Tag Archives: blessings

Friendship on our Level

A friend told me something powerful today.

That if I wasn’t here, she wouldn’t still be here.

Let that sink in for a moment…

That if I wasn’t here, she wouldn’t still be here.

That if I wasn’t here, she wouldn’t still be here.

It took me aback for a minute. I took it like, if I wasn’t here, neither would she be, as in like…life. It could go so many ways, suicide? Running away? Wither up and dying from my lack of horrid jokes and hummus desk snacks?

She said it seriously, with tears in her eyes. I was speechless for a moment. That is quite a powerful message to hand someone…without an explanation. But that significant message was oh-so precious. It must be handled carefully, like a delicate orchid and treasured for the meaning behind it. It is not something you can laugh off or pish posh.

If you weren’t here, I wouldn’t be here. Think about it.

Looking back on it now, I believe she was speaking of work, like she would have quit her job by now. But either way, it is quite the statement.

She values our friendship so much that my simply being here, alters her life, her path, her choices. That my dear folks, is friendship at its most deepest and cherished level. We are not simply co-workers that sit beside each other and fill our days with idle chitchat. I care about her life, I feel like I know her daughters and mother on a deeper level than I actually do. I feel her pain and I share her shining moments. We get a kick out of word play and grammar puns, she is my go-to gal for English questions, like, “do you ‘bare’ with me or ‘bear’ with me? Either way sounds not too fun!” She cares about others, to the point that she puts herself out. She will stay late after her shift to finish your conversation and she slips you a homemade concoction of essential oils when you have the sniffles. She is older than me by a generation I would say. One of her daughters is my age and yet, I don’t feel “mothered” or that generational gap that I feel with other older people…she is just…her. Beautiful in both mind and spirit. She often gives me pause. She will say something or forward me something to read and I have to actually think about it before I respond. She understands life differently than most. She understands life on a different level than most. She gets what is hidden in-between the lines and words and interprets them for me. She stops and looks at sunsets and frost patterns on  windows. She sees the beauty that most of us just walk by without notice. She literally stops to smell the roses. She’s like a Buddhist monk hidden in a little lady’s body who wears 2 coats in the winter for quite logical reasons.

Cancer has taken so much from her and although we have cancer in common, both being caregivers and supporters, our journeys have taken very different paths. Our roads with grief, guilt, stress and eventually healing has been rocky and bumpy and filled with potholes. But we share it together, over cold leftover toast and a cuppa tea.

She has seen some dark places but she has also lived in the light. She married her very best friend only for him to be taken away by cancer at a young age. You can tell his presence is missed daily and also deeply. She lights up when she tells stories about him. There is a twinkle in her eye that is rarely there…it is great to see. And yet, the pain is evident. She sometimes reminds me a granite boulder. Strong and powerful, hard to break and why would you want too, as the colour and texture is breathtaking. And yet, there is a crack. A single, small, chip in her granite. The water gets in, year after year, the fall of winter and the rise of summer brings this crack to the surface, getting bigger, more significant and stands out. It is absolutely heartbreaking to see a chip in a perfect piece of granite and not be able to do anything about it. No amount of duct tape, hugs, tea or alcohol (my go-to fixer uppers) will fix this crack. It will always be there. That is what cancer does. Cracks a perfect life, splits a happy marriage and family, chips a woman until she is on her knees baring the weight of all these broken pieces on her back. This is not weight that anyone else can carry. I hope with time and support and love, she will be able to stand tall again. Some days are worse than others, for both of us. But I think, together, we got this…

We may differ in so many ways, her husband died, my son survived. She struggles with loss and loneliness, I struggle with clinginess and neediness, I love pretzels , she threatens my life if I mention them and she is Scottish where I am English! It is amazing we can even sit together! And yet, as shitty as cancer is, I feel like this friendship is something amazing that came out of it.

And on some levels, if she were no longer here, a very big, granite sized piece of me would be gone too…

And please remember, no matter how alone you are feeling, you are never, ever, ever alone. Please reach out…


May all their Stars Shine Bright

Emily Hammond with her five-year-old son Griffin at their home in Niagara Falls on Dec. 11, 2015. They have a special Christmas ornament they put on their tree every year as a reminder of all the children dealing with cancer. Mike DiBattista/Niagara Falls Review/Postmedia Network
The tiny silver star has a well-deserved place among the very tip top branches of my Christmas tree. The star has a hole in the middle with a crystal hanging inside. This little star means so much to me.
In Dec of 2011, my 22 month old son Griffin was diagnosed with Rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare and aggressive type of muscle Cancer that grew in his eye orbit. That holiday season was the scariest and most heart wrenching Christmas my little family had ever been through. We didn’t know if Griffin was going to make it and my Husband & I didn’t know if this would be his last Christmas…
After 48 weeks of chemo, 25 radiation treatments directly to his face, and countless pokes, scans and appointments, December of 2012 rolled around and that year, Griffin was Cancer Free!!! You would think I would have been so happy, unfortunately I was not. My heart and soul were hurt from all the cancer kids we had lost that past year as well as all the kids still fighting. I could not let myself feel happy while others were still suffering. Some mothers did not have their babies that Christmas, how guilty and horrid was I to enjoy mine?
I struggled with PTSD, survivor’s guilt and depression until I found this cheap little tin star at our pharmacy while I was getting meds for my son. It sparkled at me, it reminded me of the sparkle in the eye of one particular child we had lost recently. I clung to that ornament all the way home, crying tears of sadness but also relief. I realized that I could HONOUR those children with a place on my tree. I can remember them, laugh at their memories and remember their sparkle. These families would not want me to suffer; they would not want me to be consumed with guilt over something neither of us can help!
 Emily Hammond with her five-year-old son Griffin at their home in Niagara Falls on Dec. 11, 2015. They have a special Christmas ornament they put on their tree every year as a reminder of all the children dealing with cancer. Mike DiBattista/Niagara Falls Review/Postmedia Network
So Griffin is five now, perfectly healthy and happy. And so am I. Each year, I hang that amazing little star near the tip of my tree, the little crystal catching all the light and winking at me. These Cancer Kids are not forgotten, but they are no longer painful. I will always remember those children with this little silver star. I will always remember their bravery, courage and heart.
May all their stars shine bright.
This story was published in the local Newspaper:
Emily Hammond with her five-year-old son Griffin at their home in Niagara Falls on Dec. 11, 2015. They have a special Christmas ornament they put on their tree every year as a reminder of all the children dealing with cancer. Mike DiBattista/Niagara Falls Review/Postmedia Network

Cancer for the Holidays

hope for the holidays

Cancer for the Holidays

In December of 2011 my little 22 month old son Griffin was diagnosed with Rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare and aggressive type of muscle cancer that grew in his right eye orbit. We spent three weeks in the hospital trying to get a diagnosis and then a biopsy before returning home on Dec 20th with our answer. CANCER. I got a freaking DISEASE in my BABY for Christmas. I was a mess inside but an emotionless zombie on the outside. Mentally, I knew I had a job to do but no idea how I was actually going to do it!

After living in the hospital for three weeks, totally unprepared, I was dreading coming home to an empty house. We never had time to put up any decorations, a tree or even a few lights outside. I was dreading coming around the corner to see my sad house, the only one not lit up on the block. It kind of represented how I was feeling. Sad, dark and alone.

Griffin and my Hubby Marty in the RMH ad
Griffin and my Hubby Marty in the RMH ad

My husband drove our car around the corner and grabbed my hand. There were lights on our maple trees! There were ribbons on our bushes, lights along our house. Our little house was BEAMING with holiday cheer! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!?! I ran out of the car in my hospital slippers into the snow to watch the wonder of our house. I stood in the snow, looking up at my trees. This was not a professional job at all. It looked like Christmas barfed on my lawn. The lights were mismatched and crooked. Any other year, this would have bothered the OCD inside me, this year? My heart SANG!!! I’ve never been on the receiving end of a Christmas miracle, it was absolutely amazing!!!

It turns out, my co-workers contacted my Mum to see how they could help my family. And then they took up a collection of old Xmas lights (That explains the mismatching lights) and then some volunteers came over the night before to attack my house. But when they got there, they realized that they didn’t have a ladder and all the SHORT people volunteered to help! HAHAHA so only the very lowest branches of my maple trees at lights, the short bushes had ribbons and they had lined the MIDDLE of my house with lights not the roof top. Apparently someone had tripped on and landed on the drainspout of my house, falling and crushing it. Hearing this story made me cry so hard, happy tears. These were my awesome co-worker family, nutty and amazing.

I noticed that I craved a sense of normal in my life. I did not want to be a Cancer Mama. I was forced into it. Once you are diagnosed with Cancer, your little world is tipped upside down, people don’t treat you the same and you don’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The familiar feeling of Christmas lights in my trees and wrapping my house in cheer was the EXACT pick-me-up my little family needed.

If someone you know has been diagnosed during the holiday season, please reach out and see what they need. SUGGEST what you can do. Lots of people would “say” just tell me what you need, well sometimes, I don’t know what I need! Or I don’t want to impose, but if you offered to make Christmas dinner, or maybe a trees put up, cards mailed or cookies baked? Maybe their driveway shoveled? Or even just a nice chat with a cup of cocoa to warm the soul. Most would take you up on your offer!!!

Happy Holidays and remember, you are never alone.

~Cancer Mama Emma



Dear Cancer Mama


Dear canadan cancer mama, WTF are you folks smoking up there? Like seriously now. THE BLESSINGS OF CANCER? Are you shitting me? down here in the good Ol’d US of A, cancer steals our whole lives. We are emotionally, physically and financially broken. We have to relay on our friends and relations to help us through but we make it. Cancer is not all rainbows and lolly pops. Itss a fucking battle for your life. Dreaming up “best buddy friendships” and support group sit-ins are not helping anyone. And now you just posted another one about Battle scars!!!!!!!! really? yes there fucking painful reminders of course they are! What else would they be??????You are delusional. Seriously fucking fucked up. NOBODY can actually think this way. I know that canada people are nice and whatever but this is over the top. I don’t know where the fuck you learned to write like this but it makes me want to puke.

American and lovin it


My emailed response, it took me awhile to be able to write back…

I also apologize that in your country, you are so broken…perhaps that is what Obama is trying to fix?

I would also like to say “sorry” that you feel I’m fucked up, sometimes I do have bad days, luckily for me, the good days out number the bad by ten fold. It sounds like it is opposite for you. There are great meds for that.

I don’t smoke. Anything.  That causes Cancer, something we are trying to avoid in my family.

My writing style makes you want to puke? OMG, I’m laughing so freaking hard!


If I’m so offensive, why do you keep coming back???

You’re from the South right? Right?!?

I’m very glad that your kin folk help you out. It sounds like you need it.

Dear American and Lovin’ it,

As a Canadian, (Yes, there is an ‘i’ in there) I would like to apologize that my personal thoughts and feelings expressed on my blog have apparently upset you and turned on your “swearing’ button. These blogs that I write are MY experiences. I don’t expect everyone to agree with everything I say or even two words that I say. I never made that claim. I’m also at a point in Griffin’s Cancer journey, where I can look back and reflect on the situation. Think of it as child birth? On the days before you give birth, some mothers may hate the world, hate that baby, hate the weather, hate the husband…then on Labour day, you are mad at the world, mad at the nurses and doctors, you are experiencing your own personal hell, the pain is ridiculous, your modesty and pride are forgotten about, etc. But then that Baby in born, suddenly the world is all “rainbows and Lollipops”, the sun starts shining again, you forget (some) of the pain and the grossness and just focus on raising that beautiful baby of yours. I’m at the beautiful baby stage. I’ve been through the pain and rage and sadness, I’m in the “enjoying my boy being normal” stage. We might be in different stages and I can guarantee that we had different paths through our Cancer journeys. I hear a lot of pain and sorrow in your letter, American. I would love to help you in anyway I can. Please let me know how I can help.

Also, I have banned you from my blog for your own good. I don’t want to upset you even more and the blogs are just going to keep coming! You now have my personal email so please reach out if you need too.

Remember, you are NEVER alone, even if you write me a nasty letter.



Battle Scars or Painful Reminders?

Jan 21, 2015

Sorry about the VERY late blog update, somehow this got lost in the shuffle, but I thought I would share it anyway! :)
These are battle scars. As a relatively healthy four year old, these scars to do not slow him down but I wonder how he will hold up later on in life?

Because he had radiation directly to his face, he is missing an eyebrow on that side, he also wears glasses because he had cataract surgery to correct what radiation had done to his eye. They say his bones will grow slower on that side. His face will be different sizes. I wonder if anyone will notice? Will kids be mean? Will my son wear these scars as badges of honour? Or will they remind him of tough times and shrink like a wallflower?

Every now and then, I wish I could peek into the future, see what the future in like for my Cancer kid. Will he be a cancer awareness leader? Will he continue to walk the fundraisers and be the face of children’s hospitals and Cancer charities? Will he be proud of the things he has accomplished? Or will all this take its toll on him? Will the kids notice his differences? Will he be teased for his scars? His missing eyebrow and lack of balance? He cannot run as fast as the other kids, he had muscle loss and nerve damage from the chemo. This also effects his balance and his confidence as he tries to play with other kids. He is not as confident as the others his age. Will he be picked last for the baseball teams? Will they see the implant in his eye and be freaked out? Will they see the deep red scar on his chest and shrink away in horror?

I wish I could have an idea so I can prepare him for the future, but as any Mum will say, I guess I will just have to wait, and continue to watch him run around the yard. Tripping over his own feet, going much slower than the rest of the kids, but grinning ear to ear. He is happy, and as a Mum, that’s my job, the rest? I will worry about as it comes…

Hug your babies tight tonight

Letter to Alivia’s Rainbows

Mar 19, 2014

This note was written at the very beginning of Griffin’s Cancer journey:

Dear Craig & Chantal & Alivia’s Rainbows,

This is a hard note to write. When you hear the words that your child has cancer, your life changes immediately, forever and it seems it will never go back to normal. Griffin is 22 months old, still strong and young enough that hopefully he will survive his battle with Rhabdomyosarcoma, but as a parent, it feels like the life has been sucked out of you, “normal” is no longer part of your daily routine and I struggle to see how I am going to survive this disease and I’m not even the sick one! But thankfully there are people out there like you folks, who bring a little bit of sunshine to a rainy day. Now I understand the “rainbow” part of your name!

Thank you ever so much for your generous gift. It has taken off a bit of financial stress, one less thing I have to worry about, and more time I can dedicate to our beautiful boy. And the icing on the cake? Talking to a wonderful couple who have stayed strong and are a great example to us parents that are just holding it together.

You are doing such a great service to our community and honouring your daughter is such a generous and beautiful way.

Thank you for the advice, the gift cards and most importantly the hope…

Love Emily, Marty & Griffin Hammond-aka Cancer Fighters!

Dear Cancer Mama

Mar 19, 2014 –
This is a letter I just got from a fellow Cancer Mama! WONDERFUL! Thank you Pam! (I got her permission to publish this)

Dear Cancer Mama,

It’s 4am. I’m up changing a feed bag, checking temp and of couse, worrying about my sweet little boy. Like your son, he is fighting Rhabdomyosarcoma but his is on his upper arm. Like you, he is 2 years old. Like you, I’m just barely hanging on. Like you, I’m surfing the internet at 4am. Like you, hey! I AM LIKE YOU!

As I’m sitting here, reading your words, it feels like you are right here with me, sitting on the couch chatting. I’m laughing as your mother rips out Griffin’s Feeding Tubey playing tigers. I’m crying with you as Austin passes away. I’m praying with you to find a cure.

Thank you for sharing your experiences on your blog. Thank you for being brave enough to share not only your experiences, but your thoughts, opinions and feelings. It gives me hope. It gives me hope that like you, we can survive this. Like you, we can come out the other side better people. Like you, I want to help others. You have inspired me to look up my local Cancer Society and volunteer. I’ve decided that no matter how our “cancer journey” (as you call it) turns out, I will make the best of it, look for the silver lining, and not let cancer win.

Thank you for giving me hope,

~Pam, fellow Cancer Mama from Maine

Hi Emily!

Mar 19, 2014

This is a letter I got from another Cancer Mama, from England! (I asked her permission before sharing this note) Thanks Amanda!

Hi Emily!

Don’t ask me how I came across your blog, totally by accident yet totally wonderful! I am absolutely amazed at your ability to explain a cancer experience with total grace and humour at the same time. It is just smashing to find a similar situation to ours, even all the way across the pond!

Our daughter Emily (!) has Rhabdo which has grown in her lower jaw, she is six and a mighty trooper as we are nearing the end of her battle and will soon cross into the land of remission! Thanks to your blog I kind of have an idea of what to expect and not be surprised if my feelings/mood changes, etc. Why doesn’t the hospital tell us such things?!?!

We are wishing you and your family all the very best.



A WOW Letter-This is WHY I do what I do!!!

Mar 27, 2014
I got this letter today, and I spent the rest of the day all sniffy and emotional. When you start a blog, you never realize how many people it will touch and in how many ways. I was WOWed when this Mama took my quotes and stuck them together…how powerful! Its very rare that I am speechless. This was one of those times. I rarely look back at what I write. Thank you for putting it all together for me. WOW And I thank you too! XOX*******************************************************************************

Dear Emily, I am also a “Cancer Mama” as you call them. What a shitty club to be part of. And I’m a hoarder of information. I spend my sleepless nights trolling the internet for bits of information I can write in my book. It can be anything from inspiration quotes to cancer facts to germ fighting recipes. And then one night, I followed your pin to your blog. It was a life changing moment reading your posts, shifting through your story, following your adventures. I laughed with you, I cried with you, then I laughed again. But most importantly I took the good bits. I started scribbling them down, then I moved on to cutting and pasting, stealing good tidbits of info. I ended up sharing your blog with everyone I know, including all the “Cancer Mamas” here and now have bookmarked your blog. I check it everyday, hoping for a new post, wondering what you will come up with next. And as usual, I’m surprised every time. Congrats on building an amazing go-to place for Cancer families. Thank you for opening your heart and sharing your soul. You are doing an amazing job. I wanted to share with you what connected with me the most. Here are the quotes I “stole”:

Ahem, Attention, Attention please. I, Mama Emma will now share my secrets as to how to “deal” with Cancer…Um, yeah, I have no idea.

Then cancer hits us and rocks my little boat. I’m suddenly clutching the sides and trying not to be thrown overboard.

Welcome to the wonderful world of Children’s Hospitals filled with sick children. Please wash your hands.

And the sad part? I didn’t spend my money on booze or drugs or tattoos or vacations or fast cars. I spent my money on Cancer. Fucking cancer. What a complete waste of money. A waste of my money and my time and my health and my sanity. Fuck Cancer…

Dear Cancer, Because of you, our family grew stronger as you grew weaker. Because of you we have gained the friendship and kinship of other cancer families that I consider as close as family. Because of you, I don’t take anything for granted. Because of you, I wake up each morning thankful for the day I had yesterday with my child and looking forward to the day I will have today. Because of you I will never be the girl, daughter, wife, mother that i was before. There is no “going back to normal”, there is a new normal now. Its stronger, bigger and badder than Cancer.

I’ve put my whole life on hold to dance with Cancer.

Yes, I said a “family with Cancer”, because really, when one member has Cancer, it affects the family unit as a whole. One member suffers, all the members suffer. We work as a group, as a team, with one goal. KICKING CANCER’S BUTT!

Hold their hand through the most terrible, stressful, awful time of their lives. Their baby is sick, their marriage is rocky, their finances are in the ditch.

Another issue would be the tube itself, being there. Your child will get stared at, babies will try to yank at it, children will ask about it. Some cancer parents would get upset. But just like any other medical disability, instead of getting insulted, or awkward, turn the situation into a learning experience.

And they were wrestling on the camp cot, you know, like tigers do, and “somehow” Griffin’s feeding tube got pulled out. Off to the camp medical office we go. We decide that we are not going to put it back in, Griffin will have to struggle through the last couple of days of camp without it. Fast forward a couple of hours, we are back in the medical office, now his leg needle has “somehow” came out as well. With our heads hung low, we have to explain that a “tiger did it”. Griffin thought this was WAY too funny and giggled himself silly as we had to explain the story to the camp medical staff, the camp director, and also the nurses and doctors as we had to attend the hospital to get everything put back in!!! hahaha LOVE IT! Tiger wrestles is the best kind of wrestling! teehee!

Of course, it could be me! I like to think that I have not changed, but that would be a lie. I HAVE changed! (I hope for the better!) I’ve lost my innocence for sure. I’ve faced my child’s mortality and of course pondered my own. I’ve buried chemo buddies, I’ve watched children waste away to nothing. I’ve watched cancer rip families apart, tear apart marriages and drain every cent a family has. I’ve watched child take medicine that poisons thier bodies to the point of death, meds that take thier hair, sight, hearing, mobility, and watched thier parents give it to them. I’ve put on a lead bib as my baby gets radiated, over and over and over again. I’m not the same person. I’ve seen the dark side of life. But because I’ve seen the dark side, I hang on tight the bright!

I’m here, my heart hurting for my fellow Cancer Mama. I’m here to represent all us Mamas out there. I’m here to respect and say good bye to the littlest cancer warrior I’ve ever met. I’m here, I’m present and I always will be.

I hope we can blaze a trail of friendship and understanding for new cancer families coming in behind us! Do not be afraid to love your fellow cancer kids and supporters! You will be thankful that you did! Thank you fellow Cancer Parents for opening your hearts to me, to us.  Thank you for putting your heart on the line and your heart on your sleeve. I understand the risk you take opening your soul to others. I understand and I’m thankful.

Once your life is ripped for you and you work HARD to but the pieces back together, you savour every moment you’ve got left.

Put altogether we get these amazing “words of wisdom” which I recently read at a cancer support group. Again, everyone laughed, everyone cried, and everyone laughed again.

Thank you from the deepest depths of my soul. Thank you for letting me out, for giving me permission to enjoy the blessings as well as the ugliness of cancer. Thank you for opening my eyes and letting me see the light as you see it. I look forward to your next post! (no pressure or anything! Hahaha)

Your fellow Cancer Mama from BC

Support Groups…I don’t like that Phrase…

Support Groups.

Those words make me think of alcoholics drinking crappy coffee in a moldy church basement, forced to be there by the court. This picture in my head was put there through various media influences, not based on real life at all.  Is this picture true? Maybe…but not our Support Group!

When Griffin was going through treatment, I asked my social worker if there was a support group for parents like us. I was basically laughed at. “Nobody wants that” and “why would you want to hang around other depressed people?” were the responses I got. I felt like an idiot and very very very alone.

Luckily, Griffin happened to get sick at the same time as some wonderful other kids whose mums are absolutely fabulous! These warrior women have held a household together, kept their marriages alive AND kicked Cancer’s butt all while supporting me in my greatest time of need. I’m not at all surprised that this Cancer Mamas got together and started their OWN support group with zero help from the hospital.

And the PARENTS OF CHILDREN WITH CANCER-HAMILTON was born! These amazing parents meet up once a month at the local Ronald McDonald House which has lovingly opened their doors and supply warm baked cookies. We meet in the library of the RMH, a comfy cozy place with big relaxing chairs and soft couches to melt into. You cannot help but to breathe a sigh of relief when you step in there. These Mums and Dads come together, no matter if their children are still fighting, in remission or bereaved, they have found a safe place to speak, to tell their story, share their worries and make friends. We cry together but we also laugh together, a lot. We have battled the same disease together and watched our children grow up along side each other. I DEPEND on these people to get through my daily life! From sharing a funny story of how a feeding pump went awry in the middle of the night to a 3 am shout out for help over facebook. These people keep my head about the water and breathe the sweet sigh of relief into my soul. I know I am safe here. I can speak my truth, without sugar coating it to not hurt someone’s feelings or depress yet another person wanting an update. It is a safe place to fall and a protected place to grow. These parents are all knowing, they have wisdom beyond their years in all things, not just cancer! From parenting advice, to recipes that kids will actually eat to temper tantrum tactics to potty training know how. These are people that can help you with anything. I wish I could tell you about the wonderful stories shared, so inspiring and some are heartbreaking, but all are very important. They have forced me to DEAL with Griffin’s illness, treatment and recovery and also other feelings that pop up along the way like survivor’s guilt or serious anxiety over scans. (aka scanxiety) It is easy to push all these feeling down and not deal with them. But the boiling pot of feelings is going to boil over and attack when you least expect it! I’m so glad and blessed that I found a group that is so amazing!!! (PS, I can’t share any stories that have been shared in our group because A) they are not mine and B) We have an understanding of confidentiality that I would not want to break)

So what am I trying to get at? Support Groups are not just for Druggies and alcoholics. They can be a powerful healing tool for you when your child is fighting cancer. Is it for everybody? Heck no! But if you need someone to talk too, reach out. Ask your clinic if there is such a thing in your area. And even if there is not, there are great groups on the internet that are wonderful as well.

The major message? You are NOT alone.

Hug your babies tight tonight folks…