There is no fear like the fear of something happening to your child. There simply isn't. I worry every day when I leave the house and I worry every time I put the girls to bed. It's my nature. I'm a worrier. I've always been a worrier.

I'm better about it now than I used to be, but it's still there.

You try not to think about it and you think to yourself in quiet moments that it can't happen to you. You believe that you're a good parent and that you follow all of the instructions and make good decisions and do all the right things. You think and worry and plan and about the future.

Only sometimes all of that is not enough.

Today I found out that my dear friend Lisa and her husband lost their baby last Thursday.

Amelia would have been three months old yesterday.

I don't have all the details at this point. Hell, I have very few details at this point. All I know is that one of the best people I know on this ball of dirt is right now, as we speak, enduring a pain that would leave the vast majority of us completely shut down and unable to function.

Lisa was and is a dear friend who worked hard and is one of the most generous people I know. She worked and put herself thru grad school to become a PA so she could do what she wanted more than anything else in the world to do: help people.

When she told me she was pregnant she was absolutely beside herself. She and Greg were very excited and looked forward to their lives and what the future would hold.

Amelia was born just as I was starting my cardiac deal and the day she was writing to tell me about Amelia's birth, she read my blog and found out what we were dealing with and immediately emailed to see if she could do anything, even though she'd just given birth.

And thru my recovery we talked a few times via email and we both sounded great and happy. Lisa graduated from school with honors AFTER having the baby, a feat that few could ever pull off I would bet.

And then out of the blue, she calls me today, and I cannot even understand her to tell who it is on the phone.

But I heard her next words as clearly as any I've ever heard:

"My baby's gone."


I felt like I'd been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. I still do.

There are no words of comfort for a woman whose lost a child, especially an infant. Her faith is strong and she is a great person whose done the right thing more often than most. Yet here I am having a totally surreal and devestating conversation with her about how her only child is gone.

I feel like I'm tied to my chair. I can't remember the last time I felt this sad for another person.
The combination of sympathy and emptiness I feel for her and her husband Greg is almost a bitter taste in my mouth and I can't make it go away.

I only hope that she can somehow find comfort and peace and in time, can start to live again. I have no idea if I could.

I love you Lisa and I am so sorry for your and Greg's loss.