Today's blog post is written by guest writer Pam Dardess, one of the most important people in my life. The more I think about it, the more I know we crossed paths when we did for a reason. She lived through my daily pregnancy battles with Kennedy, helped me get through the first days and months and years of adjusting to a child with special needs, has spent countless hours sitting with me in hospital surgical waiting rooms, has cried with me and laughed with me and yelled with me, has been my rock through it all.
A while back, Amy asked me if I would write a guest post for
her blog. I agreed immediately, honored that she would even ask. And then the
time passed. It passed because I’m a busy mom of a new baby and a 7-year old.
It passed because of work. It passed because of home and chores and all the
other mundane things we do in our lives. But it also passed because I knew this
wasn’t something I could sit and write in 10 minutes, or even 20 or 30. Amy
gave me carte blanche to write what I wanted. And that’s been the hardest part.
I want to do justice to the beautiful writing and stories she’s given us all on
her blog. I want to do justice to her amazing family. I want to do justice to a
certain little blond-haired girl.
But most of all, I want to do justice to Amy. So, because
she won’t say these things, let me write about her.
I met Amy when she became my officemate. My first impression
of her was that she was quiet, and I wondered how we would get along. Then she
hung pictures up on the bulletin board on her side of the office. I saw Amy
with this cute little brown-haired girl with big eyes. And I began to find out
how much strength Amy’s quiet exterior hides.
When Amy got married to Ryan, she asked me to be a reader at
the wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony and a gorgeous day. Several months
later, Amy was in the throes of morning sickness. Throughout her pregnancy, Amy
would say that she didn’t feel like things were the way they should be. I
brushed off her comments, telling her that everything would be fine, it’s
normal to worry, no big deal.
On April 6th, 2002, Amy traveled from NC to MD to
attend my wedding, despite the fact that she was 9 months pregnant. On May 8th,
2002, Kennedy Grace Goodwin was born. And we all learned that there is nothing
more powerful than a mother’s intuition. Despite ultrasounds that didn’t detect
any issues, Kennedy was born with a missing ear and other issues that Amy and
Ryan wouldn’t even know about until later.
The first time I saw Kennedy was in the hospital, the first
day of her life. She was so small and adorable, wrapped up just like a burrito.
She was a sweet baby who didn’t even cry as I sat in a rocking chair and held
her in my arms. She had one ear that “looked like a flower” as her sister said
– and also like her sister said, that was okay.
I left that first day not really understanding the journey
that would be ahead for Kennedy and her family. I soon found out that Kennedy
had to be sent to the NICU due to trouble breathing when she was eating. To
this day, I have such a clear memory of visiting the hospital - Amy, still
recovering from her c-section, going in to visit her baby girl. Katie, too
young to be allowed into the NICU, peering through the window with silent tears
rolling down her face.
In the days, weeks, and months that would follow, I’d get to
find out more about Amy’s strength. Doctor’s appointments, surgeries,
decisions, worries. And yet, in spite of what was going on in her life, Amy was
always there for me when I needed her.
On a summer day in June 2007, I was sitting at my desk at
work. I had moved on to a new job by then, but Amy and I had moved far beyond
just being officemates by that point. My phone rang, and I heard Amy. I don’t
remember what she said, only that I could hear the sobbing in her voice. I
asked if she was ok. And for the first time I can remember, she said “no.” Through
tears, she said they had tried to extubate Kennedy after days of keeping her
sedated following a surgery. Kennedy had stopped breathing. They resuscitated
her, and now she was intubated again. I told her I would be right there.
I will never forget that day at the hospital. I scrubbed my
hands up to the elbows so that I could go into the PICU. Only two could go in
at a time, so Ryan took a break so that I could see Amy and Kennedy. And there
was this little girl, hooked up to every machine imaginable. Her face was
swollen, her body so small. I felt tears prick my eyes and tried to blink them
back. I hugged Amy and watched her cry.
Amy will say that she is changed after that incident. Maybe
so – but I think she just became “more Amy.” The appreciation for life, her
willingness to go to the ends of the earth for her girls, her compassion, her
grace, her perseverance – it was all there before.
Amy has given her youngest daughter a great gift – because
she’s passed on her quiet strength to Kennedy. Kennedy is not a kid who has a
“poor me” philosophy about life. Kennedy
is more than her ear, or her surgeries, or her syndrome. Above all, Kennedy is
just a kid – and those are my endearing memories of her. I remember almost
3-year old Kennedy sitting on the sofa in our apartment, holding my daughter
Lea as a newborn. I remember Kennedy and Lea playing in a baby pool together in
my backyard, and on the swing set in Amy’s back yard. I think of my daughter
Maya’s smiles as Kennedy coos at her. I see our girls growing older, seeking
independence, finding their way in the world.
One of the things I admire most about Amy is her ability to
create a community around her. If you
need proof of what Amy can accomplish, look around at Team Kennedy. We’re
hundreds strong on Facebook. We turn out in force in our Team Kennedy t-shirts
for charity walks, donation drives, and Kennedy’s surgeries. Amy has taught me that it is a sign of strength, not
weakness, to ask for help. She has taught me that there is strength in numbers.
And, more than anything, she has taught me that someone who isn’t related to
you can be a sister just the same.
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