Grief Sets You Apart

I miss my son. My special, strong boy. The missing will never leave me. The place where he belongs in our family only gets larger as he would be getting older. I missed him terribly at Graham's birthday party. His little brother was so clearly absent that I could feel it with each breath that I took. 

I think that I will look for him each day of my life. Every family photo I will notice where he would be. Every meal, every holiday, every moment of my life, I look to the place made just for Hudson. On Graham's wedding day, we will have a missing groomsman. On my deathbed, I will be looking and seeing where he should be standing, next to his big brother, Graham. This hole will never leave me. I will always see and feel it.

Grief is longing and loving and aching. It washes over like a tidal wave that nearly drowns you. Grief changes everything. Everything. It has changed my capacity (everything requires more energy now), the way I see the world, the way I see God and prayer and church and worship. It has changed me. My heart has aged a lifetime.

I feel everything more deeply now. The good and the hard emotions. Joy is more palpable and genuine, and sorrow is felt down in my bones.  

We all carry grief in our hearts. A lost love. A lost dream. A lost marriage. A lost child. A lost parent. A lost sibling. A lost career.  A loss of health. A loss of identity.

Our grief sets us apart. It marks us. We are persevering in a fallen and broken world with battle scars. The danger I am facing is that grief wants to separate me.

Being set apart as a veteran of grief and loss is something that God can use. 

But, grief wants to whisper often and consistently, "No one understands, nor can they understand. You are alone in your sorrow. You are alone in your loss. You don't manage your grief like you should. You should hide. You should be ashamed. You should have more faith. God doesn't even understand you anymore. You are different now. They don't want to know this new you. This hurting you. Just pull away. Just hide. Just manage the tidal wave alone."

I am in the war now. Everything in me wants to retreat and be separated by my grief. Separated from people, family, my own heart, and certainly from this big God who loves me but confuses me.

My new prayer is that God would allow my grief to set me apart, battle scars and all. But, that I won't believe the lies and run away alone and be swallowed by the grief. Because, oh will it swallow you! 

I was reminded of this beautiful song last week and I just realized (after naming this post!) it has the phrase, "set me apart" right there in the lyrics. Lord, chase me down when grief drags me to loneliness, hopelessness, and deep sorrow. Don't let me isolate my heart from those who love me. Don't let my hardened, bruised heart push you away. Mold me, Lord. Make me like clay in your hands. I've been there before but now, I'm so wounded that my heart is hardened in the survival of grief. Soften me, Lord, and then use me again.

The Potter's Hand

Beautiful Lord, wonderful savior

I know for sure, all of my days are held in Your hands

Crafted into Your perfect plan

You gently call me, into Your presence

Guiding me by, Your Holy Spirit

Teach me, dear Lord,

To live all of my life through Your eyes

I'm captured by, Your Holy calling

Set me apart

I know You're drawing me to Yourself

Lead me, Lord, I pray

Take me, Mold me

Use me, Fill me

I give my life to the Potter's hands

Hold me, Guide me

Lead me, Walk beside me

I give my life to the Potter's hand

A Ministry I Never Wanted

When I was in college I spent many hours listening to talks and reading books about giving my all for Jesus. As I listened to seasoned missionaries like Helen Roseveare and passionate pastors like John Piper, I was challenged to consider my comfort zone and flee from it for fear of passivity in the urgent call of Christ. I was deeply in love with Jesus because He had pursued me for many years as ran with all my might away from my church upbringing. As my heart softened to Jesus in college, I began to desire to live a life that honored Him. I started considering where God would use me. I knew from scripture that many who followed Christ went to hard places and went through challenging times. My worldview was being shaped by legacies of Christian missionaries like Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer. I needed these challenges to my Americanized view of comfortable Christianity. 

I remember telling God in tears in my dorm room, “I will go anywhere you send me with whomever you choose.” I thought I was offering my whole heart and life. I thought I knew what a mission field looked like and I felt ready for this challenging call of Christ to take up my cross.

I would find myself thinking about the kinds of hard circumstances I might be called to at some point in my life. My limited view imagined that God might call me to live without air conditioning, far from my family, for the sake of The Gospel.

So, it was clear that I desperately needed the challenges of other spiritual giants to get out of my very limited comfort zone. I thought that my worldview had exploded to include the huts in a country without proper toilets. I thought a difficult calling was limited to ministry in the inner city or with a tribe in Africa. I can say with firsthand knowledge that ministry in both of those places is extremely difficult but once again, my scope of calling, ministry, and challenging was extremely narrow.

My view of calling and ministry has expanded with years of walking with Him. I have now seen that God often gives us ministry opportunities that we never asked for and certainly never wanted.

For example, when I approached my late twenties as a single, I thought, “For sure I’ll meet my husband soon. All my friends are married.” When my friends started having their second and third child I thought, “He must be on the horizon.”

But, that wasn’t the case. When my heart was broken at the age of 31 by a man I thought I would marry, God gave me a ministry I never wanted. What I wanted was to be married and raise children but God, in His sovereign goodness, gave me women with broken hearts to walk alongside, study scripture, and do our lives together.  He gave me opportunities to use the pain, rejection, and tears. My worldview about ministry opened again. Living many years of singleness and ministering out of that stage of life was incredibly rewarding but also vulnerable and painful. And, I certainly hadn’t asked for this season of prolonged singleness.

Fast forward a few years and God called me to a new mission field called the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. I never dreamed of spending nine months in a hospital with my very sick son. I remember holding him and thinking about that same hut in Africa that terrified me as a new Christian. I remember wishing to be in the hut far from the pain I was feeling seeing my son hurt. Once again, God gave me a ministry I never asked for or wanted. I can’t say I did this unwanted ministry well on most days for it was consuming emotionally and physically simply being a mom to a critically sick baby but I have a few select memories of God working through my presence in this unlikely mission field.

I held a mom as her son’s heart rate fell to zero and the code alarm sounded. I prayed for so many heart babies and families whom I would never had known without the calling to the heart unit. I prayed for my own son and sang songs to him about our big God. I told him of heaven and he was my ministry. I wouldn’t trade that previously unwanted mission field for the world, no matter how painful.

Now that we have lost our son, I find myself with a new ministry. Once again this is a ministry I did not want or ask for. I never wanted to be in the “I lost a child” club like the rest of its members. In the year since losing our son, people will reach out to me because they have a sick child, they have lost a child, or a close friend has lost a child. I don’t have magic words but I am honest, vulnerable, and cry real tears with them. I don’t try to suppress their pain with fluffy words or put a quick band-aid on it with a verse out of place. I simply hear their stories, share mine, and together we feebly try to see the hope only found in Jesus.

I’m guessing that God has given most of us ministries we never wanted. I can think of a few just amongst my friends.

Folks like the…

Foster parents who are offering their hearts to the unknown for the sake of the children.

Single women giving their everything for Christ and not settling for less than God’s best.

Teachers who bring in extra supplies and deeply love their students.

Nurses who do their very best even when they are bone tired.

Divorcees who choose to engage in church and love on others even when their lives have been torn apart.

Parents taking care of chronically sick children.

Pastors who come to your side during all the beautiful and horrific things life brings.

Families who are pursuing adoption after long battles with infertility and miscarriages.

While I still am unsure about this ministry with hurting families of child loss, I am honored that God would use my broken heart once again in the lives of others to bring glory for His namesake.

For all of you stepping into ministry moments that you never wanted, I am right there too and I see you. Most importantly God sees you and He’s equipped you, even if you never asked for it!

To God be the Glory

One Year in Heaven

One Year in Heaven. I know that there is no time there. No clocks, seconds, minutes, hours. No need for the sun to shine because our God is bright enough in Himself to be the light of all of heaven. There is no waiting. There is no crying. No tears. No sickness. No more dying. No separation. No confusion. There is worship. There is God. Jesus. The Holy Spirit. My grandparents, my anchors. My son, my heart.

One year in heaven might feel like one second or one million years. There is worship showing up in all different forms. Perhaps laying at the thrown of God in awe. Perhaps singing and dancing or building something beautiful or painting a masterpiece. Worship. Worship. Worship. No tears.

One year in heaven without pain. No surgery. No medication. No blood tests or needles. No beeping machines. No flat lines. No sin. No brokenness. No hospitals. There is joy unspeakable. Perfect peace. What we know in part, you know fully there. Glorified like your savior, knowing the whole story of redemption. What a beautiful story, indeed.

One year in heaven. So far, one year ahead of me. I don’t know how many years you will be there, my son, before I arrive. I imagine you whole. This isn’t a fairytale to hold in my grief. It is true. As I write through the tears, my broken heart knows that your heart is whole. I don’t understand it or like it. I can’t even fully appreciate it but it is true.

One year in heaven is one year away from this mama who loves you so much. I can still recall how you would jump in my womb and get the hiccups and the fear of your early delivery, not knowing if you would breathe. The first time we met face to face and you WERE breathing! All of our little talks about life and the world beyond hospital walls are still with me. Your cheeks are the best in the whole world. Your sideburns are legendary. Your big brother talks about you each time we see hand sanitizer. “Bubbles! We get those when we see Huddy!”  Your daddy is brave and works so hard and I catch him with tears rolling down his face as he remembers you, sweet boy. He wanted to teach you to fly a helicopter and take you to the farm. A dream lost. We miss you in the big things like Christmas morning but also in the little moments like bath time. I see your spot in our family at our table, in our car, in the grocery cart next to Graham. I see tired mamas with two little ones and I just stare at them to figure out if their kids are my kids’ ages. To see what it would look like if you were here with us. Just a glimpse of what it would be for us with two. With Huddy. Big Brother Grahambo and I have a game. We play, “If Huddy were here, what would we be doing?” Often his answers are things like hiding in the closet, dancing, playing with trains. My answer is kissing those awesome cheeks.

One year in heaven feels like forever for me. Part of me went with you. That’s okay, I’m your mama. The rest of me will arrive when God chooses. Sweet boy, worship has been so hard for this mama and done out of obedience and not delight. But, I’ve learned that is what we still have in common. You worship Him there and I’ll worship Him here (though it isn't always pretty). See, that’s what we’d do if Huddy were here or we were all in heaven, we would worship Jesus.

Let us worship...out of obedience and awe....

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.

Blessed be the name of the Lord, in heaven and on earth.

Mama loves you, sweet boy.

You enjoy Jesus.

Sweet, sweet Jesus.

He surely is enough, even when your son has spent one year in heaven.

You Don't Know Her Name But She Mattered

It was a normal day. As normal as life in the intensive care unit can be.

I was holding my precious baby with half a heart and telling him stories about how I fell in love with his daddy walking the streets of Manhattan. We had been in the unit for months now. I lost track of time and I had to look outside to see if it were day or night. By this point I could speak the language of acronyms thrown around by doctors and confirm dosing on medications for my son like a seasoned pharmacist. I knew what every beep meant and which ones shouldn’t make me tremble and which called the cavalry.

I had so many days like this one watching his numbers rise and fall, conversations with the new fellow who knew less about my son medically than I did and hearing about life outside these walls from what the nurses did on their shifts away from the chaos. Those medical warriors could be saving a life and at the same time talking about their favorite restaurant. It was a normal day for them too.

Normal became unimaginable as I picked out phrases being
said across the room. The specialist and his fellow were with Baby Girl in bed one. We were bed four. We had come to know Baby Girl after months of rooming together. We didn’t know her specific heart challenges but we knew her cries and that she loved to sit in her swing.

Life in the hospital is really never normal but a routine is built. I learned that I would have to step out of the unit when certain alarms sounded, a child was being admitted or coming back from surgery. On this particular day, I was tucked away rocking our boy and no one asked me to step out. I could hear the doctor answer the parents’ questions, “We could operate but we know it won’t work. She will require the same surgery again and again for it simply not to work in the end. We shouldn't put her through that. Of course, you can seek a second opinion but they will say the same.” Baby Girl’s mom pleads, “But, I read something online. Can’t you try that?” The conversation continued for around twenty minutes and the questions became more desperate. A mama and a daddy’s heart pleading for solution.

The last thing I overheard was the doctor saying, “There is simply no more we can do but make sure she is as comfortable as possible.”

Her stunned daddy just stood there over Baby Girl’s bed. No outward emotion. Just stunned. Lost. Her mama kept tearfully asking unanswerable questions.

The best of the best had nothing to offer.

I don’t know what happened with Baby Girl after she left our unit. I think about her often. She was just under two years old. She was a foster child with a severe heart defect. She was loved by her birth parents and her foster parents. Her short life was more complicated than it should have been. She didn’t have hundreds following her story or t-shirts made in her honor. No 5k’s were run in her name. No newspaper articles printed celebrating her fight.

But, I’ll never forget her.

She mattered.

She fought.

She is loved.

For whoever touches you, touches the apple of His eye.
Zechariah 2:8b

Baby Girl, your hips don’t lie J. (A little inside joke between us girls.)

"I Can't Even Imagine"

I’ve heard this phrase more than any other in the last several months after our precious son, Hudson went to heaven. My reply is often, “And I hope you never do.” I truly mean that. I pray that you may never know this loss.

I do want...

To be heard.

To be understood.

To be normal.

To be held.

For someone else to cry with me.

I read a quote recently that could help explain agonizing grief of losing a child to my caring friends who say to me, “I can’t even imagine.” Basically the author said something like burying your child makes you hear sounds you’ve never heard, taste what you’ve never tasted, see colors you’ve never seen. That language of using the senses to describe devastating grief helps me put my own grief into explainable terms to those who love me.

I feel as though each of my senses are affected. Everything is affected. To put into words how my heart feels is an impossible task but some words I can use are shattered, destroyed, agony, tears, loneliness. I feel a million miles from everyone around me. I’m in a fog and only grasp about half of what is said to me. I think that is survival.

If I’m nothing else through this process, I want to be honest and real. I’m not a hero or a spiritual giant. I’m just a mama whose arms are empty at 3am when I should be holding my baby boy.

I love Jesus.

My heart is broken.

That’s the truth.

I’m seeing colors…ones I pray you never know exist.

Ten Things To Do for Families with Children in the Hospital

After spending nine months at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia with our precious Hudson, we wanted to share a few things that helped us along the way. Our friends and family did these things so well and we are forever grateful.

Hopefully this list will help you if you find yourself with friends in this horrible situation.

1. Pray: the family is exhausted, desperate and at the end of their rope. They have little to no energy to pray for themselves so pray for them often and let them know that you are praying. Add the family to prayer emails at your church. If possible, keep up to date with the current situation with their child and pray specifically.

2. Send Money: hospital life drains a bank account fast. Parking alone can cost $150-$200 a month plus if the family had to relocate, out of town housing immediately hits their budget. Many families lose jobs if care is longer term.

3. Send Food: Seamless Web or Grubhub will let you order, pay and tip from anywhere in the country and deliver it directly to the family. If you don't use those websites, you can easily find a pizza or sub place near the hospital to deliver.

4. Send notes of encouragement and truth. While incredibly hard to believe truth while in the dark, it is helpful to receive scripture and notes of truth.

5. Don't stop reaching out. Whether a text message, a voicemail or a note in the mail, don't stop contacting the parents. They are consumed with fear and dealing with doctors and specialists all day long so they may not reply but don't back away.

6. Take care of their home while they are away. Mowing the grass, checking the mail (and forwarding it), cleaning it before they return.

7. Go! I know this may be impossible depending on the family situation in the hospital and your situation. But, if you are close to the family and there is a way, go by and see them. If they are local, go even for a few minutes. It can feel like a war zone and like the rest of the world keeps spinning and doesn't know you are at war. People stepping inside the war zone makes you feel remembered and supported.

8. Send money (or gift cards). Saying it twice on purpose. While a homemade meal is wonderful, worrying about rent, house payments, medical bills and so on is salt in a very painful wound. If the family doesn't have a fund, create one and get friends to give. The only way our family survived was standing on the shoulders of people who love us.

9. Send something funny. I know this may seem a little strange and it might not work for some people, but getting a good belly laugh out of me in the last year of my life has been almost impossible. A few friends were good at this and believe it or not, that voicemail left in a crazy voice made me laugh out loud as I had tears in my eyes walking to the hospital AGAIN.

10. Share their emotions. If you are grieving with the family, let them know. If you are thinking of them, let them know. If you cry about their child's situation, let them know. It is so hard to step inside the pain of the situation but somehow it helps. It doesn't make sense really but it does help to know that others are feeling at least a portion of what you are feeling as the parent.

Bonus ideas: help with siblings, care packages, cleaning service, help with pets, send a book, buy a subscription to netflix or hulu, do laundry, do something special for holidays/birthdays


Posted in honor and memory of the strongest little man I've every met, our Hudson.

Dear Hudson: a letter to my baby boy in heaven

From Daddy & Mama

Written for our Hudson for his special service

May 20, 2016

Our Precious Hudson, our Huddy Buddy,

We often told you that you were the strongest person we had ever met. We sang Happy Birthday regularly. We would hold you for hours and sing to you and you would hold onto our finger for dear life. We talked about the seasons, what kindergarten is like, what middle and high school is like, prom, college, your amazing grandparents, fun uncles, aunts & cousins, The Alexander Farm and The Sylvestre farm and about tractors and helicopters. How we met and fell in love walking along the HUDSON River. About your big brother, Grahambo who learned the word, “brother” before he could say Hudson because that is how he knew you, his little brother. We told you about everything but most importantly about Jesus and heaven and how it was a real place where we will all be together.

We are so happy that you know the whole story now. You know what eternity is, what God looks like and you’ve touched the nail prints in Jesus’ hands. You’ve seen the golden streets and spent time with the Apostle Paul. There are no scars on your little body. You know the WHOLE story. THE WHOLE REDEMPTIVE STORY. You know your piece of the story and how much of an impact you’ve had on thousands of people, mostly on your mama and daddy’s hearts.

Forevermore, we will be Hudson’s mama and daddy. Though your home is in heaven, you will forever be our special boy who we would stare into your eyes and wished to bring to our house and show you the precious things of life, the mundane things and the most important things. We will miss your chubby cheeks, your squishy arms, your silly side burns and your little grunts telling us about your day.

We wanted to teach your ABC’s and how to count to five. We wanted to see you run and play and call your name across the house when it’s time for bed. We wanted to cuddle you and Graham on the bed just before it was time for “night, night”. We wanted to dance at your wedding and be your children’s grandparents but God’s plan was different.

God chose to call you home and to reveal to you, before us, His whole redemptive story. We don’t know exactly how heaven works. We know we will worship our amazing God but we do hope that God will allow you to welcome us there. To welcome us home, to be truly home and to finally see the whole story alongside you. What a glorious day it will be, to be with you again, our boy. Our precious Hudson. Our Huddy Buddy.

We miss you and wish we could have you back but sweet boy, enjoy our sweet Jesus. We are so glad you are whole.

We best buddies. Daddy, Mama, Graham & Hudson.

We best buddies…forevermore.

Second Born

Second Born

Many people reached out to us offering their love, support, prayers and their own grief, After losing our precious eight-month old son, Hudson to congenital heart disease in March. Many shared their stories or would say, “I can only imagine what this is like for your family.” My heart would whisper, “I hope you never know.”

But, as I walk this dark, deep valley I do want to share my heart and still be able to connect to others. Sharing my heart allows me to grieve with more authenticity and in a safe way through written words. I still hope you never know this sort of loss and if you have, God be near.

I’ve written the thoughts of my heart since I was a teenager keeping a journal about church camp, boys I had crushes on, begging for my husband, my walk with God and dreams for my future. But, since this unbearable season hit my life a year ago, I’ve not written a single page in my journal. Not one single page. I have written on this blog sporadically and kept up Hudson’s Heart facebook page but mostly out of desperation for prayer.

So here I find myself wanting to remember every aspect of my sweet Hudson and writing is the best way for me to do so.

Here’s where I am today….

Lately I have thought a lot about Hudson being our second born. He’s the little brother to Graham Drake. I often notice families with three children and the second child stands out to me. I see a family with a two-year-old and an almost one-year-old and I watch how the siblings react to one another. I’ve also realized so many of my friends are the second born in their families. In fact, I am the second child in my family.

I share these thoughts with you to try to explain a bit more what Corey and I are walking through as we face the future without our Hudson. Perhaps you are the second born in your family or you have two or more children or your close friend is the second born in their family. While horrific to dwell on this, thinking about not having that person in your family and the ripple effects of that person’s life may help you peer into our grief. Perhaps you already know this loss. I hope not.

I don’t know why I’ve focused on this whole “second born thing” the last few weeks but it has helped me realize why the pain is so intense. I’ve not just lost my eight-month precious son (that would be enough) but all of the community he would have had, his teachers, his neighborhood friends, his Sunday school classmates, his soccer or hockey team, his prom date, his college roommate, his future wife and my future grandchildren. That’s a lot to lose wrapped up in one sweet little life.

Of course the losses would be true no matter Hudson’s birth order but as I think about my family without me or Crystal’s family without her or Corey’s family without Tyanne or Carrie’s or Bethany’s family without them…it makes me not be as angry in my grief. I have let myself just be sad at what all we truly have lost. All those relationships I’ll never have. My Huddy and his whole little life ahead of him and the community he would have built. Lost.

The community he built in eight sort months was more than most in a lifetime.

Just think of what he would have done with 80 years!

We miss you our second born boy! We best buddies!

Love you, Huddy.

Hudson's Story

Sitting around a conference room table is not an unfamiliar place for me. I’ve done it for years for my job but this was a different experience that made me sick to my stomach. Once again my husband and I were talking to the brightest minds in our country about our son’s health and the news was very grim. They couldn’t even give us statistics for survival as they had not seen his specific case before.

Meet our son…

Our incredibly precious and strong baby boy, Hudson Sylvestre was born six weeks premature on July 17, 2015 with a condition called hypoplastic left heart syndrome, meaning he only has half a heart. With just two days’ notice, our family had to leave our home, jobs, church and family in North Carolina to relocate to Philadelphia to save our son’s life. In addition to his congenital heart defect, Hudson has also experienced several other life threatening conditions that required intervention even while in the womb.

In the delivery room the doctors offered for the hospital chaplain to come and quickly baptize our son and a photographer to get pictures in case we weren’t able to see him alive. To everyone’s surprise Hudson is breathing on his own after going into cardiac arrest and then being on life support.

Hudson has undergone open heart surgery and liver surgery as well as suffering through a life threatening infection in his stomach two different times. Our Hudson is an incredible fighter and is now three months old and in the cardiac intensive care unit at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP). He will remain under CHOP’s care until he is big enough for his second open heart surgery which means we will be away from home for at least several more months. We are so deeply thankful for the expert care he is receiving.

There are not sufficient words to express our gratitude to God, to the many family members, friends, churches and even strangers who have cared for us during such a painful time. Strangers have welcomed us into their homes, loaned us cars, donated food and funds. We love our sweet Hudson so much and we would have already been devastated without the support of others.

We ask you to join us in prayer for Hudson’s life and health. Thankfully he is stable now and is such a cutie. Check out his cheeks!

Hope lives here!

Romans 5:3-5

We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance,  and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

With grateful hearts,

Corey, Amy & Big brother Graham

PS I’ve often said that if tears healed babies, our son would be whole.

To join Hudson’s journey, visit his page:

https://www.facebook.com/hudsonsheart/

https://www.gofundme.com/havehalfaheart

Hudson is 4 Months Old!!

Hudson is now four months old. That means he has been in the cardiac intensive care unit for 124 days since birth (plus another couple weeks in utero)! 

What a miracle this little man is! His physical therapist says he is doing great and meeting goals like getting more control of his head and grabbing for things he sees.

He currently weighs 10 and 1/2 pounds....yippee!

Hudson has had a lot of challenges and they aren't over but we are seeing him grow even in the midst of a cold and infections. 

More prayers for a stable blood pressure, great liver function & lower bilirubin, more growth, ability to tolerate more milk, lots of stability, no more infections, wisdom for his doctors and preparation for another open heart surgery in the months to come.

We love our Hudson!

Hudson shirt says it all! What a miracle!

A little tummy time!

One of this Hudson's caring nurses made this sweet sign for our sweet boy's special day!

Hudson is 3 Months Old!!

Our miracle baby is three months old! Hudson is still having major challenges but he is here and we are honored to be his parents. He has the cutest, kissable cheeks and we joke that he sometimes looks like a grumpy old man when he wrinkles up his little nose.

He is so precious and such a tangible miracle. We love him and want the very best for our boy.

Here's his big brother, Graham:

Hudson is so special that he's making news!

This image was on the hood of our friend's race car. So fun and incredibly thoughtful. Thanks, Davin & Kelley!

"Uncle Neil" is going to be sporting this awesome shirt when he runs the New York Marathon the first weekend of November! We love you, Neil!!

Our dear friends held a lemonade stand and bake sale for our sweet boy. We love you, Lily, Abby and Nathan! You are so good to us!

Here's a recent video of our Hudson: