Jersey Peach

In 2013, I planted this peach tree in memory of our Miss Amy.  It’s called a Redhead Peach Tree and as Amy was a red head, it seemed fitting.  She wasn’t a fan of peaches, but she loved all things New Jersey and so she was our Jersey peach.

It’s been 4 years since I planted the tree and as it does each spring, the splendid blooms have begun.  It’s hard for me to believe that it’s been 4 years since Amy left this earth.  When I watch JT play a sport, I always think of her.  She never missed a little league game and I’d dearly love to have her company at a wrestling match or cross country race.  She’d cheer our boy on (and surely offer some pointed thoughts about how a bunch of lesbians now have to watch wrestling) and we’d laugh and ponder how fast JT has grown up.

Amy was the sort of friend who said yes to even the most hare-brained scheme, who loved with abandon, and always laughed.  I miss her mightily.  Today, I’ll look at my lovely peach tree and will remember the power of her life and love.  I’ll be grateful for the blessing of having her in my world, even if it was for far-too-short a time.

Play Ball

Just as the major league players got started on pre-season preparation, JT’s own baseball season has arrived.  He’s working on hitting and catching and we’ve made some visits to the batting cages.  His baseball bag is filled with all his equipment and is being hauled to school every day.

Last year’s baseball season began in the cold Spring and I had hopes that our beloved Miss Amy would be well enough to attend a game or two, renewing our tradition.  As the season unfolded, it became painfully clear that Miss Amy wouldn’t see a game.  Years of game time chats and cheering on our favorite ball player came to a very sad end last April.

I think of Amy as the season unfolds.  She would have really loved watching our boy take a swing, steal a base, and guard the plate.  As each game begins, I think of her spirit and laughter.  I hear her voice in my head and I cheer a little louder in her honor.

Peaceful and Pain Free

Last December, my friend Amy called to let me know that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer.  I'm the sort of optimistic fool who hears such news and immediately assumes that this is just a bump in the road.  Surely, science can cure breast cancer.  A few hours later, having checked the statistics, I tumbled into bed confident that our beloved Miss Amy would have a few bumpy months ahead.  But, I assured myself, she will be okay.

From that moment, the descent into a hole of anxiety and fear began.   Amy's original tumor had spread into her lymph nodes and surrounding tissue.  It was in her liver and lungs.  Likely her bones and now in her brain.  It was Stage 4. I went from wishing for some kind surprising good news to simply praying for news that wasn't terrifying.  

In February, still under-going treatment and hopeful of some years yet to live, she texted me that she was grateful for a few days in which she felt peaceful and pain free.  Never once, as she made the transition from a seeming health scare into the horrible conclusion that this would not end well, did Amy give up hope in the power of living and loving the life she had.   But that life ended on Friday.   It still seems unbelievable to write such a sentence.

On countless occasions big and small, Amy was this family's red-headed fairy godmother, with laughter, confidence in happy endings, and an adventurous spirit to match.   That's the Miss Amy that we will remember, fiercely miss, and always love with all of our hearts.

Amy & JT at Harry Potter World, Florida, March 2012