While life around here resembles a roller coaster most of the year, the frenzy ramps up in May as it always has. From my days of wrapping up classes as a student, to wrapping up IEPs as a teacher, to keeping up with end of school year activities…
We’re Not in Kansas Anymore
— Helen Baldwin
Helen Baldwin lives in Jefferson, North Carolina, with her husband, Randy plus their two dogs, a cat, and untold wild critters outside. Their firstborn’s family, including two delightful children, lives just down the road, so she enjoys lots of MomMom time. Helen and Randy have a rental cabin and bees, among numerous other endeavors, so they’ll never be bored. Life took a drastic twist in 1997 when their third baby, Jeffrey, was diagnosed with SMA type 1. Although their active stint with SMA was brief, Helen hopes that sharing and connecting experiences after Jeffrey’s death, usually with optimism, helps others endure the unpredictability of loss and recovery.
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Our granddaughter, Clara, turns 10 this month. She loves choosing themes for her birthday parties, and “PopPop,” as she calls my husband, Randy, challenges himself to design and bake elaborate cakes to match. This year’s theme is based on the Broadway musical and film “Wicked.”…
My 3-year-old grandson, James, adores his MomMom (me!) and treats me like royalty. He gently places a pillow behind my back on the couch and insists on propping up the footrest before covering me with a blanket so I’ll be cozy. He makes sure I’m fed well and…
Just over two years after our baby Jeffrey died from spinal muscular atrophy, my brother-in-law, Steven, passed away. My husband, Randy, our two children, Matthew and Katie, and I made the long drive back to our old stomping grounds in Texas, for our first funeral of a loved one since…
As teens, my husband, Randy, and his brother kept bees in their family’s tiny backyard. Way back then, the protective gear was flimsy at best, and they both eventually sought less painful hobbies. The opening of a new local beekeeping store just before Randy’s retirement a few years…
Growing up, about the closest I got to yardwork was burying some poor mussels I’d brought back one summer from a family vacation on the Texas coast. Somehow I thought that hauling a handful or two of the already smelly critters in a shoebox of sand all the way back…
BARK! BARK! WOOF! WOOF! The guest staying in our rental cabin had come down to the house. Our dogs, Honey and Maple, were banished to the kitchen until our guest returned to her car after a brief visit. I sat down to get back to work. BARK! BARK! WOOF! WOOF!…
Our sweet third baby, Jeffrey, arrived on a sunny May morning. Two months later, spinal muscular atrophy barged into our world. Hearing the prognosis of death before kindergarten was akin to being pummeled by a raging bull on one side and a tornado on the other. It snatched the proverbial…
As my husband, Randy, and I slipped into our mid 40s, God plopped a little surprise into our middle-aged laps: a pregnancy. Totally unprepared in all ways for a baby, we scrambled with preparations until we were dizzy. Our son, Matthew, who was 10 at the time, was mortified with…
Oct. 6, 1997. My husband, Randy, and I snagged a last-ditch effort to save our baby Jeffrey from spinal muscular atrophy’s deadly vise: meeting with a pulmonologist who was trying gabapentin on another young child in North Carolina. We were desperately eager to learn whether or…
Before I turned 2, I loved watching “Wunda Wunda,” a children’s educational program on a local channel that showcased puppets, stories, and songs. My mother, preparing for the birth of my brother, couldn’t move quickly enough to turn the television off at the end of the show, and…
Kudos and a whew! to us all for surviving 2020. Vastly understated, last year was memorable. Overall (and thankfully), my family managed to welcome the new year intact. However, a second loss connected to my teaching stint at Brockman School hit hard. Brockman, a self-contained school for students with orthopedic…
My husband, Randy, and I moved into our house at the end of December 1995. The old farmhouse, situated in the mountains of North Carolina, was built in 1920, reportedly by bootleggers. Surely there must be some hidden treasure somewhere! We haven’t found it yet, but we haven’t given…
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