoaXHEtzTZM4bdXwOO5uELW5XAXSvuk0ZdpeYQ/s1600/DSC_6489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Y8z4zMzlxJ1IOgLXX3WoLo6gPkoEW8mLinZxihAGtIyVqlNoLhUa8n5SwdYSOOXu8IZQGbqTXxdCHlcy8HE6C7CNqRJ76xQmMQxhXenoaXHEtzTZM4bdXwOO5uELW5XAXSvuk0ZdpeYQ/s320/DSC_6489.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh yes, Solly decided to shave at the last minute too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkrqb0juZ2AZ0Oby7Y-vC0GDCMIZCaxanzQbQ1Enmp-3mjNoa3ByrLqgkqikptqX4NTArJHSmlF-UhnrSQd-evNyiEaQ2zvnyU7pRCPC2X5epEvx3mGIBAnkZnHv_q1cx9oRm2jdFtXVte/s1600/DSC_6525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkrqb0juZ2AZ0Oby7Y-vC0GDCMIZCaxanzQbQ1Enmp-3mjNoa3ByrLqgkqikptqX4NTArJHSmlF-UhnrSQd-evNyiEaQ2zvnyU7pRCPC2X5epEvx3mGIBAnkZnHv_q1cx9oRm2jdFtXVte/s320/DSC_6525.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's an old pro at this</td></tr>
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<br />Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-50732160063008593282017-02-27T02:13:00.000-06:002017-02-27T02:13:05.052-06:00Moving<i>Do they know that each time I hug them, I'm really giving two hugs?</i><br />
<div>
<i>Do thy know that each time I give in to a request, I'm really thinking of Sam? </i></div>
<div>
<i>Do they know that when I decide what "matters," it's mostly based on one missing face?</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes, I think that Solly is forgetting.<br />
<br />
He was so little, so young. The new memories are crowding out the old ones. He's in kindergarten now, there's so much...new knowledge, new ideas, new experiences -- is this how we forget the younger years because our memories just fill up with so many new things that we just can't keep the tiny wispy baby memories ahead of them?<br />
<br />
The other day, I started to realize that he might be forgetting. He barely talks about Sam any more, not the way he did right after he died.<br />
<br />
And then just yesterday, he brought him up. Almost as though he realized it too, just as I did.<br />
And then last night, when I was putting him to bed, he started to cry.<br />
<br />
<i>I miss Sammy. I want to see his face. When do we get to open the box in the cemetery? Do we ever get to open it up again? Do you think that there's a lot of plants growing there? Can we schedule a time to go there and see him? What does he look like now?</i><br />
<br />
So we watched an old video of Sammy. We cried a little together.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Maybe you'll have a dream about him</i>, I said.<br />
<br />
Time keeps moving forward....without our Sam.<br />
<br />
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P.S. I'm shaving my head again: <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/rabbiphyllis">https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/rabbiphyllis</a></div>
Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-77797610099842666692017-02-23T02:07:00.000-06:002017-02-23T02:15:47.380-06:00Alternate Reality<i>How's Sammy?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Oh....he's doing great.</i><br />
<i>He's eleven now, and he's in fifth grade. He's so tall! And so much hair...</i><br />
<i>You know....fifth graders....a lot of drama in that grade, huh?</i><br />
<i>He seems so good.</i><br />
<i>He just broke a thousand days post-transplant and things are going well.</i><br />
<i>Yeah, he gets tired easily and we're still really careful and nervous sometimes...</i><br />
<i>but he's off so many meds and it all just seems like it might be behind us.</i><br />
<i>It's never over, you know, but it's looking good.</i><br />
<i>He got into the school play. Both Sam and Yael are in the play - they're loving it...it's so fun to see them together...</i><br />
<i>He's playing the violin....</i><br />
<i>He's getting ready for middle school...</i><br />
<i>He's going to camp this summer...</i><br />
<i>You should hear the noise in my house when all four of them come home from school....</i><i>It's beautiful.</i><br />
<br />
It's an alternate reality that I sometimes run through in my head.<br />
When I can't sleep. When it's quiet.<br />
What would I be answering?<br />
<br />
1,167 days have passed, and I feel as though time is slipping away, rushing away, flying away. We're moving further and further away from him. It is impossible to believe that he could just slide back into our lives if he just showed up. We are different now.<br />
<br />
I've stopped believing that he's just going to show up one day, like in a movie about a missing child who is recovered twenty years after their abduction. Like we all just made a mistake one day and left him behind and then we found him again....I've stopped pretending he's just away for a while.<br />
<br />
<i>But I still sometimes can't sleep and I imagine what I would answer....how's Sammy?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I'm shaving my head again.<br />
Because I feel just a little bit too normal.<br />
A little bit too settled.<br />
A little bit too far away from my missing boy.<br />
My hair is long again, as long as it was when he died.<br />
I find myself twisting a ponytail the same way I did for his funeral.<br />
It's a little like re-opening a wound...but I'm not ready to just run my finger over an old shiny scar.<br />
I'm shaving my head again because it just feels like time is slipping away.<br />
<br />
<i>I'm shaving my head to raise money to help other someday mamas to not feel this pain. </i><br />
<i>Help me out: <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/rabbiphyllis">https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/rabbiphyllis</a></i><br />
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<br />Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-17581954455812795392016-12-14T11:09:00.001-06:002016-12-14T11:09:27.924-06:00It's a WednesdayIt's a Wednesday.<br />
<br />
<i>Like any other Wednesday.</i><br />
<br />
Solly finished the leftover pancakes for breakfast.<br />
Yael and David finished the leftover french toast.<br />
I had a bowl of yogurt with granola.<br />
<br />
There was coffee.<br />
<br />
It's a Wednesday, so we got up and got dressed.<br />
The high school has late start, so Michael drove the kids together.<br />
It's cold outside, so I reminded everyone to wear a hat.<br />
<br />
It's a Wednesday, so Solly argued about wearing socks.<br />
<br />
It's a Wednesday, so Yael left me her Hebrew binder to bring along for later.<br />
<br />
It's a Wednesday, so I drove to my office.<br />
<br />
It's a Wednesday, and that's just how it is.<br />
<br />
It's a Wednesday, and <i>you're not here. </i><br />
<br />
Today is completely normal and completely abnormal, in much the way that every day since you died has been. Some days I am drawn into the darkness and other days I find the light. Some days, it's a lot of both.<br />
<br />
It's a Wednesday, three years to the day since you died.<br />
<br />
It's 1,096 days later and I miss you just as much.<br />
<br />
<i><a href="https://www.facebook.com/childrenshospitalwi/posts/1351701338187441" target="_blank">Our beloved Dr. M is conducting his own campaign this week</a> and it happens to be one that would be totally up Sammy's rock-loving alley. Yes, rocks. Check it out. My favorite part was the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/childrenshospitalwi/videos/vb.251542931536626/1351331401557768/?type=2&theater" target="_blank">"press" conference.</a> If you'd like a rock, <a href="http://chw.org/rocks" target="_blank">click here.</a> (If you'd rather give to St. Baldrick's, <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/yael" target="_blank">here's Yael's link.</a>)</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rabbi Steven Lowenstein promised Sammy that we'd remember him with fireworks. This year, we watched them in a driving snowstorm and they were remarkably beautiful. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoKbjKSf-e2Wds87HNjm61wgE8vT3vEoyK-dn1wgp6UwM_NO_EC_yPRkK4KKndtrNqIcN7_zoSejBW0OE9kuqAsGiFmI7nhOoqGog0UdnGaMjkQOUlq0hyxhKB0DxAWd1LVmHkXSAhU6t/s1600/File_001.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoKbjKSf-e2Wds87HNjm61wgE8vT3vEoyK-dn1wgp6UwM_NO_EC_yPRkK4KKndtrNqIcN7_zoSejBW0OE9kuqAsGiFmI7nhOoqGog0UdnGaMjkQOUlq0hyxhKB0DxAWd1LVmHkXSAhU6t/s320/File_001.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of Sammy's friends watching the fireworks, lit up by their brightness (photo credit: Rebecca Einstein Schorr)</td></tr>
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<i><br /></i>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-86499970994426289762016-11-30T07:11:00.000-06:002016-11-30T07:11:42.293-06:00Things I Don't Do Anymore<i>Since you died, I don't sign all of our names.</i><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I used to write: "The Sommer Family - Michael, Phyllis, David, Sam, Yael, and Solly"</div>
<div>
Now, I just write The Sommer Family. I tried this week to write our names. It looked so bare. I had Solly add a turtle drawing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I miss writing all of our names. </div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Since you died, I don't count heads any more.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I loved having six of us. I loved counting us, taking pictures of the four of you, I reveled in it, perhaps more than I should have.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We're always incomplete, so I don't count heads in the same way. It's always hard to set the table. There's a gut-punch every time. I know that it's practically useful to know how many people are sitting at the table. That doesn't make it any easier to count out the plates. </div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Since you died, I rarely use the word "perfect" to describe an experience.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I fully understand the lesson of keeping something undone in your home to indicate that the world isn't finished, that it isn't perfect. Perfection has left the building...at the same moment that you left our physical world. That doesn't mean that things aren't wonderful, beautiful, special, and even amazing. Our lives are full of goodness and love. But as Leonard Cohen, of blessed memory, taught us so eloquently, there's a crack in everything. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Since you died, I don't have a lot of patience for nonsense.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And by nonsense, I mean small worries about small things that might very well be big to others. I know that. And so I keep quiet about it. But I know that my very presence often brings others perspective. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Since you died, I don't stop talking about you.</i><br />
<br />
I know sometimes it makes people uncomfortable. And I've noticed that stories about your healthy days are easier for people to hear. A story that starts, "when Sam was in the hospital...." can make other people cringe. But I don't know how to stop. So I don't.<br />
<br />
<i>Since you died, you are always on my mind.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's been 1081 days.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Year's card in 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">right before we left for Israel, 2013</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDah0dte8yij5ccFtCk5aZ13BUGNQ84ZX-e0H368WOQHTYdwjpXk09s_jV4cOu7h1_152BK-K1olgWWV2-G-ggV1mWkFpg_TqNHYWTm7N4mi5fTuyZejfsCikI5m8hIPyTdKgDhKk5qSO/s1600/15123235_10154973838322037_1629790674468179204_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDah0dte8yij5ccFtCk5aZ13BUGNQ84ZX-e0H368WOQHTYdwjpXk09s_jV4cOu7h1_152BK-K1olgWWV2-G-ggV1mWkFpg_TqNHYWTm7N4mi5fTuyZejfsCikI5m8hIPyTdKgDhKk5qSO/s400/15123235_10154973838322037_1629790674468179204_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this year's Thanksgiving</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i></div>
Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-27729566981752664062016-09-01T00:00:00.000-05:002016-09-01T00:00:04.664-05:00Hard Days<i>Today's a hard day.</i><br />
<br />
The first day of school has come and gone. Solly started kindergarten, by the way.<br />
<i>Today must be a hard day for you.</i><br />
<br />
Sammy's bone marrow birthday has passed by.<br />
<i>I know it's a hard day.</i><br />
<br />
It's the first of September, the beginning of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month.<br />
<i>The whole month is pretty hard.</i><br />
<br />
It's a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday...<br />
<i>Today is a hard day.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
That's just it. They're all hard days.<br />
<br />
Last night, Solly cried. "I miss Sammy," he wailed.<br />
As we snuggled together in bed, he asked me, "how many pictures of Sammy do we have?"<br />
"A lot," I said. "Hundreds." <i>Never enough.</i><br />
"I need one."<br />
<br />
I'm learning, every day, new hard parts. Solly was so young when Sam died. Such a baby. Now he's a big kindergartener with new experiences and new ideas and new realizations. It's almost like he's re-learning how to experience grief as he gains a bigger understanding of the world. I didn't know that we would be starting anew each time.<br />
<br />
Today is a hard day.<br />
Tomorrow will be hard too.<br />
<i>Forever missing our boy....</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsd-0PWJ36xxigPnk2xxc9vUyxtjuzRrwaffaA03IkM4Q7YdXAvdqrL0E6hcn3X7nSB9-vMrX9LGnJIB9s-sAf-rWLlj0Rd5F28DOZ02CxgENo1TDPlsG3K-Z1eJzvfK-JM7xagYbcWKwQ/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39ywqSbawRZ9xlNxRMXiK52XmTVJZrbVNeXILP1KFc7-jmZA3M_oTcfPmUIkwUvC53Yd3fDZKrB0Ighyphenhyphenm2Ll6nfmM6Gq9l5ngcL5t0DA6ORNT3MxoC7ZeOOwNaPOfp2Hd5HTdScePyt4h/s1600/IMG_8214.JPG" imageanchor="1"></a>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsGZDqxm-jQHtKGKI9OWLW03SeNLQOjol47IWVdlnjCU4Ngwk-zXN9qSK_GJjJjGQc-Omy_s1WQDmdMhAA2ecwjKvBOezTzJC1vnl2VfgeP1E8klcTYbChkh19HcRIaS4i6wum-ryKTF45/s1600/IMG_8208.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsGZDqxm-jQHtKGKI9OWLW03SeNLQOjol47IWVdlnjCU4Ngwk-zXN9qSK_GJjJjGQc-Omy_s1WQDmdMhAA2ecwjKvBOezTzJC1vnl2VfgeP1E8klcTYbChkh19HcRIaS4i6wum-ryKTF45/s400/IMG_8208.PNG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First day of first grade for Sam, fifth for David</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39ywqSbawRZ9xlNxRMXiK52XmTVJZrbVNeXILP1KFc7-jmZA3M_oTcfPmUIkwUvC53Yd3fDZKrB0Ighyphenhyphenm2Ll6nfmM6Gq9l5ngcL5t0DA6ORNT3MxoC7ZeOOwNaPOfp2Hd5HTdScePyt4h/s1600/IMG_8214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39ywqSbawRZ9xlNxRMXiK52XmTVJZrbVNeXILP1KFc7-jmZA3M_oTcfPmUIkwUvC53Yd3fDZKrB0Ighyphenhyphenm2Ll6nfmM6Gq9l5ngcL5t0DA6ORNT3MxoC7ZeOOwNaPOfp2Hd5HTdScePyt4h/s320/IMG_8214.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There should be THREE kids in this picture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsd-0PWJ36xxigPnk2xxc9vUyxtjuzRrwaffaA03IkM4Q7YdXAvdqrL0E6hcn3X7nSB9-vMrX9LGnJIB9s-sAf-rWLlj0Rd5F28DOZ02CxgENo1TDPlsG3K-Z1eJzvfK-JM7xagYbcWKwQ/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First day of school. There should be FOUR in this picture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Where we were....</i><div>
2015....<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/09/pouring.html" target="_blank">Pouring</a></div>
<div>
2014...<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/08/marking.html" target="_blank">Marking</a> and also <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/09/childhood-cancer-action-month.html" target="_blank">Childhood Cancer Awareness Month</a></div>
<div>
2013...<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/09/out-window-day-5.html" target="_blank">Out the Window, Day +5</a> (wow)</div>
<div>
2012...<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/09/quiet-shabbat.html" target="_blank">Quiet Shabbat</a> (chemo round 3)</div>
<div>
2011...<a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2011/08/back-to-school-tradition.html" target="_blank">Back to School Tradition</a></div>
<div>
2010...<a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2010/09/differences-of-opinion.html" target="_blank">Differences of Opinion</a></div>
<div>
2007...<a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2007/09/moving-out-of-shadows-bsm.html" target="_blank">Out of the Shadow</a> (David's first day of Kindergarten!)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>You can still <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/mypage/869906/2016" target="_blank">donate to St Baldricks</a> in honor of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Let's end hard days for other families....</i></div>
Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-51850610262060510582016-06-02T08:49:00.002-05:002016-06-02T19:48:19.671-05:00More<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Solly is a preschool graduate.</span></div>
<br>
It's such a mini-milestone, really. It's not like we weren't planning on kindergarten.<br>
<br>
And yet....it's really the last time that I have an "end of the thing" milestone that all four of my children have done.<br>
<br>
There are still a couple of remaining firsts...first day of kindergarten...first tooth lost...I'm anticipating them with that weird feeling of anticipatory grief -- how will I feel knowing that eventually, there will be no more lists of four...no more neatly squared collages of photos of four little faces at the same point in their childhood development?<br>
<br>
David finishes 8th grade this week. I will never ever have four 8th grade graduation pictures, four high school graduation pictures, four college, med school, law school, rabbinical school graduation pictures....There are so many milestones that will only be repeated three times in our house, not four.<br>
<br>
Solly is fascinated by wishes lately. He grabs every fluffy dandelion he can get his hands on, and holds it near his mouth, closes his eyes, and hurriedly whispers, "I wish Sammy was alive," and then whoosh....I think he believes that he can make the wish come true with enough blowing on enough dandelions.<br>
<br>
As kids, we are always wishing for more. As an adult, I have realized, of course, that more isn't always better. But in this case? I wish for more. More pictures, more milestones, more of everything. There's so much more that we could have had.<br>
<br>
I wish for more.<div><br></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsIkwBn2k6s79pmLPFWq-xQ9eBAz-RsvLXMXwuQXl6k7528L94uUE05Av-o_xnX9ldfZeIFccRjqQkL31Z5AbjrFPgIhyxDujIks7QsGoJGb1eYC6F738UAYb3a8CgKL2HcNm5gb0dIvw/s640/blogger-image-872107277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsIkwBn2k6s79pmLPFWq-xQ9eBAz-RsvLXMXwuQXl6k7528L94uUE05Av-o_xnX9ldfZeIFccRjqQkL31Z5AbjrFPgIhyxDujIks7QsGoJGb1eYC6F738UAYb3a8CgKL2HcNm5gb0dIvw/s640/blogger-image-872107277.jpg"></font></a></div>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-72436400408539579022016-03-25T09:30:00.003-05:002016-03-25T09:30:52.338-05:00StretchingI read obituaries.<br />
Nearly every day, I scan through the obituaries.<br />
Mostly, it's a professional thing. I tend to jump to the ones with the Star of David on them, checking my little community.<br />
<br />
Sometimes things catch my eye.<br />
<br />
Today, there was an obituary for an older person, asking for donations to be made to the Ronald McDonald House charities. That's not exceptionally common, so I kept reading. The other option for donations was a named foundation. My sense of morbid curiosity got to me, and I googled the name.<br />
<br />
Based on what I can tell from the obituary, 38 years ago this person's niece died of leukemia. She was not yet 3 years old. And 38 years later, it still had impact on the family's handling of this person's death.<br />
<br />
Thirty-eight years later.<br />
<br />
It stretches so far into the future....it's almost my entire lifetime.<br />
<br />
One of the reasons I haven't been writing lately is that I am actually paralyzed by the immensity, the weight, the magnitude....of that lifetime. I wonder, sometimes, how that can actually be real.<br />
<br />
Our lives are fairly normal. Normal stuff happens. School, laundry, movies, new shoes....whatever makes us ordinary travelers in this world. The living kids are great. "Well-adjusted." Happy.<br />
<br />
Sammy's life doesn't hang over us like a cloud. It really doesn't. His presence is everywhere, we talk about him all the time, but it's not in a Big Deep Dark Way. We live with him.<br />
<br />
And yet....there's that lifetime. Stretching before me. Without him.<br />
<br />
In 2015....<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2015/03/older.html" target="_blank">Older</a><br />
In 2014...<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/03/its-been-103-days.html" target="_blank">It's Been 103 Days</a><br />
In 2013....<a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/03/buzz-cuts-for-cancer.html" target="_blank">Buzz Cuts for Cancer</a> (video....and omg)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGSg6xFfzvFzaWfPpWxIJZyammTkYdlPXIqnvWaKwX5SIkXx2BNSypy2RnNPF4F9SGzGgSnreaQL8alpVoj1ouiOdI7eAmrIFQPbEBjIbeonY6m5Cj0bYSUYmqR2VHOo792ZGY98yW_-H/s1600/DSC05218-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGSg6xFfzvFzaWfPpWxIJZyammTkYdlPXIqnvWaKwX5SIkXx2BNSypy2RnNPF4F9SGzGgSnreaQL8alpVoj1ouiOdI7eAmrIFQPbEBjIbeonY6m5Cj0bYSUYmqR2VHOo792ZGY98yW_-H/s320/DSC05218-001.JPG" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">just days before diagnosis at his Kindergarten graduation ceremony</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-32565429512827818722016-01-02T18:00:00.000-06:002016-01-02T19:41:09.286-06:00Another New YearHere we are. Another new year.<br />
<br />
I couldn't help but spend the last week remembering the new year that ended 2012 and began 2013. Sam was in remission. We spent the day hanging out with friends, going to a soccer game, and I remember a rousing game of Scrabble as we drew towards midnight.<br />
<br />
Sam was in remission.<br />
The world felt full of possibilities.<br />
<br />
If I had known it was the last New Year's Eve that I would spend with him....what would I have done differently? Sammy died having never tasted champagne. He died without staying up late and watching the ball drop in Times Square. Sam died without seeing the new year 2014. That was his last new year...he never again saw a January 1.<br />
<br />
And yet, we turn over the calendar. We start 2016, another year without Sam. I remember writing, as 2014 began, a request for the year to be gentle. I remember that last year, January 1, 2015, was Sam's Hebrew yahrzeit. But January 1, 2016? It just feels a little like we're just moving farther and farther away from our Sam. From that time when he was with us. From the way it felt to hold his hand and kiss his head. I have to concentrate oh-so-hard to conjure up those feelings.<br />
<br />
I am one of those people who seldom recalls her dreams. It's rare that I wake up with a complete picture of a dream. But the other night, I dreamed that Sam was in the hospital. The hospital had changed, and things were different there. Yet I knew it was the same hospital, some parts were so clearly recognizable.<br />
<br />
And I couldn't find Sam.<br />
<br />
I knew he was there, I was looking for him, searching all over, I couldn't find him.<br />
<br />
I woke up feeling heartbroken and lost and sad.<br />
<br />
Sam wasn't in 2015. And he won't be in 2016.<br />
<br />
The world keeps spinning and we keep putting one foot in front of the other. And there is joy and blessing and happiness in a lot of what we do. (And there is the ordinary, oh-so-ordinary, the regular, the mundane, the useful, the practical, and even the annoying in what we do as well. This is real life, and I know it.)<br />
<br />
But we know he isn't there. And the hurt never goes away.<br />
<br />
<i><b>It's a new year:</b> I do believe that you can still donate <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/fundraisers/mypage/837/2015" target="_blank">using this link</a>. It's a new year and there are new goals. I'm honored to say that the St Baldrick's Foundation raised a little over $36 million in 2015 to help fund research to help more families avoid blogs like this one. Thank you for all that you did to help with that (great Jewish) number. Let's keep it up together, friends.</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUZEwn6tzpYl9KUfBpozlpI1h6RX3uoQx2JG0pIqSnoPj8WL0-b3z7L5-ts1Qr4EqLXLDrBin-r6bmAUoFYYYZ6CyrFwwH_cqgNJe3hgFTvwl22cXPkEIlxn4s1eVw0MUB5TrXfk9znl9/s1600/1571_10151389749167037_1962531053_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUZEwn6tzpYl9KUfBpozlpI1h6RX3uoQx2JG0pIqSnoPj8WL0-b3z7L5-ts1Qr4EqLXLDrBin-r6bmAUoFYYYZ6CyrFwwH_cqgNJe3hgFTvwl22cXPkEIlxn4s1eVw0MUB5TrXfk9znl9/s320/1571_10151389749167037_1962531053_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">December 31, 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSKihPXQlRZP0lG_2l4khChwWkm_27ixq3g6IQKEHsmo-RhRrzsnI8Kx78CWxLqbMibHOGUw0R_lNKuY8x9aHzACEpAXuXFi1xPvRRvo7HG7rk2sbR6WAeMMiZNYP3Va2M54hcQXpajqs/s1600/574804_10151389459947037_2138498530_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSKihPXQlRZP0lG_2l4khChwWkm_27ixq3g6IQKEHsmo-RhRrzsnI8Kx78CWxLqbMibHOGUw0R_lNKuY8x9aHzACEpAXuXFi1xPvRRvo7HG7rk2sbR6WAeMMiZNYP3Va2M54hcQXpajqs/s320/574804_10151389459947037_2138498530_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">December 31, 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-27234506668062526792015-12-14T08:30:00.003-06:002015-12-14T08:30:28.376-06:00Still Here After 730 DaysI'm not over it.<br />
I'm not through it.<br />
It hasn't gotten any better.<br />
It hasn't gotten any easier.<br />
<br />
I'm not used to it.<br />
<br />
You think you can "get used to anything."<br />
<br />
After all, the hospital became our "new normal."<br />
<br />
But this? Not used to it.<br />
<br />
There is always always always something missing.<br />
<br />
I've gotten better at working around it.<br />
I carefully skirt the conversations.<br />
I've practiced smiling.<br />
I open my mouth and the words come out, the words I've so carefully put together.<br />
It's not an act, exactly. I'm not pretending or faking in a conscious way.<br />
I'm just....working around it.<br />
<br />
But it's always always always there.<br />
<br />
Sam.<br />
<br />
The missing piece, the missing link, the missing....<br />
<br />
Would he be taller? Would his teeth need braces? What size shoes would I be buying for him right now? How many chapters would he negotiate to read each night? How late would he want to stay up? Would he be very excited about the new Star Wars movie? Would he be trying out for the school play?<br />
<br />
730 days later and we're just left here to wonder. We're still here. And he's not.<br />
<br />
I can still feel his body in my arms. If I close my eyes and breathe very carefully, I remember what it was like to kiss his head. I can hear his voice, his laugh....<br />
<br />
Oh, Sammy. We miss you so much.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Wx1UFJfKVNPctjXxbxBwAlC4A5DPKWHGzy40Dd1PqUOhG4LVo-MPuOgUJ2O8t9fxbew9hr9MseFysq8tLNsMapkfZ4InIIE5s2pTiKNBVcQxZIOG7ppjj5Ux2d-5N-hxcA2ykPNV8t_m/s1600/IMG_3670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Wx1UFJfKVNPctjXxbxBwAlC4A5DPKWHGzy40Dd1PqUOhG4LVo-MPuOgUJ2O8t9fxbew9hr9MseFysq8tLNsMapkfZ4InIIE5s2pTiKNBVcQxZIOG7ppjj5Ux2d-5N-hxcA2ykPNV8t_m/s320/IMG_3670.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three is not the same as four.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7_y9AGK0Oq6dDZOzUlX1N9toTAMio8BLw9sEUwJNhwC2387ZHLZmDyDPNqS1gsSqbmZZHuITsU_q4F9tTjpI2RZwN3fsuI_NfG_VkRMtwJa5HyB9dNCdYreNIR8bIreuHA21SMihpxij/s1600/IMG_3712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7_y9AGK0Oq6dDZOzUlX1N9toTAMio8BLw9sEUwJNhwC2387ZHLZmDyDPNqS1gsSqbmZZHuITsU_q4F9tTjpI2RZwN3fsuI_NfG_VkRMtwJa5HyB9dNCdYreNIR8bIreuHA21SMihpxij/s320/IMG_3712.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three plus a turtle (on Solly's shirt) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuNpf1zqK1H2GWYgVffESUi9nuTaAClhYn9UyawWN6vZNuFm26jWPZ00k-VIU9MmVfobEKtyBSkyRpt8MJJGEkeCRlKzmStCijtjfsjVEgZx_sWrRXm9odxwflOsHRPfWtW7_7hoFZHWt/s1600/IMG_4277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuNpf1zqK1H2GWYgVffESUi9nuTaAClhYn9UyawWN6vZNuFm26jWPZ00k-VIU9MmVfobEKtyBSkyRpt8MJJGEkeCRlKzmStCijtjfsjVEgZx_sWrRXm9odxwflOsHRPfWtW7_7hoFZHWt/s320/IMG_4277.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last night, fireworks lit up the sky in Sammy's honor, thanks to Rabbi Steve, who made a promise to Sam. It was pouring rain....the whole world was crying with us. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0X3DjM7tXapjlO219qBRSSuF_yxRByc9kPD9jESOTeC86fY_KLcIBkNTGTehtpMdVl6ALlF0rSmf0ETOK-Ta66zbnTEmXNi8cwZKNTAIm6hf5ki9Z5FM7GNRnE5fEnGhwmI5n6NFjD80A/s1600/IMG_4283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0X3DjM7tXapjlO219qBRSSuF_yxRByc9kPD9jESOTeC86fY_KLcIBkNTGTehtpMdVl6ALlF0rSmf0ETOK-Ta66zbnTEmXNi8cwZKNTAIm6hf5ki9Z5FM7GNRnE5fEnGhwmI5n6NFjD80A/s320/IMG_4283.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the 8th night of Chanukah, we also lit this Yahrzeit candle. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpC-SkQzLLgOzCtVr9scyamovsmicLHh7DLjJ1MSNE3bLSZsgLsF5k9mjRkoTi6d3zcNYQCCnMnoh2sjGr8wvNd549INfuKaxR418Q1GS6WfqUP5ExhY7LS5gHKCEiwNs_0slbNvD5I_E/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpC-SkQzLLgOzCtVr9scyamovsmicLHh7DLjJ1MSNE3bLSZsgLsF5k9mjRkoTi6d3zcNYQCCnMnoh2sjGr8wvNd549INfuKaxR418Q1GS6WfqUP5ExhY7LS5gHKCEiwNs_0slbNvD5I_E/s400/1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-51588177503970205702015-11-23T08:06:00.001-06:002015-11-23T08:06:48.011-06:00Thankful<div id="AppleMailSignature"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am thankful for the gift of family. To hold these people who know me so well and to know that their hugs hold generations of love...for this I am grateful. </span></div><div id="AppleMailSignature"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div id="AppleMailSignature"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am thankful for the gift of friends. To find kindred spirits amongst all the multitudes out there and to know that they understand me, love me, and choose my friendship too....for this I am grateful. </span></div><div id="AppleMailSignature"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div id="AppleMailSignature"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am thankful for the gift of memory. To be able to hold onto those fragments and wisps and to piece them together into the stories that are our lives....for this I am grateful. </span></div><div id="AppleMailSignature"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div id="AppleMailSignature"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am thankful for so much even as I am missing so much. I can't be ungrateful even in the face of an empty chair -- how dare I? </span></div><div id="AppleMailSignature"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDkA0YuK4n6_2MfhAJE8lyVGaYhIGbzV28NrfJkmf-J5Bd39AG7qEj5Ge60B5bODlRum-2dr-7yuWKB6Dmw-7WHmWUKZeR5xjWybwP47aPspRSdcCAvEEow-Cl18bM17zIodwfk_sG0pJ/s640/blogger-image--1287668672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDkA0YuK4n6_2MfhAJE8lyVGaYhIGbzV28NrfJkmf-J5Bd39AG7qEj5Ge60B5bODlRum-2dr-7yuWKB6Dmw-7WHmWUKZeR5xjWybwP47aPspRSdcCAvEEow-Cl18bM17zIodwfk_sG0pJ/s640/blogger-image--1287668672.jpg"></a></div>A big group of us serving dinner at the Ronald McDonald House in honor of Sammy's birthday</span></div><div id="AppleMailSignature"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div id="AppleMailSignature"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-R05oTs4kxu10kO1unG6uAy6efOo6LsSxKq6gWRg9bhok6sZ9JE5Hs_J3BBZFXzamVT6KGpPhOWYVNz7vwOanQZeIcaUFBk_DpaehD71JJZqsVUU_l1PQadnrvriqxgsLLXzQi_iSLLoL/s640/blogger-image--32412311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-R05oTs4kxu10kO1unG6uAy6efOo6LsSxKq6gWRg9bhok6sZ9JE5Hs_J3BBZFXzamVT6KGpPhOWYVNz7vwOanQZeIcaUFBk_DpaehD71JJZqsVUU_l1PQadnrvriqxgsLLXzQi_iSLLoL/s640/blogger-image--32412311.jpg"></a></div>First snowfall....</span></div>Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1462665789660058576.post-60127551767368381982015-11-08T00:00:00.000-06:002015-11-08T00:00:02.713-06:00Just Not Okay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Dear Sammy,<br />
<br />
Today you would be over the moon. Double-digits. I can't even imagine how proud you would be to join your big brother in the double-digit-club and leave your little sibs behind in the single-digits. Yes, I imagine that you would continue to want to be cool like David.<br />
<br />
Because, Sammy, that's all I get to do now. I can imagine how you would act, I can imagine how you would feel, I can imagine what you would do. My imagination is big and powerful but honestly, it's just not enough and it's just not okay.<br />
<br />
It's just not okay that you're not here to have a big party (would we?) or bug me for a French horn (would you?) or tell me how many different kinds of cake I have to make for you (might you?). It's just not okay that we're celebrating your birthday with cake and dinner at the Ronald McDonald House. Not because that's not a great way to celebrate your birthday. But it's just not okay that you're not here with us. It's just not okay that I'm not adding 10 minutes to your bedtime (so wait, how late can you stay up?) and it's just not okay that I'm not bringing cake up to your clinic appointment (would you have one? or would there just be a "normal" birthday checkup at the pediatrician?). It's not okay that we picked out gifts and we had no idea what you really would have wanted so we got two things that Yael and Solly thought were things you "might have liked" for us to donate in your honor.<br />
<br />
It's just not okay that we're not taking a birthday picture. It's just not okay that there will never be another new picture of you ever ever ever again. How can that be? It's just not okay.<br />
<br />
It's<br />
just<br />
not<br />
okay.<br />
<br />
And that might be the world's biggest understatement.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mommy<br />
<br />
2nd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2007/11/best-shot-monday.html" target="_blank">Best Shot Monday</a><br />
3rd birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2008/11/birthday-marathon.html" target="_blank">Birthday marathon</a><br />
4th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-is-your-birthday-song.html" target="_blank">This is your birthday song</a><br />
5th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2010/11/five-is-big-number.html" target="_blank">Five is a big number</a><br />
6th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2011/11/six-is-awesome.html" target="_blank">Six is Awesome</a><br />
7th birthday: <a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2012/11/lucky-number-seven.html" target="_blank">Lucky Number Seven</a> and <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2012/11/birthday-boy.html" target="_blank">Birthday Boy</a><br />
8th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/11/little-things-bmt-73.html" target="_blank">Little Things</a><br />
9th birthday: <a href="http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2014/11/birthdate.html" target="_blank">Birthdate</a><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVM5ZZ961TqDdthL5Ei36KddpeePY9L94vgEK_OaA50pjA5Mn_5HThL-WyUinIeANqOCtcRwGPa_DmnbKVNNkm-IPP8tvpehslLDQJUoyZX1A-bntS2nlzr-Bu_Uk8PrTfzt8DALkmjyE/s1600/03-IMG_3805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVM5ZZ961TqDdthL5Ei36KddpeePY9L94vgEK_OaA50pjA5Mn_5HThL-WyUinIeANqOCtcRwGPa_DmnbKVNNkm-IPP8tvpehslLDQJUoyZX1A-bntS2nlzr-Bu_Uk8PrTfzt8DALkmjyE/s320/03-IMG_3805.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">seven</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbEvl9OR5EMnpBLmsgqyo-tvsvV5_zEyBmHMnPIb5wR5R0MQg-4voZQ3rqjdNfq5-WJMKga-ztpQ2KSmkk2yeaYaLS3ZDbeR16oQf4_VKJdAhT-7DHyRHvtdIcZSsklKb7H0YQCKAB-gu/s1600/05-DSC00537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbEvl9OR5EMnpBLmsgqyo-tvsvV5_zEyBmHMnPIb5wR5R0MQg-4voZQ3rqjdNfq5-WJMKga-ztpQ2KSmkk2yeaYaLS3ZDbeR16oQf4_VKJdAhT-7DHyRHvtdIcZSsklKb7H0YQCKAB-gu/s320/05-DSC00537.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">six -- yes that is a tarantula</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPG_Uj8b6eW0xeMUrCu6EHAoaIhCgQp-ZF4-gh-bsA80bar1twRUOUKjL-azojmuuKFKq0oQyJcp_oxPkB3r_OHTOGJNvPI5JcxR6-m_hw3TShIwS1fqOXr74RT6bl6vEFAor6R61MlOc/s1600/06-DSC01039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPG_Uj8b6eW0xeMUrCu6EHAoaIhCgQp-ZF4-gh-bsA80bar1twRUOUKjL-azojmuuKFKq0oQyJcp_oxPkB3r_OHTOGJNvPI5JcxR6-m_hw3TShIwS1fqOXr74RT6bl6vEFAor6R61MlOc/s320/06-DSC01039.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">five -- and Solly is in utero</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5YUm2Eji4mfPyqM7bthf0SICJ3nnOwFNtZUOuMgaWIvtUwWJMnPknjHSN-9UzGQ5-xQCliHcZfLjcWlug3Qj4vRhznXR6w5ZJYZsyQ7WhkHs3wJXaWLs1WeWzguqIqFmsLv8Ehv_tj9_z/s1600/07-P1050559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5YUm2Eji4mfPyqM7bthf0SICJ3nnOwFNtZUOuMgaWIvtUwWJMnPknjHSN-9UzGQ5-xQCliHcZfLjcWlug3Qj4vRhznXR6w5ZJYZsyQ7WhkHs3wJXaWLs1WeWzguqIqFmsLv8Ehv_tj9_z/s320/07-P1050559.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">four</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjpe-jWqFaaIHD_ue-_sBEoe1oGdMPeMmWcKV2AIvKIl3PKeyFBQtRcGVJ47A_LQCA175ilL7m_Pt-lwvidPTjG30QwS8druPKgmIdRqcHCn3s83wFrwf6w1zDT5qoy9tJsRWO3nJK37J/s1600/08-P1020223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjpe-jWqFaaIHD_ue-_sBEoe1oGdMPeMmWcKV2AIvKIl3PKeyFBQtRcGVJ47A_LQCA175ilL7m_Pt-lwvidPTjG30QwS8druPKgmIdRqcHCn3s83wFrwf6w1zDT5qoy9tJsRWO3nJK37J/s320/08-P1020223.JPG" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">three</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjzL587ePsXifa9jSu1Ocnl5x1bGP5lsbFjT_OiPBuFMqEiYIVL3ddL8uUoX5JvZfxH9hshhVc5udPXx8U5v8_AV8Vf5sy8B1GwNLsHRwZ0FKSuu6OdpnzsFkqzLGGB-fXsR19aTwucSI/s1600/09-P1020248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjzL587ePsXifa9jSu1Ocnl5x1bGP5lsbFjT_OiPBuFMqEiYIVL3ddL8uUoX5JvZfxH9hshhVc5udPXx8U5v8_AV8Vf5sy8B1GwNLsHRwZ0FKSuu6OdpnzsFkqzLGGB-fXsR19aTwucSI/s320/09-P1020248.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8yT-NZ1nYN_AtzSfe7J9krfhabtWxggkEuViCOiOXs-5H-FfrfPzJRb944dxK5dPnFlt1RIOR2LSSI1UGBHRgFQ2rSZG5_o0p7Nsk83uAfKYuO3wDZpRF-G2SfM5T5004r9roQbDw3NTo/s1600/10-CIMG5541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8yT-NZ1nYN_AtzSfe7J9krfhabtWxggkEuViCOiOXs-5H-FfrfPzJRb944dxK5dPnFlt1RIOR2LSSI1UGBHRgFQ2rSZG5_o0p7Nsk83uAfKYuO3wDZpRF-G2SfM5T5004r9roQbDw3NTo/s320/10-CIMG5541.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">two</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrur7SfgxAH1tEAKrH7w_8hpSVzERtac7L_y7MLOGXj7QtSF1S4JfDE3h1tffGHqixwBbu-ZhUglqQRHvGCxpYCaRWTjxanUuyhy50HpjsqBkdz_KpfZoxVCb2gr0GXNsZuS9L6HgBjJwg/s1600/11-CIMG2171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrur7SfgxAH1tEAKrH7w_8hpSVzERtac7L_y7MLOGXj7QtSF1S4JfDE3h1tffGHqixwBbu-ZhUglqQRHvGCxpYCaRWTjxanUuyhy50HpjsqBkdz_KpfZoxVCb2gr0GXNsZuS9L6HgBjJwg/s320/11-CIMG2171.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRp9IBfcZhcrQD79yXSgxdIoXaQ_mqledLOYen0xRVO9U1RazaAh3YuyqzGzUFiHRLPhB98bRWC6169lEbmlonqtkUk4BuQPMHYaaRXyOuy6yQ-OtLMbmnyysEkaIZbEFwXL61pSMKCFi/s1600/12-samuelasher11_10_2005+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRp9IBfcZhcrQD79yXSgxdIoXaQ_mqledLOYen0xRVO9U1RazaAh3YuyqzGzUFiHRLPhB98bRWC6169lEbmlonqtkUk4BuQPMHYaaRXyOuy6yQ-OtLMbmnyysEkaIZbEFwXL61pSMKCFi/s320/12-samuelasher11_10_2005+008.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the beginning</td></tr>
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<i><b>Two ways to honor Sam's birthday:</b> a <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/fundraisers/mypage/837/2015" target="_blank">donation to the St Baldrick's Foundation</a>, funding research that will bring more birthdays for more kids or help our friend Emma Rose to create <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/3QG6SOHMTWVKT/ref=cm_sw_su_w" target="_blank">Movie Night Gift Bags for kids in the HOT unit</a>.</i><br />
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<br />Phyllis Sommerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16654761832717723000noreply@blogger.com6