When I first heard that Jennie’s husband died, my body reacted.
My breathing stopped,
my stomach clenched
and my mind raced back to a room in Beth Israel hospital in 1990 as the light faded from my husband’s eyes.
and I knew.
I knew I had to help, somehow, to help Jennie get through this next transitional stage of grief.
The one that made my parents buy me the thickest down comforter that they could find, just to keep me from feeling the cold.
The one that made all the routines of life so important, the ones that made each footstep follow the first.
The ones that allowed me to move out of my house, into work and participate with people even though there was a hollow, emptiness inside.
The grief eventually morphs into all those stages that Elizabeth Kubler Ross so eloquently spelled out in On Death and Dying
Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance
But that visceral stage can come back in a heartbeat when you hear someone else is in pain.
So I knew I wanted to help. But I’m clear across the country. And Jennie and I haven’t met, except, perhaps, at a large convention.
So when Jennie asked for peanut butter pies for Mikey, I made one, shared about it and held my kids and husband close.
I held an image of peace in my heart for Jennie and her girls.
I watched to see what I else I could do from afar.
Then another tragedy happened, closer to home.
A classmate of our girls, a lovely boy of 12, came home from camp, went to the doctor and discovered he had leukemia.
Rushed to Children’s hospital in Seattle but the disease progressed rapidly. He was removed from life support less than 2 weeks later.
And my body reacted again.
But this time, I could do what I wanted to do for Jennie in a tangible way.
I could bake and bring food to Liam’s family, attend the funeral with my girls, hand out tissues and hugs and memories with the other mourners.
And realize that I will never hear this song again without thinking of Liam.
I can assist Jennie and her girls with your help, even from the upper left corner of the country.
is hosting an auction.
This non profit group functions to help channel our collective desires to help into tangible actions.
I am grateful! They and Shauna have created a place for an auction of items to help create #afundforjennie
My addition to the amazing auction items is simple:
The first 25 people to leave a comment here with their donation amount will receive:
A gluten-free sourdough bread making kit– including a starter culture packet, flour blend for the loaf and recipes.
With this kit, you will be able to make your own amazing sourdough bread again.
It doesn’t matter how much you give, all I ask is that you give a thoughtful amount.
In this economy, you know better than I what that amount is for you.
Here are the rules:
- Leave a comment with your donation amount at the bottom of this post.
- Donate via Bloggers Without Borders’ PayPal Page
- Send me proof of your donation. (You can either take a screen capture of it or forward the confirmation email to me at GFSourdough @ gmail.com. Remember to give me your snail mail address.
- Please don’t “double dip.” If you’ve already donated to the cause thanks to another site, fabulous! I (very) kindly ask that if you’d like the sourdough kit that you make a specific donation inspired by this post. It just seems fair to do it this way. I’m sure you understand.
And if you want to donate and don’t want a sourdough kit? Click on the image below. It takes you right to the donation page!
From personal experience, it will be years before Jennie and the girls are able to completely understand the financial impact the loss of Mikey will have in their lives.
Please be generous.
Thanks for your patience, all you donors. The packages left my office today to all the USA addresses. ENJOY!