I hate this month. When I woke up this morning and realized, it was indeed February, I knew immediately that I was face-to-face with this awful truth all over again and I became paralyzed with emotion. My beautiful daughter Melissa died in February. It shocks me that we are fast approaching the two year anniversary of Melissa's death. I know they say after the first year "things get easier". I spoke unofficially with a woman in New Mexico this weekend who is a grief counselor for parents who have lost a child. She told me, having lost a child herself, the first year is awful. You have to face the firsts of everything without your loved one, birthdays, anniversaries, all of the holidays, but everyone expects that. The people who love you, your friends and relatives, are there to comfort you and they willingly provide a smile or a hug as you stagger through that first year.
The unreasonable expectation is that by year two (2), you have "moved on" and so, the second anniversary rolls around without much fanfare. For the people who loved Melissa, her family and close friends, you realize it is yet another year of birthdays and holidays without her, and can easily trigger all those emotions again. I know that I have moved on enough to be "functional". However, there will forever be a gaping hole in my heart. A hole that just cannot be filled. I miss her everyday. I miss her terribly when I am with Calvin or when I see Ryan. Similarly, being with my three daughters and four grand-daughters seems incomplete. Melissa's laughter is missing, her quick wit and that smile! It was always the "five of us girls". As the girls grew up and added husbands and families of their own, our lives expanded but we remained close. I cannot believe Melissa isn't there to watch as Ryan and Calvin play together. She isn't there to touch Calvin's face, snuggle with him, kiss the knee he skinned or kiss him good-night. Calvin is a beautiful child. He has the most amazing imagination. He is sweet and very kind-hearted, he is playful and a prankster just like his daddy, he loves deeply and plays even harder. She would have been so proud of him. Ironically, at the same time, I believe she CAN see it all and I have to believe she is close and will always be with us.
This organization was started because Melissa asked me, on one of the first days of chemotherapy, to see if I could find her a soft, warm hat. It was January 2008, and Melissa had recently lost her beautiful hair. As the poison of the "chemotherapy cocktail" slowly dripped into her veins, she could not get warm. We stopped at the office of the Patient Advocate. We found they did have hats for sale and we looked at each other with what could only be described as pure shock. Why would anyone expect a cancer patient to buy a hat? Didn't they have enough to deal with? It was at that moment that Melissa and I decided we would make hats and put them in this Patient Advocate Office. No one would ever have to ask. They could grab a hat on their way in and know that someone was offering them a "gift of warmth". Within days, the friends and family we had asked to join us, in the effort to make these hats, had helped us to proudly fill box after box with soft flannel or hand-knitted hats. Each was made with love and ready to be worn by any man, woman or child who need only reach into the box. The hats soon expanded to socks, gloves, scarves and sweaters.
Fortunately, infusion rooms in every cancer center are filled to bursting with hand-made quilts. You can find patients swaddled in them on any day. The most difficult part was watching the weak, somnolent and exhausted people unwrap themselves from the folds of those quilts, knowing they now had to face the remainder of the day “unwrapped” as they made their way outside and home. The thought that once out of the warm arms of those quilts, they would severely diminish their ability to get warm or stay warm, really bothered Melissa. We expanded our request to friends and family for additional warm items. It was our hope patients would move from the arms of the quilt into a sweater, sweatshirt or jacket to make their way home.
Gifts of Warmth for Melissa is a way to move forward and be doing exactly what I know Melissa would have expected of me, of all of us. I am honored to be able to help those who continue to fight for their lives. I am always aware that there are staggering numbers of other mothers, husbands, wives, sisters, brothers and children out there who have lost a loved one to this terrible disease. I am confident they know, understand and remember the pain of watching their loved one struggle to fight this disease. I ask all of you to join me, focusing on one patient at a time, the mother, daughter, husband, wife, sister, brother or child, making sure each cancer patient receives a gift of warmth and knows we are here, praying for their recovery and anxious to give them the armor they need to fight cancer and win!
God Bless you and thank you for your support and donations.
Mary McNichols
The unreasonable expectation is that by year two (2), you have "moved on" and so, the second anniversary rolls around without much fanfare. For the people who loved Melissa, her family and close friends, you realize it is yet another year of birthdays and holidays without her, and can easily trigger all those emotions again. I know that I have moved on enough to be "functional". However, there will forever be a gaping hole in my heart. A hole that just cannot be filled. I miss her everyday. I miss her terribly when I am with Calvin or when I see Ryan. Similarly, being with my three daughters and four grand-daughters seems incomplete. Melissa's laughter is missing, her quick wit and that smile! It was always the "five of us girls". As the girls grew up and added husbands and families of their own, our lives expanded but we remained close. I cannot believe Melissa isn't there to watch as Ryan and Calvin play together. She isn't there to touch Calvin's face, snuggle with him, kiss the knee he skinned or kiss him good-night. Calvin is a beautiful child. He has the most amazing imagination. He is sweet and very kind-hearted, he is playful and a prankster just like his daddy, he loves deeply and plays even harder. She would have been so proud of him. Ironically, at the same time, I believe she CAN see it all and I have to believe she is close and will always be with us.
This organization was started because Melissa asked me, on one of the first days of chemotherapy, to see if I could find her a soft, warm hat. It was January 2008, and Melissa had recently lost her beautiful hair. As the poison of the "chemotherapy cocktail" slowly dripped into her veins, she could not get warm. We stopped at the office of the Patient Advocate. We found they did have hats for sale and we looked at each other with what could only be described as pure shock. Why would anyone expect a cancer patient to buy a hat? Didn't they have enough to deal with? It was at that moment that Melissa and I decided we would make hats and put them in this Patient Advocate Office. No one would ever have to ask. They could grab a hat on their way in and know that someone was offering them a "gift of warmth". Within days, the friends and family we had asked to join us, in the effort to make these hats, had helped us to proudly fill box after box with soft flannel or hand-knitted hats. Each was made with love and ready to be worn by any man, woman or child who need only reach into the box. The hats soon expanded to socks, gloves, scarves and sweaters.
Fortunately, infusion rooms in every cancer center are filled to bursting with hand-made quilts. You can find patients swaddled in them on any day. The most difficult part was watching the weak, somnolent and exhausted people unwrap themselves from the folds of those quilts, knowing they now had to face the remainder of the day “unwrapped” as they made their way outside and home. The thought that once out of the warm arms of those quilts, they would severely diminish their ability to get warm or stay warm, really bothered Melissa. We expanded our request to friends and family for additional warm items. It was our hope patients would move from the arms of the quilt into a sweater, sweatshirt or jacket to make their way home.
Gifts of Warmth for Melissa is a way to move forward and be doing exactly what I know Melissa would have expected of me, of all of us. I am honored to be able to help those who continue to fight for their lives. I am always aware that there are staggering numbers of other mothers, husbands, wives, sisters, brothers and children out there who have lost a loved one to this terrible disease. I am confident they know, understand and remember the pain of watching their loved one struggle to fight this disease. I ask all of you to join me, focusing on one patient at a time, the mother, daughter, husband, wife, sister, brother or child, making sure each cancer patient receives a gift of warmth and knows we are here, praying for their recovery and anxious to give them the armor they need to fight cancer and win!
God Bless you and thank you for your support and donations.
Mary McNichols
