I didn’t sleep much last night.
I kept waking my husband up to tell him I couldn’t believe that Maddie was gone. I felt a sadness I’ve not felt before. When I woke up this morning, I felt a sense of helplessness. A friend had just suffered an unimaginable tragedy and there was nothing I could do to heal her heart.
I logged onto her blog this morning and saw that it was down. Having this incredible desire to do something useful, I contacted Bluehost to find out if there was anything they could do to help.
I put in a help ticket on behalf of thesphorsaremultiplying.
Here is the email exchange:
From me: I see the account has been suspended. Probably due to a surge in traffic. Is there something you can do to bring the site back? The owner of the site’s baby girl died yesterday. She was only 17 months old. That’s why she’s getting so much traffic, people want to help. Can someone help with this?
From Brandon:
Before I can give out account info I need you to validate the account with password or the last four of the credit card on file.
Thank you,
Brandon
From me:
Brandon. I don’t have that information. I was just wondering if there was anything anyone there can do to help get her site back up. It’s a long shot, I know, but people want to go to her site to get information on how to donate to her March of Dimes page in honor of the baby that just died.
From Brandon:
I do apologize but with out account password or last four of the credit card on file I am prohibited with giving out info of why the suspension has occurred or how to rectify.
By the time I got the last reply, her site was back up for a few minutes, so I responded with the following:
For the record, I didn’t want to know why it was suspended, I just wondered if there was anything you could do to get her site back up. Thanks for your help.
And that was the end of the conversation.
I know that others tried to contact to ask for help.
From @temptingmama
When I spoke to @bluehost about @mamaspohr I said “they ‘re not email spammers & their daughter just died.” They said that’s the rules.
“That’s the rules.”
I get it. They’re a business. They have rules. GET IT.
But, what THEY don’t seem to get is that their customers are REAL PEOPLE. And in this case, real people who just lost their daughter. Real people who are making funeral arrangements for their daughter. They really couldn’t have overlooked the rules in this case? Even for only for a couple of days while the site was moved elsewhere?
I’m outraged at their lack of humanity.
Updated:
A comment from Deb that says so beautifully what I failed to say.
I’m concerned that they not only did not help, but also sounds like they
did not acknowledge the human issue under the tech question when talking to
both of you. All customer service front line folks should know how to say
(when a red flag of media, high-profile, or special need like this goes
up): let me find someone who can work with you on this special situation.
Talk about alienating influencers.
I hope that the higher-ups at Bluehost are appalled and feel moved to make
a substantial donation to March of Dimes in acknowledgement of their poor
handling of this.
Category Archives: This Thing Called Life
Shock
I can’t sleep.
My friend’s baby died today.
Her baby died.
I had read that she has been taken to hospital by ambulance. I was worried, so this afternoon I sent her an email.
Just catching up on what’s going on with your baby girl. I’ve been so busy and wrapped up in my stupid little world.
If you need ANYTHING, please don’t hesitate to call me. I’m only an hour-ish away.
Thinking of you all.
She wrote back and said she was worried. Maddie was breathing really hard and the doctors didn’t know why. She was scared, but glad she was being monitored so closely.
I remember feeling worried, but thinking they would figure out what was wrong and she would get better. She had to get better.
Then, tonight, I clicked over to her blog and read this.
My husband was sitting here on the couch with me when I read it. I threw my laptop down and just shouted “NO! NO!!”
I started to shake. I was in shock.
I then called a couple of friends who are also friends with Heather and we sobbed together in disbelieve.
It’s unreal. I still can’t believe it.
Every time I close my eyes to try to sleep, I think of Heather. I think of the last time I saw her– we were at the LA food bank, volunteering our time. She was so kind and wonderful to be around. Towards the end of the day, she got a phone call from her babysitter. Maddie had a fever. I saw the worry instantly sweep over her face. I told her it was okay if she needed to leave. I could just feel the love she had for her baby girl in that moment.
I keep thinking of the way she spoke of her daughter. I keep thinking of her sweet smile
And then… I think of how her world just fell apart today. How she no longer has her baby girl to kiss or hug. I think of in the blink of an eye,everything changed. I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around the devastation she feels. The heartache. I hurt for her. For her husband. And for that beautiful baby Madeline who left this earth way too soon.
I don’t understand. I can’t make sense of it at all.
Please pray for Heather and her husband. They’re going to need all of the love and support we have to offer to help carry them through this horrible time in their lives.
“I love my life with my wife”
A few months ago, I found a few of my husband’s best friends from high school on Facebook. I showed PigHunter and he asked me if I could contact them on his behalf. I sent them messages and that very same day both friends had returned my messages and added me as a friend.
PigHunter was confused by this. “Why did they add YOU as a friend? They’re MY friends, not YOUR friends!” I had to explain to him that, oh, I don’t know, because HE DIDN’T HAVE A FACEBOOK ACCOUNT AND I DID? Like, Facebook doesn’t magically create accounts for people, you have to create one yourself, dude.
You see, my husband doesn’t understand most things on the internet. The entire concept of creating accounts and passwords is lost on him. He’s like “I tried to log into my email, but it won’t let me. I don’t get it– I entered my first and last name! What is going on here!?”
It’s THAT bad.
Anyway.
On Monday I received a friend request with a message that said “Hi, this is tj, me and PigHunter used to hang out all of time in high school. Could you please tell him I said hi?”
I called my husband at work to tell him about the message.
“Some woman named TJ sent a request to be my friend on facebook. She said you used to hang out all of the time.” He was all “we were just friends!” And I was all “Whatever, I wrote her back and told her I’d give you the message.” I then proceeded to tell him that if Caroline ever found him and requested to be my friend I’d hit IGNORE and tell that bitch to step off. “Why would you do that?” He asked. “Because, I saw what you wrote about her in your yearbook. I will NEVER friend her, just so you know.” And he got all… upset? Which of course means he totally would cheat on me with her. So I was all “Fine! I’ll just make you your own facebook account so you can friend your GIRLFRIEND, YOU ASS.”
And I did.
I had the following conversation with a friend the morning after I created his account.
Me: in other news, I made Tony a facebook page. And I’m plastering my pictures all over it because bitches from high school be friending him and sending him messages.
Her: Hahahahhahaa
Me: AHAHA
Her: Hobbies: Lovin my wife
Me: hahhahahdlahfadlhflakhsf;alhksdaaa
Me: “loving my wife. Thinking about my beautiful wife all day and while surfing the internet”
Her: I just go follow the links my wife provides!
Me: “Status: I haven’t approved your friend requests until now because my wife just told me my password, since she is the one who knows it and WILL USE IT.”
Her: Dude, he needs a blinkie icon that says “lovin my wife”
Me: I’m using this as his profile picture!
I showed him the conversation when he came home from work and once I assured him I had not, nor would I ever, put that picture on his profile page, he laughed and laughed!
And then he asked me to log him into his account so he could see who had sent friend requests! I did and he had 10 requests, half from women.
That is where the real fun began.
I was all “want me to accept her request?”
He was all “No! I didn’t like her in high school! Why would I want to be her friend?”
And I was all “accepting her request doesn’t mean you literally have to be her friend. People just like to friend people they knew in high school so they can see what you’re up to and stuff like that.”
“I don’t give a shit– it’s none of her business what I am up to!”
I started to feel bad for this girl so I tried to convince him to accept her request.
“She’s friends with your other friends! Babe, just accept it. She’ll probably just say Hi and you’ll never have to talk to her again. You don’t have to ACTUALLY BE HER FRIEND. Like, we’re not going to invite her over for dinner.”
“It says F-R-I-E-N-D request, implying we’re friends!”
“oh my God, no…”
And then he got Very Serious. “Drop it, Y. I’m not accepting! I don’t want to be her friend!”
Turns out, my husband’s facebook account is the funniest thing in my life right now. I can’t wait for the requests to rolling in. The JOY it brings to my soul to watch him struggle with the decision of allowing someone to be his “friend” or not. JOY!
I’m tempted to ask all of you to friend him just to watch his head explode.
“What is it with you and cars?”
I was on my way to the gym for my first Aerobic Dance class in almost 2 years. I was sitting at a red light, waiting for it to turn green. The second it turned green…
BOOM!
Rear. Ended.
I instantly felt pain in my back and neck. And in my heart because ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? We just got this car last year after PigHunter’s accident!
I wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but once I got out of the car, I saw that someone had rear ended the car behind me with such force that his car plowed into me.
I just got back from urgent care with a prescription of Soma (which is kicking in as I type this.)
More tomorrow. Or when I stop hurting.
You Don’t Know What You’ve Got Til it Almost Gets Chopped Off by Flying Wood.
PigHunter has this “cabinet” that he’s been working on for his “tools” in the garage. He’s been building this “cabinet” for about a year. I have come to believe this is something he does to get out of having to do any kind of housework (“I can’t help with the laundry because I’m building my cabinet! For my tools! So I have room to do things in the garage, like, build imaginary cabinets!”)
I used to get pissed off about his stupid cabinet. Especially when he’d be like “I’m going to plant grass this weekend!” And hours would go by and grass wasn’t planted because he’d wasted hours in the garage “cutting wood” for his “cabinet.” But, I’ve come to accept the “cabinet” for what it really is.
His escape.
I have the computer. He has “the cabinet.” We’re even.
Last Friday night, he was in the garage working on “the cabinet” for most of the night. Just before 8, I heard him walk into the house. He walked into the kitchen and stood there. He looked a little pale, so I was all “You okay?” And he was all “yeah, I’m fine.”
So I dropped it.
Later that night, we were sitting on the couch and he turns to me and says “Honey, please don’t freak out. But…”
Which, of course, makes me want to FREAKTHEFUCKOUTBECAUSEOHMYGODWHATTHEHELL..WHAT?
“I have to tell you what just happened to me in the garage.”
I was scared because any time he says “please don’t freak out” it’s totally something that warrants me freaking out (Example: “Honey, please don’t freak out… but I got laid off today!”)
He continued…
“While I was cutting a piece of wood, a 4 inch piece got caught in the blade, swung around (or something like that) and came flying at me at a very high rate of speed. And it hit me RIGHT HERE. (As he points VERY CLOSE to his ManHood.)
My reaction went a little something like this:
“What? Where? Is it okay? Are YOU okay? Did you damage it? CAN YOU STILL GET IT UP HERE LET ME SEE, LET ME TOUCH IT AND SEE IF YOU CAN STILL GET IT UP.”
“Baby!” He said, while protecting his junk because I was trying to grab it and make it all stiff. “It didn’t actually hit me there. It missed by an inch or two. It hit just above that right here by my (heheheeehe totally awkward but am going to say it) pubes.”
“Oh my God. Can I see it? Is there a bruise? Are you sure your dick still works? Because, like, isn’t there some wiring up in there that is vital to the erection process that could have been damaged and OH MY GOD SHOW ME YOU CAN STILL GET IT UP RIGHT NOW PLEASE.”
He proceeded to tell me that when it hit him, it knocked the wind out of him. He also wasn’t sure exactly where it had hit him because he was in so much pain. He said he walked to the corner of the garage, holding himself, worrying if he had just done something “really bad.” After he was able to compose himself, he undid his pants to assess the damage. To his relief, there was no damage to The Goods. Just a huge bruise a couple of inches ABOVE The Goods. He said he was fine, but promised to go see the doctor if the pain was worse in the morning.
I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to reach over that night in bed and “test it.” Just, you know, give it a little rub, or maybe a little, [small voice]blow[/small voice] I resisted, for fear of hurting him or damaging things that could have possibly been broken.
The next day, we walked around acting as if he had almost lost his LIFE. We were traumatized at the idea that he came THIS CLOSE to seriously damaging his ManHood and “would I have left him if he had lost it?” Nothing like a Near Dick Loss Experience to make you appreciate that Piece O’Man Meat like you did back when you were 19 and worshiping it on a daily, if not every other hourly basis.
Just when I start to hate the internet, it goes and makes me fall in love with it all over again.
I once had a “friend” who told my parents that I was “boy crazy.” This friend told my parents that I talked about boys non stop and that they should watch me carefully. Naturally, I got in big time trouble. How dare I like boys! I was supposed to ONLY LOVE JESUS. Anyway, thanks to my loud mouth, holier than thou, asshole of a friend, my parents thought that I was crazy about boys and watched me VERY CLOSELY, in case I, you know, started humping boys. The truth is, I can count on one hand the boys that I was “crazy”about in elementary school.
Bobby, David, Orel Hershiser (Yes, *that* Orel Hershiser.), Brad and Marty.
Marty was the secret love of my entire 6th grade life. He was smart, artistic and as my 12 year old self would say soooOoOOo funny! Of course, Marty never liked me back. Which was the case with most boys that I liked throughout my entire school aged life.
If I could find my diary from 6th grade, I am sure this is what it would look like:
Dear Diary,
I got kicked out of class again today. Mr.Teeter made me sit on the benches until art was over. It was Marty’s fault. He made me laugh like he always does. but he never gets in trouble!!!! But it’s ok, I still love Marty because he’s sooooo cute and soooooo funny.
Love,
Me.
Dear Diary,
I got sent to the principals office today. I brought a bandana to hit Marty back with, because he hits me with his every day! But I got in trouble because mine had too many rubberbands on it and the principal said I could hurt someone really bad with it. Marty never gets in trouble for anything, but I always do. But I still love him. He’s such a babe!!!!!!!!!
Love,
Me.
The entire year went by and Marty didn’t try to hold my hand or french kiss me behind any buildings, which was okay because I had no idea how to french kiss. (And sadly, when I had my first kiss as a SOPHOMORE IN HIGH SCHOOL, I still was clueless.) I was secretly devastated that he never liked me back, but you know, I was 12 and there were games of foursquare to be played, so life went on.
I’ve always wondered what happened to Marty, in that “where are they now” kind of way. Did he get married? Have kids? Did he still live in California? Was he a comedian? An artist? I may have even googled his name a time of 6, but nothing ever came up.
A couple of weeks ago, for reasons I can’t remember, I logged onto my classmates account. I hadn’t logged in to that account in over a year, maybe even 2. I looked over the names of people who had signed my guestbook. I saw a man who I did not recognize. His name was Marty, but a different last name then Marty from 6th grade. Curious, I clicked on his name and HOLY SHIT! It was that Marty. The babe of a boy that I had loved for an entire year was right there before my eyes, except, he was a man now. And it was a little strange, but mostly incredibly awesome. I couldn’t resist, so I sent him an email. I figured he probably didn’t remember me, but what the hell, I wanted to say hello.
He did remember me. We did a little bit of catching up. In one of the emails, he mentioned that we went to junior high together. I thought he was wrong because surely, I would remember attending the same junior high as he did! But, junior high was the worst 2 years of my entire teenage life and apparently, I have blocked most of those two years from my memory to protect my delicate little heart from the pain. I searched for my “85” year book and found it. A couple of pages in, I found this:
There was Marty, with my Totally Rad Signature Exclamation Point. (Bonus: me standing in the back of the rally with my blue trapper keeper!)
And it all came flooding back to me. We did attend the same junior high school and my crush continued for most of 7th grade, but apparently, he couldn’t read my mind, or my body language, which I’m sure was to run away every time I saw him because YOU CAN GET PREGNANT FROM JUST STANDING CLOSE TO BOYS! I guess Marty only liked girls who “were allowed to wear clothes that were in fashion.” or “allowed to shave their hairy legs.” or girls who “didn’t have to sit in the car in front of the school before school started and pray with their dads while their dads made them lift their hands and worship The Lord because YOU SHOULDN’T BE ASHAMED TO WORSHIP THE LORD IN FRONT OF YOUR FRIENDS.”
Anyway.
We emailed back and forth a couple of times and did a little catching up. It was exciting and fun– it always is when you reconnect with someone who you adored in your past. It’s nice to know after all of these years that he’s had a good life and that he’s just as artistic, funny, smart as I remember him being 25 years ago
P.S.[Little Voice]He’s still a total babe[/Little Voice]
Because I Never Want to Forget This
The day after my Grandpa died, my Grandma gave each of my boys something that belonged to their Opa. She gave The Teenager his pocket knife. She gave The Middle Child his favorite silver watch.
This morning when I woke Ethan up for school, I pulled his covers back just a bit. When I did, I saw the shiny, silver watch laying next to him.
“Why is Opa’s watch in your bed, Sweetie?” I asked.
“Because I miss him and I want to feel close to him.” He said.
Remembering
Yesterday was the first good day that I’ve had since Grandpa died. The anger had somewhat subsided and even though I felt sad, I didn’t cry at all.
Everything changed when I tried to go to sleep. When I closed my eyes, I could see my Grandfather laying in his bed, blue from lack of oxygen, swollen beyond recognition, tongue hanging out of his mouth, double it’s normal size. I could see him flailing around in the hospital bed, eyes swollen shut, unable to talk. I could see his wrists strapped to the bed and the blood around the IV.
I try to think back to when he was happy, full of life and full of funny stories that would make anyone who heard them laugh. I try so hard to go to that place, but I always come back to the horrific images of him in his final hours.
Is this something that time will heal? Because I don’t want to remember that day, or the way that he died. I want to remember his sense of humor, the way that he loved his family and the honorable life he lived.
I’ve been scanning pictures of him all day– I want to make a slide show for the memorial service. As hard as it is, it is helping to remember the good times. I just hope that when I close my eyes to sleep tonight, I can see the images here before me now, and not the ones that tormented me last night.
Grieving
I want you to know that the kind messages left here have been a great comfort to me. The last two days have been the most emotionally exhausting days of my life. The pain I feel from the death of Grandpa is overwhelming at times. Especially when I have to comfort my children whose hearts are broken by the loss. I am also dealing with anger about his final hours. I can’t erase the picture from my mind of my Grandpa laying in his bed, unresponsive, turning BLUE and my aunt saying “He’s fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine! We don’t need to call 911. He’s just reeeeeeeaaaally sleepy from the pain medication!” (Translation: Let’s just let him die here in his bed due to lack of oxygen because I’m tired of taking care of him and hey! He wanted to die in his bed anyway!) My siblings wouldn’t stand for her Crazy, so we called 911 shortly after we arrived so that he could get the treatment he needed and die in peace and comfort.
I’m SO ANGRY about it. But mostly sad. Sad that he’s gone. Sad that it happened the way that it did. Sad that people could be so cruel. Sad that my last memory of him is so devastatingly horrific.
My Grandma has chosen to have him cremated. There will be a graveside, military funeral next Thursday. (He had a purple heart from WW2. His tank was struck by a missile, he was the last one to make it out before the tank was struck, but he was severely wounded by the shrapnel.) Having to wait a week to bury is tough, but I look forward to that day so we can lay him to rest and life can get back to normal around here.
Proof That Growing Old Together is Awesome Fun!
“Hey, babe. I saw nose hair trimmers at Rite-Aid. I think I’m going to go back and buy one.” –PigHunter, shouting at me from the bathroom while shaving.