Death, where is your sting?

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well. 

--Henry Scott Holland

On Thursday afternoon I went to a funeral of a man that was one of my charge nurses during my time at CMC.  This was my first funeral since the funeral of Gideon.  I was nervous to go it alone and even while making the hour plus drive to Sand Springs, I was contemplating turning around.  I wasn't sure how I would hold up.  But I was reminded that this funeral wasn't about me.  It was about Rick.  It was about his family.  None of us enjoy going to funerals, especially those who have endured their own personal loss of someone very close.  It stirs up memories and feelings.  That loss comes back like an old wound that has been ripped open and is now fresh with pain.  So I was going to go.  I was going to walk in and I was going to be a demonstration of a life their father had touched.  The ceremony was simple.  People stood up and spoke of memories and laughter.  Comfort was given to his two children and their children.  Words were shared among the group.  This poem was read by his ex-wife and thankfully, it was read during the first ten minutes.  It stuck with me through the entire funeral and gave me peace.

To the believer, death is a mere moment of separation.  Though these past two years without Gideon may seem like an eternity and to know that I may be blessed enough to endure 70 more without those bouncing blue eyes is painstaking, it is all but a blink of time in the grand scheme of things.  Too soon, I will be called up to Heaven to celebrate Jesus, to worship God along side our son.  This Easter weekend I am reminded of God's promise as we all should be.  Death has no power over the believer and Hell, no victory.  In the reading of the promise of Jesus' birth, in his death, burial and resurrection, my heart cannot help but be overfilled.  Overfilled with an immense love that He is my Savior, an immense sorrow that because of my sin, He had to die and not just die but die a brutal death that man cannot even fathom and an immense awe that He rose--that he conquered death and Hell could not hold Him down.  And through this, not only will I now be able to see my son again in perfect healing because I am saved but I will also get to bow down and worship the one true God.  I cry out to you, Lord.  I glorify you, Lord.  I thank you, Lord, that this is a mere interval and that my son is merely in another room for a short time.  I love you, Lord.

Good work

Dr. Coldwell and I at my wedding:-)

My phone had been on the fritz since my running episode.  Unable to use the very bottom of my touch screen, I was unable to access my keypad, voicemail or missed calls.  So when I got a new phone there were a few voicemails waiting on me.  The majority were out of state and were staffing agencies and calls regarding a trip I had won to the Bahamas but there was one from a local unknown number.  I listened and much to my surprise and excitement it was a call from a woman that I worked with at CMC.  They were planning a retirement party for one of the doctors/CMC reunion party.  I was and still am ecstatic!!

I began my journey at CMC upon returning from New Jersey when I was 22 years old.  I had just started my second semester of nursing school and had planned on being a Neonatal Nurse Practitioner so I knew that I wanted to work with children and I applied at all of the hospitals.  I remember my interview.  I had worked since I was 15 years old so I wasn’t new to the interview process.  But all of my other jobs had been in fast food, banks, sales and my most recent—a CNA on an adult med/surg unit so this one was different.  This was the starting of my life journey in my career field.  This was what I had been planning on going into since a senior in high school.  During the interview I told the manager about being in nursing school and wanting to be a NNP.  She explained that CMC was different—boy was it ever.   CMC was a long term rehab facility for children with special needs.  We were much like a hospital within a hospital.  (Some of you may remember the old CMC off of Skelly—I was not able to work there but from what I am told it was even better than the unit I did get to be a part of.)  We had two physicians who admitted patients.  Although I respected both, I grew a great affinity for Dr. Coldwell.  A thin, older man in his 70’s with a soft voice who walked with a slight lean forward.  At first glance, he may have appeared “too old”, “too frail”, and even to some “too quiet” to be a doctor.  At first glance, he probably didn’t come across as the man who still ran a mile a day or the man who is probably the most brilliant person I know.  But his love for these children shined through in all that he did.  His knowledge ran over.  Often times, even now, I found myself mentally taking notes as he talked over my IQ level—not purposefully but he treated us nurses and even nurse aides as equals.  I still remember seeing his pure love shine through in the simplest manner as I was walking through the hall of CMC.  We had received a visit from a previous patient whose foster mom had come back to say hello.  As I approached the elevator, my heart melted as I watched this thin man pick up this little boy who was maybe three at the time and at least thirty pounds.  He lifted him up so the child could push the button to call the elevator—a simple joy all children love.  The smile on the child’s face as well as Dr. Coldwell’s was unforgettable.  That simple act of kindness and love still fills my good CMC memory box today. 

I stayed at CMC for five years—my longest employment at any one place although I did have a very short leaving.  When I was in my final semester of nursing school, I took an externship in the neonatal intensive care unit because after all, I wanted to be a NNP.  I despised the NICU.  I didn’t enjoy the routine at all.  Vitals, diaper change, feed, chart and repeat every 3 hours.  Sure, there was more excitement at a delivery, when taking in a new patient but there was little patient/nurse interaction.  I felt like I nursed the machines—constantly watching monitors, tubes and IV lines.  I missed the interaction with my CMC patients.  They had so much personality.   I’m not saying that these babies didn’t but I didn’t get to interact with them as much as I did my CMC patients.  A lot of our CMC patients didn’t have family that visited and we were their family.  So we had fun like families do.  We would dance and sing, play games, have movie nights, go out to watch fireworks, and take trips to the water sprinkler.  The children were wild and unruly at times but they were such a joy to care for.  Every day was something new and exciting.  (Side note—we did do our CNA and nurse duties also!!  but I feel like we did a better job at taking care of the whole patient by making things fun and truly interacting with them.  Consider that we had patients who were there for years because their care was too complicated to send to a foster home or because no one had taken them home yet.)  It was at CMC that I formed some of my best friendships as well.  The majority of women that I worked with, I still talk to this very day.  I cannot say that about any other job or even so much for high school either.    

After 5 years of working there, we had gone through a lot of changes.  I had transitioned from CNA to Registered Nurse.  But the unit was changing.  There was a strong push to get our patients into homes and out of the hospital—an understandable desire but not always the best option.  Our unit was going to mandatory 12 hour shifts.  This didn’t affect me as much as it did some of the women who had worked 8 hour shifts for years and whose care for their children revolved around being off at 3:30 every day.  Our manager had left and now our unit was being run by someone who had no idea what we were even about.  And then finally, our unit was being closed for “cleaning” and we were being moved up to the general pediatric floor.  We were told that this would just be temporary but we all knew this was just another step in phasing out the CMC unit and patient intake.  I was young and unhappy.  I didn’t like the tone that the unit had taken on.  I didn’t like the politics of management and I didn’t want to be a part of that team anymore.  We had already lost 5 of the other women I called friends and I felt like it was my time to go as well. 

Since leaving, the unit has completely closed.  After the nurse manager deciding who the doctor can admit, a flurry of floating the nurses to other units and a complete disrespect for the orders the doctors wrote for, the patient load dwindled to nothing.  The hospital stated in a press release that CMC would be closing due to the lack of need but we all know that it was due to money.  Long term care for pediatric patients doesn’t pay like the NICU.    It’s painful to think that there is no longer a CMC.  We have often joked and thrown the idea around that we need to just open another CMC.  A center with physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy all in one location.  A center where tube feedings and medication schedules can be established or modified.  A holistic center that cares for the children that are truly left behind.  (We saw children from birth to 21 who had issues varying from sickle cell anemia, prader willi, shaken baby, head trauma, seizures, PKU, MVA’s, drug withdrawal newborns, near drowning, autism and more complicated genetic metabolic issues.)

I think my time at CMC was all part of God’s plan.  My desire to be a NNP got me into nursing school and on the search for a job in a hospital with children.  But through my time there, God revealed a passion for children who needed extra care throughout their lifespan.  He revealed a passion for those who had often been rescued through life saving techniques only to be left behind.  CMC changed and molded me into a nurse who cares deeply for these children with chronic health issues and even more for those children who have no family to go back to.  I will forever be thankful to God, to CMC, to my manager for hiring me, to all of the wonderful women I worked with, to the children I cared for and to my mentor, Dr. James Coldwell.  A future CMC or even just an outpatient clinic to provide primary care services may be in our plans—only God knows how He will use this experience.

“For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6

Two of my favorite CMC ladies at my wedding @naomimaliske and @Genamaute

...whatever you do, do all for the glory of GOD

We received a photo in the mail today from a man that we do not know.  We have never met this man but he heard the story of our son Gideon.  This picture that was a pencil drawing of a newborn photo that our friend and photographer, Sara Rose, had taken was drawn by a man who acted on God’s direction.  Joe McNutt drew us a picture and sent it to us without ever knowing us.  Along with the photo, came 2 articles and a brief letter from him.  The letter simply stated that he was a heart recipient and he thinks about his donor everyday and to remember that our gift is never forgotten.  The articles told his story… 

It seems Joe was a health nut.  He never smoked, never drank, ate right and ran 5 miles a day but in 1993, he had a heart attack.  In 1994, he had another one and this one placed him in the hospital for 3 months and at the top of the transplant list at Baptist Medical in OKC.  He was bed bound for his entire hospital stay.  One night his 4 year old grand-daughter was leaving from a visit with him and he asked her to climb in his lap and pray for him because God listens to children.  She began to pray for her various family members and then she prayed for her grandpa to get a new heart and for the doctors who would be putting the heart in.  She left at 1020 that night and at 1030 the nurse came in and ecstatically told him that there was a heart for him.  There was a slight problem though because the heart was small and Joe was a big man.  There was a risk of using a small heart in his big body but it was his decision since he was at the top of the list and there was another man there that could use it and who it would fit better.  He asked for time to think, at which she said okay but to hurry because they needed to start prepping someone for surgery.  He prayed and decided to give the heart to the other man.  –I want to stop right here.  Here is a man who has a 16% ejection fraction and when he stands that number drops to 9%.  He has been confined to a hospital bed for 3 months.  He has a heart standing in front of him, ready for the taking.  There is a chance that it may not be efficient but it’s a heart and obviously a viable option because they are offering it to him.  This man gives up that heart to someone else not knowing when or if his next chance will come. 

He was left in the room wondering, “What have I done?”  Then 10 minutes later, the nurse comes back and excitedly exclaims that they have another heart and this one will fit him!!—so here I see a man given a heart, he prays about it, receives an answer to give it away, follows through with that decision and then God blesses him almost instantly with a more fitting heart!  Talk about obedience. 

So this man loved art.  He started drawing when he was in the 1^st grade and moved onto oil paintings when he was in the 6^th grade.   He went on to work for the FAA in a time before computers and drew blueprints, signage, training materials and instrumentation designs.  Then in 2001, 7 years after his heart transplant, he was in a terrible car accident that left him with severe nerve damage that affected the feeling and function of his hands.  His painting came to a screeching halt.  In 2007, he decided to give pencil sketching a try because at least if he messed up, he could erase it!  In the summer of that year, he received the LifeShare newsletter and he was touched by a story that had been published about one of the donors.  He decided that he would draw the family a picture and capture their son.  On the signature, he wrote “Glory be to God” and enclosed a letter much like the one sent to us.  He has since sketched over 200 photos for LifeShare donor families.  The article states that when his right hand becomes to shaky to continue, he will hold his right wrist with his left hand so that he can finish.  Can you imagine?  I can see this man’s heart from miles away.  I can picture him being obedient to God, sketching, shaking and steadying as he completes this photo for a family that he has never met.  Talk about sacrifice.  Talk about seeing how something that God has used for good.  At any point, this man could have turned from his faith.  At any time, he could have just given up but he listened to God’s calling and now he sketches these beautiful photos, these beautiful memories to people that he has never met.  He will never know the value, the meaning that this photo has for me, for my family.  Sure, I will write him and I will thank him but he will never truly know and feel what I am feeling.  He will not know my tears or hear my sobs.  He will not experience what is in my heart.  My letter to him could never bear witness to my true gratitude.  I can only say in agreement, Glory be to God.  Glory to God for being a faithful, loving God who has men like Joe who listen and follow through with His plan.  Glory to God.

A memory book

Lifeshare sent us an application to complete, if we wanted, that would place a 150 word text along with a photo in a book of all donors from 2011.  Below is our submission.  It also may be in the Sunday Oklahoman...

A Mighty Warrior of God

Gideon Grayson Hamm December 8, 2010-March 10, 2011

Long before you made your appearance but while you were in my womb, God told daddy to name you Gideon.  Translated, it means “Mighty Warrior of God.”  We knew then that you would do great things in the name of Christ.  We prepared to raise you to be like Jesus: strong, mighty, compassionate and giving.  We never knew that in three simple, short months you would fulfill all of these and more.  Through your young life, you not only got to give a heart to another three month old baby but you helped in bringing many to Christ so that their souls may be saved through Christ and His promise.  You truly changed us and many more that we have never met but who simply heard the story of Gideon. We love you.  You are mommy and daddy’s mighty warrior and we rejoice that you have comfort in God’s arms.

All things Apple...

Candy coated fruit--who wouldn't love it??  A couple of weeks ago a drug rep brought some yummy coated apples into the clinic.  He had purchased them from a shop in Tulsa and they cost anywhere from $8-$12 an apple, if he was telling me the truth.  With the designer box and fancy wrapping, I'm sure that he was.  Anywho, he had two kinds that he shared with us; a caramel-white chocolate-butterfinger and a caramel- white chocolate-oreo.  I wasn't a fan of the oreo and neither were my colleagues but we LOVED the butterfinger.  I'm pretty sure I had three BIG slices.  Well, I have been determined to make these delectable treats on my own--there is no way that I am paying that price for an apple of any sort!!  But I hadn't had the opportunity to make them.  I needed a good event and the time.  Between remodeling the bathroom and baking cookies for church, my creative time is spent.  Well, tomorrow is home group and since Lance gives me such a hard time about not making a dessert or any other new recipe more than once, I figured I would stick to that and make a new dessert;-)  I hope to make these again though because they are YUM-O!!

So, I started off with 4 green apples, washed and dried them and then stuck them with tooth picks.  I do not have skewers or popsicle  sticks and refused to buy them for this project--I am trying to conserve the money and not reach the $8 price tag!

lined with parchment paper (but you should probably use some cooking spray on the paper before you place them with the caramel on them--I learned the hard way.

Then I mixed an 11 oz bag of caramel bits with two tablespoons of water over medium heat, stirring constantly until the caramel was good and smooth.  Then remove the caramel from heat and start spooning the caramel onto your apples--trying to evenly coat.  Place coated apples in your parchment paper lined pan and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. (remember the cooking spray!)

After the caramel has set completely, you can then coat with the white chocolate.   I used 1 cup of white chocolate baking chips, mixed it with 1tbs of shortening and stirred constantly over medium heat until smooth. Then remove from heat and coat your apples again but with your white chocolate mixture.

I dipped the bottoms straight in the pan and then used the spoon to drizzle and cover the rest.

As soon as the apple is coated with the white chocolate, begin placing the ground butterfinger on it.  (I used about 6 fun size butterfinger and chopped them up in the food processor until they were fine.)  Continue those steps--coat with white chocolate, pack with Butterfinger until all of the apples are complete.  Store apples, covered and in the fridge until ready to serve,

This gets a little messy as the butterfinger starts sticking to your fingers....

Quarter, seed and serve when ready!!!
  These 4 apples cost about as much to make as one of the $8 gourmet apples costs to buy;-)  Happy saving!...and eating;-)

Don’t let Satan steal your joy…

Christmas is around the corner and with the excitement of Christmas comes concerns of our well-being over the holiday.  How will we cope?  How will we celebrate?  What will it be like?  Will we feel up to even going anywhere?  Will we want to be with the rest of our family?

I absolutely love Christmas.  I always have.  It stirs a cozy and quaint feeling within me.  Last year, for the first time, we got a real tree and decorated it in the most beautiful blue, white and silver decorations with only white lights.  Growing up I loved the over the top tree—red, green and white lights that flashed along with the music, and every decoration of every sort that we could get our hands on and that is what we always had.  Last year, we decided that we would start a new tradition.  We would have a real tree, decorated in similar items with white twinkling lights and a new ornament that would celebrate our family every year so that our children could see all of the family history throughout the years when it was time to place the tree up.   So, last year our new ornaments included a silver spoon with a blue ribbon that had Baby’s 1^st Christmas engraved on it and a “First Christmas in Our New Home” ornament. 

So this year, the day after Thanksgiving and sticking with tradition, we went and got a tree and got it put up and decorated with the help of many people—my dad, husband, niece and James.  But we got it accomplished and up on the tree rests that spoon and little house.  It was hard to decorate at first.  Last year I was 38 weeks pregnant decorating and expecting the birth of our sweet boy.  This year, I was pregnant again and missing my sweet Gideon. After pulling out the spoon, I had to take a break and pray and talk a little while with Jesus.  He gave me much peace and rest as I remembered why I love Christmas so much.

I love the joy of the season.  I love the giving of gifts and the look of appreciation from those receiving.  I love the way the air changes and everything just smells better.  I love gathering with my family and running from one place to the next to be sure that we see everyone.  I love the yummy food and all of the leftovers.  I love all of the decorated trees and all of the light displays.  Every year we go to the “Celebrate with Family” program at Church on the Move and I love their production.  But more than the great music, the lights and the comedy that they seem to make better every year, I simply love the story of Christmas--which from year to year, never changes.  I love the way Willie George tells about the birth of Christ.  I LOVE CHRIST.  This is what Christmas is about. 

Every Christmas I fall more and more in love with Jesus and am thankful for all that he did to save me.  Last year, I was thankful that He had come and that we could gather as a family with our barely 2 week old baby.  God gave me this joy.  He helps me find joy in all of these things that he created—all of the loves that I mentioned above.  Last year, it really hit that without Him, I would not have all that I have and I would not have been blessed with our baby.  I reflected on the offering that our God had to make and was thankful that I was not the one in His place.    

So this year as I sat and talked to Jesus for a while, while taking a break from my emotions running over and completely clouding my joy, He reassured me that He is still the God that I loved.  He is still the same as He was last year.  And He reminded me that Christmas is all about Him.  Everything else that we get is just a “kicker”.  Freely, I told him that I wasn’t sure how I would handle Gideon’s birthday which I was assured that He would help me through but Christmas was still Christmas.

So this year, while I will miss seeing the baby that was passed from one family member to the next on Christmas day, I will find peace once again in my Savior.  I will fall even more and more in love with Him once again.  This year, I will hold tight to His birth even more.  Without Jesus coming, without God sending His son to die, I would not have the promise that I will again be able to see my baby in Heaven.  Thank you, Jesus.  I will love you and celebrate you like I have every year in the past and I will not let Satan steal my joy.



Lance and Gideon in front of our first family tree.



http://vimeo.com/18156241

Happy, happy birthday..

December 8, 2011

"You open wide your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing. The LORD is just in all his ways, merciful in all his works. The LORD is near to all who call upon him, to all who call upon him in truth. He fulfills the desire of those who fear him; he hears their cry and saves them."

In preparing for today, we were quite unsure of what we should do.  It has been nine months since we lost our sweet boy.  Should we have a birthday party?  Bring out his special birthday plate and cup that Tonya gave us for a baby shower gift?  Light a candle atop a cupcake?  Sing happy birthday to the sky?  It seemed a bit dramatic and over the top…  Should we meet at his grave for a family gathering and remembrance?  His headstone wouldn’t be set and his name marker had already been removed so we would simply be staring at a mound of dirt covered in sparse grass with toys that had been brought atop it or staring at one another.  What would we do once we were there?  Say something about him?  Cry together?  Sing happy birthday there?  Possibly, we should have a family dinner out somewhere?  Again, I think it was too soon for that. 

So, as we grew closer and closer to today, I was undecided how the day would be celebrated and handled.  I wasn’t sure how it would unfold but I knew that it would be difficult so I went ahead and requested the day off.  My mom and a few of my friends had taken off as well for their own mourning and remembrance but also to be there for me in case I needed someone.  Lance had taken the day off as well so he could spend that time with me.  I am truly blessed with a loving and supportive husband, family and close group of friends.  I also knew that there were many people lifting us up in prayer so that would be able to encounter this day with the strength of Jesus.  I decided last night that I would spend the day with Lance doing things that we needed to do, staying busy, remembering Gideon, and thanking God for both of our sons, going to see the finished headstone that by God’s sovereignty came in yesterday and by going to visit the resting place of our infant’s flesh and bones.  Yep, I knew it would be hard.

I spent last night remembering the days before giving birth.  I remember calling Lance at 430 in the morning to let him know that I was having contractions.  They were nowhere near regular but they were there.  He had worked an 8 hour shift at the port after his 8 hour shift at work—just another way that he thanks God for provision in providing work that he is able to do.  One thing I love about my husband is that he doesn’t pray for wealth or riches to simply be handed to him or “to fall in his lap”, he prays for God to provide work.  And God is faithful.  Lance knew that we would be off work for 6 weeks.  He had vacation and comp time to cover his entire length of maternity leave but I only had a couple of weeks and an AFLAC plan that wouldn’t make up the entire amount that I would be missing out so he worked hard those months leading up to our delivery so we would have our finances in order and wouldn’t stress about money while we were enjoying our newborn and time off together.  I remember spending that day together--him rubbing my back, helping me through the contractions, talking to Gideon through my belly in his Elmo voice and telling him to “hurry up and come out sucka”.  Yes, that is my husband.  He makes me smile.  My mom came over later in the evening so that she could be there to ride with us to the hospital in case we left through the night.  All night long, my contractions would get stronger and closer then weak and spread apart--12 minutes then 7 minutes then 19 minutes.  This went on for hours.  I kept on remembering the advice of my doctor—consistently 3-5 minutes apart for 1-2 hours then it’s time to go to the hospital.  I waited and waited and waited.  Then finally I decided that it was time to rest at about 2 in the morning.  This seemed to intensify the contractions.  They started to increase in intensity but were still sporadic.  At about 3:45, I decided it was time to call the doctor because I felt like it was going to happen soon!  As I was telling all that had happened, I had to pause to go through a contraction.  He told me to go ahead and head that way since we had a little bit of a drive.  The car had to be the trigger because as soon as we got moving around and all packed up and headed to the hospital, my contractions began to increase to every 3-4 minutes and were much stronger.  When I arrived at the hospital at 4:30, I was already 100% effaced and dilated to an 8—which means, this baby is coming soon!! 

Those memories danced through my head as I sat in Gideon’s room sobbing for him once more.  The nurses were so supportive—praising me for not being induced and going on and on about how rare it is to have someone come in when they are actually in labor.  I was pleased.  We had managed to wait it out at home and now we were going to have a baby.  The anesthesiologist came quickly and gave my epidural—which only required one stick and God was kind enough to not give me any contractions during that procedure.  Gideon was still high so the nurses had me do some finagling to help get him down.  The epidural made me a little nauseous but that quickly resolved and I was given some O2 to help ease my symptoms.    At approximately 10:00 AM, my OB came in and the pushing began.  The time seemed to fly.  Before I knew it, it was 10:24 AM and there was our tiny baby boy, finally on the outside.  Doctor Cook joked that he was too small and we needed to put him back for a little whileJ  But no, I could finally hold him in my arms.  I had waited for this moment for 40 weeks, loving every moment of being pregnant but excited to hold our little bundle close in my arms. 

I wept and wept as I sat in that chair last night remembering the birth of my first child and stared at his, what felt to be, empty room.  Piles of toys and clothes stacked from one end to the other across the floor.  A mountain of hospital “get well soon” cards, hand prints, baby clothes and any other miscellaneous small items that had only made it to his vanity because I wasn’t able to bring them all of the way in.  There was plenty of “stuff” in the room but there was no baby.  I stared at his empty crib and just thought about all of the nights and afternoons that I would just watch him sleep and the mornings when he would be so happy to see me and I would rescue him and scoop him up in my arms as we started out our day.  I longed to be able to rescue him again and hold him once more.

But there is nothing to rescue him from.  He has been perfectly rescued and healed and rests in the arms of our Heavenly Father who I know loves him far more than we do.  So today, we tried to remember that love as we ventured through the day.  There was a lot of crying, a lot of laughing and a lot of memories made.  We decided that we will celebrate Gideon’s birthday with Gabe in years to come and it will be a family tradition.  We will tell him stories throughout the year but especially on December 8^th of all of the lives his sweet brother touched and we will always remember our son and we will always tell our future children about their big brother who was a mighty warrior of God.