Freedom of Speech

I do my best not to get too wrapped up in popular drama, and internet frenzies. But sometimes, I get a little fired up, and feel compelled to offer up my two cents. Today is one of those days...
So far today, I have read COUNTLESS posts and tirades about the fiasco going on with a certain reality TV star. To sum up what happened, this person shared his controversial views and opinions in an interview, and not everyone agreed with what he had to say. People reacted, as they often will, and now the network that supports his show has "grounded" him.
One side is angry at what he said, and the other side is angry that he was punished for saying it. While I have my own opinions on the subject, that is not what this post is about. What this post is about is a phrase I keep seeing thrown around, quite casually. Freedom of Speech. Now this is quite simple. In the good old U S of A, you have the freedom to say whatever the Hell you want. Yup, that's right. So if you want to run outside yelling "I like to eat baby chickens in the nude, while watching Jerry Springer!!" you can. This also means your neighbor has the right to open his door and yell "No one cares, so shut the f*ck up!" right back.
Ahhh... Freedom. It's a lovely thing. But there's just one eensy weensy little catch. HAVING the Freedom of Speech should not always equal EXERCISING it. Now before you get all butt hurt, let me explain.
I have the right to do a lot of things. But that doesn't mean I HAVE to do them. I have the right to bear arms, but I don't really see the need for bear arms. My arms are fuzzy enough. (What? Is that not right?) Anyway, the point is, that while someone has the right to say whatever the heck they want, that doesn't mean they should. Now I'm not saying you should never speak up, or share your opinions (Umm... hello, I have a freaking blog. I obviously like to share my opinions.) but it does mean you should be conscientious about what you say, how you say it, where you say it, and to whom you say it. Why? Because as the old saying goes, "Opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one."
This goes double (maybe even triple) for people in certain positions. If you are a well known individual, with a lot of public exposure, you KNOW that anything you say will not only be heard, but analyzed, amplified, and repeated. Is this fair? Eh... that's debatable. But it is fact. So if you choose to share your opinions, especially controversial ones, you can be certain that you will suffer some backlash. Sure, some may agree with you, but others wont. If you are ok with that, and feel it is still worth saying... by all means, have at it. But you better be damn well willing to accept the consequences. Because Freedom of Speech does not equal freedom from judgment, freedom from anger, or freedom from hurt. You know how police say "Anything you say, can and will be used against you."? The same often applies here. So think before you speak.
I wholeheartedly believe in the Freedom of Speech. I believe that everyone has a right to believe whatever they want, and share those beliefs. That doesn't mean I have to agree with them, or listen to them. Because that freedom works both ways. But maybe we need to rephrase it. I think 'Freedom of Speech With a Giant Dose of Common Sense' has a nice ring to it...

My Holidays...

Let me start this by apologizing in advance. I feel the urge to do some serious venting, but I don't want to burden anyone with having to listen against their will, so I am going to do it here, where anyone who wants to, can choose to read it. I am apologizing because this isn't aimed at anyone in particular, and my intent is not to bash anyone, or cause guilty or hurt feelings. I just need to get some things off my chest.
I am a grieving parent. Whether you choose to accept that fact or not is up to you. No, I didn't give birth to my son, but that in no way lessened my love for him. We may not have shared DNA, but what we did share goes even deeper. My loss and my pain are VERY real. What others think and choose to believe means little to me. I know how I feel, no matter how much others wish to diminish my grief. I did not carry my son in my body, but I carried him in my heart and soul, and in every other way possible. I have no other children. He was my one and only, and with his loss came the loss of so much. I am no  longer a mom. While some people will tell you after child loss that you will always be a mother, in my heart I know those are merely words of comfort, not truth. A mother without a child, is just a woman. While my arms still ache to hold my son, and my lips still yearn to kiss his head, or share some maternal wisdom, those urges cannot be fulfilled. While those who've lost a limb describe phantom pains, I too, have phantom pains, for I've lost a part of myself that I will never get back. Every day since he's been gone has been hard. Indeed, some harder than others, but none have been easy. The holidays are some of the hardest. Holidays are for family. They are a time to rejoice and celebrate one another, and to hold close that which we hold dear. I don't want to rejoice. I see no reason for celebration. Instead I want to scream. I want to shout to the Heavens and beg for my son back. My list to Santa is short. I only want one thing. But no amount of begging and pleading will bring him back. There is no magic strong enough to grant that wish for me.
Christmas is a week away. While I choose not to celebrate, that does nothing to lessen my exposure to it. It's everywhere I look. Happy families smiling from the fronts of cards, excited children in the stores, stressed out parents, complaining about not having enough time left. You wanna talk about not having enough time? My SON didn't have enough time. My husband didn't have enough time with his little buddy. I didn't have enough time to tell him how much he meant to me, and how much I loved him. There is no such thing as enough time. I just want to shout "Screw your lists, and your errands! At least you still have your sons and daughters!" I want to... but I can't. It's not fair. I was once a stressed out parent, complaining too. I have no right to shame anyone for just being normal. But that's just it, I'm not normal anymore. THIS is my new normal. Being angry, being sad, being hurt, and overwhelmed.
And the worst part is... no one understands. Unless you've lost a child, you can't begin to relate. All grief is not the same. Period. A parent should NEVER outlive their kids. That doesn't mean your sadness over your loved one isn't real, or hard. It is, believe me, I know. I've lost grandparents, friends, and many loved ones. And I miss them. Sometimes terribly. But what I feel now is in a realm all its own. It is a grief the likes of which are indescribable and unavoidable. And it doesn't lessen over time. In many ways, it only gets worse. I will NEVER come to peace with it. My heart will never recover. You don't "move on" from losing a child. You continue to live. That is all.
So if I seem down, or angry at the holidays, I'm sorry. I do my best to keep it to myself, I really do. But sometimes it can be too much, and I may vent a little steam. I'm not asking you to "fix it", because you can't. Even the most well intentioned ideas, and suggestions will make no difference. I'm only asking you to be patient, be kind, and be compassionate. Please don't tell me that I still have so much to be thankful for, and to "put it into perspective" because I know what I have, and what I've lost, and I've had PLENTY of perspective, thank you very  much. While I may choose not to decorate or send cards, please don't think I expect you to do the same. I want you to be happy. I want you to be excited. I just can't be. Not yet. I am trying, I really am. And please don't stop including me in things. I may not always say no, and the time I say yes, might be the time that makes all the difference.
I miss my son. Every second of every minute, of every day. I want to talk about him. I WILL talk about him. And I want others to talk about him. Especially this time of year. Don't hesitate because you think it will make me sad, or because you think it will be hard on me. I NEED to talk about him, and hear you say his name. I need to know he is still on your mind, because he is ALWAYS on mine.

 

(Our son, Zachary, with his gingerbread train. This pic was taken in 2008.)

Attention Ladies!

I think it's high time I made a post about the ridiculous expectations on women these days. Day in and day out, I see posts, videos, articles, tweets, and more talking about body image, gender roles, etc. I'm about to say something that I will more than likely take a lot of shit for, but here goes...
Women are the biggest source of the problem. Yup, you read that right. In my opinion, we are our biggest enemies. Not the media, not men, not food. Us.
It's a well known fact that females are overly critical of other females. I know this because... Well, I am a female. We will be the first to judge another woman's outfit, job, hair, body, and attitude. Now don't get me wrong, we don't always do this in a negative way, but we still do it. Women are also notorious for comparing themselves to other women. We wish we had their hair, their shoes, their husbands/boyfriends, their boobs, and so on. We are inherently not satisfied with what we have, and so we assume what someone else has is better. But that's wrong. If you have curly hair, you probably wish it were straight. Well, I have straight hair, and I have tried every method in the book to get it curly. If you have big boobs, you wish they were smaller, if you have small boobs, you wish they were bigger. If you have curves, you think you're fat, if you are tall and thin, you must not look womanly enough. Does any of this sound familiar? As females, we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to be perfect, and we often want to blame someone else for this, but is it really their fault? Yes, the media is filled with images of beautiful, flawless women. Because scary monsters don't sell jeans and luxury cars. Does this mean if you don't look exactly like those images, you are bad? Hardly. Does it say that anywhere in those ads? No. So whose fault is it that those images make us feel bad about ourselves? It's ours. WE make ourselves feel bad. Instead of looking at the woman in the ad, and seeing a beautiful model, we see all of our flaws. That's not the ad or the model's fault. That is inside of us. It is a model's job to be beautiful. And it is a photographer's job to make her look as flawless as possible. With the right lighting, editing, and hair & make-up... instant perfection. We KNOW this. Logically, we understand that NO ONE looks that perfect naturally. So why do we expect that from ourselves?
Ladies, I'm going to say something right now that you probably don't want to hear, but that doesn't make it any less true.
We, as a gender, are too sensitive and critical.
We need to stop reading so much into everything, and looking for the problem. If the gal in the Victoria's Secret catalog has a 4 inch thigh gap, and abs of steel, good for her. That's it. That doesn't mean YOU need to have that, and it certainly doesn't mean every man on Earth wants every woman to look like that. Don't believe me? Ask around. Talk to some men, and ask them what they find attractive. I think you'll be surprised. Men aren't NEARLY as critical of women as we are of ourselves. Just like not all women find Brad Pitt and Adam Levine to be perfect specimens, neither do all men find VS models and the Jennifer Anistons of the world to be. But you know what most men DO find unattractive? Self loathing, self pity, and hyper insecurities. While I know it is nice to feel beautiful, and to know that others find you sexy or attractive, it should be MUCH more important that YOU find yourself beautiful. If you are constantly doubting your own worth, then no amount of attention from the rest of the world can change that.
It's time that we as women, stopped blaming everyone else for our issues, and started being truly honest with ourselves. If you hate what you see in the mirror, it's not the fault of the media. If every ad started using plus sized models, all the skinny girls would feel bad about themselves. There is no pleasing everyone. It is absolutely impossible. The ONLY solution is to stop comparing yourself to others. We need to focus only on being the best versions of ourselves. Not the best version of someone else. Whether that means being happy and healthy as a size 2 or a size 20. Or being satisfied and proud of being a stay at home mom, or a working one. It means being able to look at another beautiful woman and think "Wow, she is beautiful." instead of "I wish I looked like her." It means being less judging of other females, and more accepting of ourselves. It means stop looking to blame someone else, and start looking to fix you. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." Well... Behold, for you are beautiful.

Twas the Night Before Crapmas... (a poem)

Twas the night before Crapmas, when all through the land,
parents were stressed over children's demands.
The stockings weren't hung, for they were much much too heavy,
filled to the brim, with everything but a Chevy.
The kids were still up, playing Xbox and Wii,
amped up on sugar, junk food, and Pepsi.
The wife was in fits, and I was exhausted,
there was so much to wrap, was that a new faucet?
What is all this stuff? And why did we buy it?
Because the kids asked, so we HAD to supply it?
It seems so extreme, this mountain of toys.
Considering we only have two little boys.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but more bags of crap. How did this all get here?
My wallet was empty, my bank account dry.
I'd need to work overtime from now to July.
More rapid than eagles, my wife she did wrap.
Shouting out orders, and waking me with a slap.
"Hand me the scissors, give me that tape!"
"Where are the bows? Who did we buy a cape?"
This process went on for what felt like a year,
with piles of gifts, some stuck there, some stuck here.
We used all the paper, we ran out of tags,
there seemed no end to the boxes and bags.
And then on the news, we heard them announce,
a sale on ipads, my wife wanted to pounce.
I took a deep breath, and  said with a snap
"Enough is enough! They need no more crap!"
She looked somewhat stunned, her eyes had grown wide.
"But all the other kids have them." was her only reply.
It was then that I knew, we had lost all control.
We'd been sucked into the Crapmas black hole.
I wanted to cry, I wanted to shout,
we'd forgotten what Christmas was really about.
So I made a decision, right there on the spot
to make a big change, if it killed us or not.
I went to my kids, and turned off their game.
I needed to share this before Santa came.
So I told them a story, of a woman named Mary,
and a sweet little baby, that she was to carry.
Their eyes filled with wonder, as I recited the fable,
of the birth of a savior in a humble horse stable.
I spoke of the Wise Men, and the gifts they did bring
and the meaning behind the songs we all sing.
They listened intently, they seemed so impressed,
I'd nearly forgotten all of my stress.
As I tucked in my children, and whispered good night,
I said to my wife "We must make this right."
She nodded agreement, and we knew what to do.
We sorted the gifts, and kept just a few.
I loaded the rest, they nearly filled up the car.
I headed off, guided by the North Star.
I said a prayer, that it wasn't too late,
and hoped that I'd make it in time to donate.
When I dropped off the gifts, to the shelters and poor,
I felt like Saint Nick, bringing joy to their door.
As I drove home that night, 'neath the fresh falling snow,
I could swear that I heard a soft "Ho, ho, ho."
When I pulled in the drive, and started to park,
I saw the flash of a sleigh, taking off in the dark.
My heart filled with warmth, the tears started to pour,
The magic of Christmas had now been restored.
For the first time in years, I laid down with a grin,
I kissed my dear wife, and snuggled right in.
We had done the right thing, of that we've no doubt,
for kindness and love are what it's really about.

The End.
By: Teena M. Hauxwell-Finn (December 13, 2013)

What's in a Name?

My very dear friend, Vanessa, just made a blog post about all this fabulous and wonderful stuff that carries her name. You can read it here. And since she herself is uber fabulous and beautiful, it is only fitting that the things that bear her name should be as well. But this got me to thinking... Is there ANYTHING with my name? Growing up in the 80s, when personalized everything was all the rage, I always came up blank. There wasn't anything. Nada. Squat. Not a pencil, toothbrush, plush toy, or souvenir keychain with TEENA emblazoned in glitter. Occasionally, someone would custom order something with my name, and while I appreciated the effort, it would never be the same as stumbling upon it in the store. So I learned to deal. I accepted my fate, as the girl with the misspelled name.
But now, all these years later, my dear friend has dredged up this yearning from long ago. So I decided to see what Google could offer me, and IF I found anything, would it be as fitting to me, as Vanessa's were to her? This is what I found....

A t-shirt from Cafepress, custom designed, of course, but never the less, still exists. It came up under Halloween costumes, so I can only assume this is for someone who wants to terrify small children and the elderly.

Then I stumbled upon this little gem. Yes, you are seeing that correctly. It's a witch figurine. And a glittery one at that. And there are many more where this came from. Check them out at Teena Flanner Originals on Ebay.

You can only imagine my excitement at finding a BOOK in my name. And while I waited for the description to load, I pondered all the tales it could be. Was I an adventurer like Alice? Or maybe a feisty ginger haired Irish fairy? Turns out, it was even better. I am the star of an erotic novel. Teena A House of Ill Repute by Jennifer Jane Pope. Yup... porn.

And alas... There is the musical legend, Teena Marie. A woman of many talents. She has passed away now, but in her heyday, she was known for her sexy style and sultry songs. This album cover is my favorite. She looks so Hollywood glam here, though she had numerous looks over the years.

So, while my namesakes may not be as lovely and fabulous as Vanessa's, weirdly, they are still fitting. Thanks, V, for inspiring this search, and this post. It was truly educational. And if you want to read more good stuff, head on over to Ready... Dressed....Go! and see what my girl is up to.

Crapmas vs. Christmas: The Great Debate

I consider myself the President and CEO of the Bah Humbug Club. And before you get all sentimental and seasonally cheesy on me and start singing carols, let me explain.
I used to love Christmas. LOVE it. Growing up, Christmas was the most magical time of the year. My siblings and I spent weeks, months even, planning & plotting for the perfect Christmas. We memorized the Toys R Us holiday catalog, and became hint dropping ninjas. We strategized and organized for our early morning plan of attack. (I should point out here that Christmas morning in the Hauxwell house was a bit of a challenge. My father didn't like to get up nearly as early as we did, so he would booby trap the house in order to bust us trying to catch Santa in the act.) Needless to say, it took some military planning on the part of my brothers and I to get to the tree and our stash of goodies before he caught us in the act. But we loved it. We loved everything about Christmas. The beautiful and fun decorations, the singing of carols, the holiday TV specials, the time with family, the delicious treats, and the magic and mystery. All of it.
Then something happened. I grew up. And while I still loved Christmas, I never could recreate the wonder of those childhood times. Then I met my husband, and with our son, Zachary, I found it again. To see the holiday through the innocent eyes of a child is a magic and wonder all its own. We started our own traditions, and shared some of our old ones. Christmas had once again been revived. But, over the years, our son grew up, and lost his youthful Christmas enthusiasm. And after over a decade in the retail industry, I had lost the excitement myself. Christmas just wasn't the same. Sure, it still had its moments of joy, but the magic was long gone. It became more of a chore, than a pleasure. I no longer looked forward to it, rather, I began to dread it. Then we lost our son. Holidays took on a sadness and pain that overshadowed even the best things about the season.
That was when my inner Scrooge really blossomed. It had been growing for quite some time, but that was the straw that broke the reindeer's back. That was also when I realized that it wasn't just me. That somewhere through the years, Christmas had been replaced by Crapmas. I was no longer the only one who wanted to shove Frosty's nose up his frozen backside, and tell the 3 wise men to piss off. It was becoming an epidemic. Bah humbug-itis had spread like wildfire. Which got me to thinking.... What happened? Here is my best answer.
Christmas vs. Crapmas: a comparison
Christmas: A time spent focused on loved ones, making memories that last a lifetime.
Crapmas: A time spent focused on possessions, causing stress.

Christmas: Beautiful lights, and trees decorated with cherished family heirlooms, by loving families.
Crapmas: Competing with your neighbors over who has the best display, and trees decorated to look like store displays, with nothing of sentimental value, by stressed out mothers, who won't let their children touch them.

Christmas: A month of traditional carols that remind us of simpler times, and the real reason for the season.
Crapmas: Three months worth of overplayed, over produced, non traditional songs, that focus on nothing of value.

Christmas: Children writing lists to Santa of gifts they'd love to have, and wondering which, if any, of those things would be under the tree Christmas morning.
Crapmas: Children writing lists to everyone, demanding an endless array of useless and unnecessary items, then being pissed off if every single one of them isn't under the tree Crapmas morning.

Christmas: Relaxing day spent with your family, enjoying each other's company, and basking in the rewarding laughter of happy children.
Crapmas: A rushed, stressed out day, running from one house to another, trying to please everyone else, while making yourself miserable.

Christmas: Taking the time to help out your fellow man. Remembering those less fortunate. Peace on Earth, Goodwill toward man.
Crapmas: Leaving your family early on Thanksgiving to stand in line and fight with other adults over who gets the latest gadgets. Being mobbed and robbed.

Christmas: A holiday celebrating the birth of a noble man, who lived his life to help others, and remind us to be better people.
Crapmas: A holiday celebrating commercialization and greed.

Christmas: A day to give gifts of the heart. Whether they are homemade, or store bought, it doesn't matter, because it is the thought that counts. It was about the giving, not the receiving.
Crapmas: A day to see who loves you the most, based on the quantity of gifts and amount spent. And to return the ones that aren't worthy of your gratitude.

I could go on and on, but the point is, Christmas has changed, and it's only getting worse. The simple, pure, loving holiday that we once knew is gone. We have let the least meaningful and important parts take over, and forgotten the true meaning. And I'm not just talking about Jesus, either. I mean all of it. The wonder, the magic, the joy, and the miracles. The kindness towards one another, and the simple pleasures. We are too busy rushing and stressing about making everything some crazy idea of perfect, that we overlook the genuine perfection right in front of us. The glistening of lights on freshly fallen snow. The wide eyed wonder of children as they search the sky for Santa and his sleigh. The harmony of a church choir as they sing of a humble birth. The taste of freshly baked cookies, warm from the oven, and made with love. Christmas is still all around us, we just don't see it anymore. It's easy to overlook, because it isn't as flashy and loud as Crapmas.
So before you assume the worst of me, and ask me why I'm such a Scrooge, remember... I don't hate Christmas, I hate what it's become.

Elf on the Shelf vs. Gnome in my Home

My obsession with gnomes is no secret. I love them. They bring me endless joy. I have amassed quite a collection, and I can often be found posing them in various situations/costumes and taking their pics. All through the year, I hear endless crap about this. I get everything from "You are seriously crazy." to "Gnomes are SOOOO creepy!" and everything in between. I'm looked at sideways and with questionable glances. Do I care? No. Do I say anything? Well... yes, but mostly just in defense of my pointy hatted friends. But I take the stares, the laughs, the judgment, and I press on. Why? Because it makes me happy, and it's a gosh darn hoot! So I accept my seat on the crazy train, and I enjoy the ride. Though it's mostly a solo journey.
Until December arrives...
Then suddenly, my quiet trip through Nutville is interrupted by a stop at the Bandwagon Express Station, where the train is filled to capacity. These seasonal whackjobs are commonly accompanied by a small creature, dressed in red, with a disturbingly rapey expression on his face. He goes by many names, but his followers know him mainly as.... Elf on the Shelf. This voyeuristic little weirdo is apparently some kind of CIA spy for the big man at the North Pole. He forces his way into your home sometime around Thanksgiving, and proceeds to spend the next month or so digging through all your personal belongings and giving your children nightmares and the promise of years of therapy. But that's neither here nor there.... If you want to have tiny little peeping Tom elves watching you and your hubs do the dirty, well that's your business.
My problem comes when those same folks, who trash talk me for my instability, suddenly want to be all up in the fruitcake. You can say what you want about it "being for the kids" or "just for Christmas", but I know and YOU know that if they made an Elf for Easter, Halloween, Presidents Day, or Chinese New Year, you'd be all over it. But it's ok, I wont judge you. I welcome you into the fold. There are plenty of vacancies here at the Mental Motel, enjoy your stay. But because I take my role as Queen of the Crazies very seriously, I feel the need to point out that MY toys are better than YOUR toys. In that spirit, I bring you....

Elf on the Shelf vs. Gnome in my Home

I shall issue a challenge, right here, right now. All you part time, Christmas kooks bring on your best Elf on the Shelf pics, and I guarantee me & my gnomies can beat them. How can I be so sure? Because gnomes are better. Period. Plus, let's be honest... I can out crazy anyone. Need more proof?

 

 

 

BOOM! Nailed it.



What Romance Means To Me

Yes, I am a female, and no, I do not like romance novels or chick flicks. Contrary to popular belief, not all women think that romance consists of big, dramatic gestures, or making love on rose petal covered silk sheets for hours on end. While that may sound magical to some, to me it just sounds messy and highly conducive to chafing.
I hear so many women say that romance is dead, or that their partner is just not romantic enough, all because they have these, pardon the pun, romanticized ideas of how it is supposed to be. Wake up, ladies. Romance is not like the movies. Nor should it be. While champagne and roses may be nice, they are not the only way someone can show they care. Oh, your spouse doesn't write you love songs, and sing them to you on a candlelit balcony? For shame! You should really hold out for that Romeo that MUST be out there somewhere. It's time to get real, gals. Most men don't think like that. That's just not how they're wired. That doesn't mean your husband or boyfriend doesn't love you, it just means he probably shows it in more subtle ways. Here are some examples of everyday romance that you are probably overlooking:
*He starts the coffee, so it's ready when you wake up.
*He works hard, so that you can have a nice home, car, etc.
*He holds the door for you, and carries your purse & shopping bags at the mall.
*He pulls up to the door when it's raining so you can get out, and then goes and parks the car.
*He starts and/or cleans off your car in the winter.
*He fixes your car, and keeps it running safely and smoothly.
*He lets you tuck your freezing cold feet under him.
*He holds your hand.
*He comes home to you every night, and probably looks forward to it, even though he doesn't say it.
*He remembers what you order at restaurants.
*He smiles at you from across a room.
*He lets you cover the bed and sofa in throw pillows, even though he thinks they are useless, just because it makes you happy.
*He thanks you for making dinner, even when you know it tasted awful.
*He stops to get you tampons or medicine from the store, so you don't have to make a special trip.
*He knows how AND takes the time to give you orgasms.
*He kisses you goodbye when he leaves.
So maybe he sometimes forgets your birthday or anniversary, or doesn't make the biggest deal out of Valentine's Day. Maybe he farts in bed, or feeds the kids too much candy before bedtime. He's not perfect, but neither are you. Romantic gestures don't always have to involve hot air balloons and diamonds. And if you still want or need those things, maybe you should put out the effort. Run a bubble bath and ask him to join you. Turn off the TV, light some candles, and make love on the living room floor. Buy some special oils, and give each other massages. Or just be happy that you have a good partner who loves you, and be grateful for the life you have, and accept that life isn't like the movies.

Happy Birthday in Heaven...

Today would be our son's 20th birthday. The last birthday he celebrated here on Earth was his 18th. He's been gone for 16 months, as of today.
Birthday's are a BIG deal to me. Always have been. They are bigger than holidays or anniversaries. They are each individual's special day. A celebration of the moment in history that you were brought into the world. In that moment, countless lives were altered, paths changed, and a new timeline began. All because of one person's birth. I think we forget that sometimes. We view birthdays as a date on a calendar, or a number of years grown. We brush them off, forget them, or place little to no significance on them. But that day is special. It is the day a life began. And each year should be a celebration of the joy, love, kindness, and wonder that each life has brought. Some people are given many, many years. Others... so few. But regardless of how many you get, each one should be treated with reverence and celebration.
This year, I wanted to honor our son in a special way. I wanted his birthday to mean something. So I asked my loved ones to light a candle in his memory, and send a wish to Heaven.
I was not prepared for the incredible response. As I write this, it is only noon, and already my social media is lit up with candles, photos, angels, and messages of love. I'm overwhelmed. I haven't stopped crying since 6:30 this morning, and I don't see it ending anytime soon.
We knew our son touched many people, but I don't think you fully realize just how much impact one life can have, until that life is taken from you.
Today I want to send a message to Heaven. I want Zachary to know that we love him, and that he lives on in each person who saw his smile, heard his laugh, felt his touch, or knew his kindness. I want him to know that each year we will celebrate his life, and that he will NEVER be forgotten. I want him to know that his father and I are so proud of the life he lived, and so honored to have been blessed with him. I want him to know that his soul burns as brightly now as ever, and that he is still touching lives, and making the world a better place. I want him to know that we love him more than words could ever express, and that we carry him with us every single moment, and we do our best to honor his memory, and continue on where he left off.

Happy Birthday, Boy Child. May you fly among the stars on angel wings, and feel the warmth of a thousand flames burning brightly in your name.

These are just a few of the beautiful tributes to Zachary today...