Who's Your Daddy

Brett and I met on September 16, 2001 - a mere five days after September 11th.  I had just moved into the city four days before September 11th, so it was a bit of a surreal week, to say the least.

At 22, almost-23, I may have been starting to look for a 'mate', but I was definitely not looking for a 'daddy' to my as yet unborn children.  Of more immediate concern was whether he wanted to live in the city or stay in Queens (city for me, Queens for him).  Was he more of an Upper or Lower East Side bar goer? (Upper for me, Lower for him) Did he root for the Jets or the Giants? (Jets for me, "I like both" - a ludicrous claim - for him)

All the discord aside, we did agree on the most important things - Mets or Yankees (Mets), best Taco Bell menu item (MexiMelt), best show to make you laugh so hard you cry (MXC - a ridiculous Japanese stunt game show dubbed into English).  So obviously these more important facets would lead me to (correctly) assume that this man was going to make a wonderful father.

our honeymoon - the oldest digital files I could locate

it was a great honeymoon :)

When we told our families and friends that I was pregnant with Colin, Brett played with the sonogram picture and inserted a teeny tiny picture of his own face so he could show it around and say "doesn't it look just like me!".

(He would come to find out that apparently it is very difficult to tell which end is UP on an 8-week sono, having placed the photo onto Colin's hiney).

with Colin, just a few days old, and our former dog Larry David
(great dad, terrible dog-name-picker)

When all hell broke loose about 3 weeks before Reid was born, he stepped up not just for me but all the members of his family who needed him so desperately at that moment.  And he was back in place in time to answer in the affirmative to my shout out, while watching The Bachelorette, of "Hey - like the name Reid?" a mere 2 weeks before he was born.

(Let's just get this out of the way.  I SWEAR I am not the television junkie I seem to be here.  I just get my inspiration from there, sometimes.  Like when it comes to the names of my kids.  

I will neither confirm, nor deny, whether the inspiration from Colin came from Mr. Darcy Colin Firth.)

Brett holding a 4-day-old Reid,
ready to leave the hospital

Father's Day 2010

Then all Hell actually enveloped us on August 16, 2012 - the day of Quinn's diagnosis.  The oft nonplussed Brett was sufficiently plussed.  Never had I doubted his love for her or the boys, but if ever I had from that day forward any bit of doubt would have been altogether erased.  His tenderness toward Quinn, his appreciation for the boys - it all grew tenfold.  He held out hope against hope, unwilling to completely shut the door until all of the information - every single last bit - was in front of us when we went to Duke.  He unabashedly loves Quinn, loves Reid, loves Colin for exactly who they are and not for who he thinks they should be.  Brett is the poster child for a father's unconditional love.

My absolute most favorite example of this is when we were sitting with the wonderful Pamela Bloom, our interfaith minister, discussing the Blessing ceremony we held for Quinn back in November.  Pamela was offering a suggestion of bringing Quinn or her photo to a gazer (a person who is said to offer hope and healing with his gaze).  Brett did not dwell on the difference in his personal opinion on such a matter.  Instead, he offered the most beautiful musing I have ever heard.

"I wouldn't even know what to ask for from him.  I wouldn't want to change anything about her - she's perfect.  And this is part of her, part of who she is."

Quinn was just three weeks old here <3

on their way to meet me at Duke,
stuck on the tarmac for 2.5 hours.  still smiling :)

photo credit: Nicole Renee Photography

photo credit: Lightful Photography

escorting Quinny on her first ride in Popsie Peter's convertible

photo credit: Angela Marshall Photography

See?  Unconditional Paternal Love.  It's incredible to watch and I can tell from my children's happiness that it is incredible to experience.

As I tucked Colin and Reid in tonight I reminded them that Father's Day is tomorrow.  Then I said "Is Daddy a good daddy, an ok daddy or the best daddy in the world?"

"The Best Daddy In The World."

Smart boys.

photo credit: Lightful Photography

Photo Credit: Lightful Photography

Father's Day 2011

Refereeing is part of the job description

Father's Day 2012

Mind Over Matter

The "How's Quinn?" question has become a bit more frequent since her birthday.  And it is almost always accompanied by the Sympathetic Head Tilt, followed - in response - by the Sympathetic Head Bob.

The answer is not so easy.

Cognitively - you know, the part you'd think would be gone very quickly in a severe neurological disease - she's doing really well.  Better than really well - she's honestly doing great!  She is sooooo very much one.  

Bored of a toy?  Throw it across the room!  Unhappy with your current position?  Fling yourself backwards!  Want the toy your brother is carrying?  Lunge forward and just rip it right out of his hands!

even Colin - her beloved - gets the WTF face lol

Think your mom is such a moron?  Roll your eyes!  (no, wait - that's how she is sooooo 13.)

yeah, that happened
(photo credit: Forever Fireflies)

She's hilarious.  Honest to goodness hilarious.  She loves being part of everything.  She grins her toothy grin, yells and even squeals (well, squeaks) when she deigns to allow us to amuse her.  She scrunches up her face, yells and even screams (well, screeches) when she doesn't.

smiley lady

not-so-smiley lady
(photo credit: Nicole Renee Photography)

And last Wednesday, Quinn did the impossible.  She sat up.  All.By.Herself.

immediately following this photo, I promptly burst into tears

Sitting could be considered a 'physical accomplishment'.  And it is, to be sure.  But Quinn definitely did not perform this trick using her physical prowess.  Instead, she used her stubbornness.  This baby weighs 15lbs total, about 1/4 of which is her abdominal mass (due to the enlarged liver and spleen) - that makes her really less than 12 lbs.  She was 8 at birth and she's over a year old now.  Her belly is so big you'd almost think she is growing her own baby inside.  And her arms and legs are just itty bitty twigs.  But the part of her that is working so well - her brain, her personality... her spirit - is what is driving her forward and it's awesome to see.

The part that is less than awesome is all the rest.  Besides her weight, she is back to hardly keeping anything down.  Her hair began coming out in clumps due to malnutrition and malabsorption.  She is often irritable in between doses of Tylenol, and her abdomen is more than double the width of her shoulders (17" v 8").

Due to insurance, et al, the in-home palliative care visit was pushed back to May 14th - two days before Quinn's birthday.  The physician was very nice and seemed to hear our needs and our wishes for Quinn.  I spoke with her again just a few days later when Quinn had a terrible ear infection, just hours before we were supposed to leave for a weekend away and a pediatrician who was on vacation.  The response time was great, she called in an antibiotic without having to see Quinn and we were on our merry way.

I received a message on Wednesday of last week - the same day that Quinn sat up - from the coordinating nurse for the pall care team.  In it, she just said she was checking on Quinn to see how she was feeling.  It was late when I got the message and things were crazy here (otherwise known as Life).  She called me again Thursday morning before I had the chance to call her.  After I yammered on for about 10 min about the ear infection, the nurse indicated she had another reason for calling.

Apparently over the course of the previous two weeks, the palliative care physician had been writing up her report on Quinn.  Part of that included contacting Dr. Wasserstein - the (only) NPA expert - up at Mt. Sinai.  And it seems that the two physicians agreed on the thing they were now calling to tell me.

"At this time, Quinn's needs would be better met by our Hospice program."

Knowing something and Being Told something are two very different things.  Very different.  

For those unfamiliar, there are some pretty standard conditions governing hospice eligibility.  The overarching one - and quite frankly, only one that matters - is this:

A patient is eligible for hospice care when two physicians agree that the patient has a life expectancy of six months or less.

Six months.  She just turned one year.  That brings us to 18 months.  One point five years. Before Christmas.  Before Thanksgiving.  And less than six months - probably before Halloween.

We have known this.  We knew it from the start.  Quinn was just not following the same track as the majority of NPA children.  But oh my god, when someone tells you...  

The admittance nurse came the following day.  May 31st.  The irony that my daughter entered hospice one year to the very date I was supposed to give birth to her is not lost on me.

our first glimpse of Quinn, with the EDD of 5/31/2012

I have not been doing well with the news. Kind of not at all.  I actually had my first real public "losing it" this past Saturday.  It was the first time ever that I actually said to Brett - and followed through - that we had to leave.  Like rightthisminute.  

I suppose there will be more of those to come.  Before.  During.  After.

But right now, there's still This.  And I'm really trying very hard to concentrate on the This.

This

And This
(photo credit: Forever Fireflies)

And especially This

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl

Quinn had a fan-tabulous birthday party on Saturday at an historical carousel in our area, where I (and my siblings, mom, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends... basically everyone I know) used to go as a kid.  More to come on the party itself later - we're still gathering photos from the party, and still have celebrations to come :)

Despite the proclamation on the invites - "Your presence is Quinn's present" - our overly generous family and friends showered her with beautiful, thoughtful gifts.  The most incredible was a special project created by my best friend of 28 years (?!?!) - a book of beautiful letters from so many of our family and friends, to Quinn on her First Birthday.  It is something I will treasure forever.

And in its spirit, I wanted to write and share my letter to Quinn on this, her First Birthday.


Dear Quinn(y),

It's hard to write to you, right now, on your First Birthday.  My instinct is to bemoan all the things you'll miss, curse what ails you, and rage against the unfairness of it all.  But what you'll be cheated of is not for now.  Now is for what you have incredibly managed to do thus far.

The whole time you were in my belly, I knew you were a girl.  I'd deny it, even to myself, because admitting what I thought would be recognizing that I yearned for you.  For someone to share mani-pedis with, to dress in pretty dresses, to teach about boys and their silliness and girls and their strength, to spar with during your teenage years, to befriend in your adult years.  

And then you were given to me.  "You have a Female" was the announcement.  And my first action as your official mama was to apologize for ever thinking I didn't want a girl in the first place.

Recounting your medical concerns and everything you have managed to overcome in such a short time, in such a tiny body, seems bad form on such a celebratory day.  Instead, it's your spirit I'd rather capture.  The spirit of a 13-year old trapped in this teeny baby body.  You give the world's best diva looks, shortly before (or after) rocking the world's most amazing, engaging smiles - both of which equally melt my heart.

You have elevated me, and everyone else around you, to a new and better plane.  Your simple presence - and eminent wisdom behind those wide blue eyes - make us all better people.  I have been told stories upon stories of how you - you tiny little thing - have inspired people to become better parents, better spouses, better friends.  Better People.  How you and your strength are lending strength to a woman who has recently lost everything - her home, her husband.  You, Baby Girl, help her get out of bed in the morning.  And she hasn't even met you.

That may be one of my favorite things to do with you.  Introducing you to people who have heard of the famous Quinn Linzer, but who haven't previously met you.  How you manage to surprise - no, shock - them every time.  How they hear of this "poor, sick little baby" and expect to basically find a blob in cute human form.  And then there you are, with your grins, your bored looks, your playful demeanor, your old soul.  And they are astounded.  And I swear we both giggle a little bit on the inside, complete with a shared knowing look.  They should be astounded.  You're pretty freaking amazing.

A First Birthday letter should contain promises of what's to come, mention all the fun things expected in the next year.  Sweet baby, I can make no such promises.  This will, very likely, be the only birthday letter I get to write to you while you are here, sleeping right above me.

What I can promise is that we're going to continue treasuring you, every single minute - every single second - we get with you.  We're going to laugh with you and stand on our heads to make sure you laugh with us.  And we're going to love you - we're going to love the hell out of you, Little Girl.  Because you deserve nothing less, and so much more.

So like I end every night laying with you in your bed, I will close this letter.

I love you so so much.  Thank you for picking me to be your mommy.

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!

I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be

A Tree Grows in Lynbrook

Two beautiful trees graced our backyard until last Fall.  The first was unfortunately diseased and Brett & co cut it down - thankfully prior to Sandy (it was pretty small but it would have done some damage to the house if it had come down in the winds).  We lost half of the other tree in the Nor'easter that followed just a week after Sandy.  What a fun time it was to live on the south shore of Long Island...

our sad little dirt patch

The little tree shaded our (little) deck, so we definitely wanted to replace it, and the idea of planting a tree as a family really appealed to us on a number of levels.  As with everything we seem to do lately, it took on a much more significant meaning than just a fun weekend activity.

So we began researching trees.  Asking those around us with the proverbial green thumb. Observing trees on our street, in the park, and on the parkway.

And the one thing that became clear was that we had some pretty specific requirements.  

In addition to being viable in zone 7 (apparently our zone - thank you Google for that information!), the tree needed to be:

Unique

Beautiful

And most importantly, flower in mid-May

See, it's the last request that had people puzzling at us.  The man at the nursery finally said, "uh is there a special reason you need it to bloom in May?"

One Quinn Madeleine Linzer was born on May 16, 2012.  And this tree that we were to plant as a family of five, that is to live in our backyard for many years to come, should come to life and bloom as beautifully as she did during the month of May.

So, YUP!  There is the most special of reasons for it to flower in mid-May.

reasons don't come more special than this!

And without knowing the circumstances, this man led us to the perfect tree.  The Eastern Redbud.

It's fairly unique (most of the flowering trees in our area are some type of cherry blossom or dogwood).

It's really beautiful - the color (a pink that is almost purple - Quinn's color :) ), the shape, and the way the blossoms hang on the tree as though they're on a wire.

what they look like now

what they will look like eventually

It's well-timed - it is May 7th and the buds are getting a bit bigger and stronger, but it has not blossomed yet.  At this point we seem perfectly on target for a mid-May bloom.

And - this was the kicker - the leaves.  After the tree blooms, and the petals have all fallen to the ground, it was the leaves that truly assured us we had our tree.  Every leaf, per the man who knew nothing of why we wanted this tree, will be in the shape of a perfect heart.

<3
(photo credit: extension.iastate.edu)

We bought the tree and planted it, as a family, on Sunday.  Looking forward to many blooms - and leaves - over the coming years.

the Linzer men, prepping the site

showing off her teeth

smiling because she doesn't have to do the grunt work

Daddy finishing the job

view of the tree from inside the kitchen