Transfusion in quarantine

The transfusion Mia and Yaoyao had three weeks ago was in the midst of a snowstorm. As if that was't enough fun for the month, today's transfusion is in quarantine. Due to three of us having Influenza A. Fever, chills, aches, cough, headache, sore throat, exhaustion, and diarrhea all part of Influenza A. Yaoyao, Lianna, and myself all positive. So far, Kate and Mia remained unscathed. Thank you God. We walked into Children's Hospital Boston and were handed masks. Whisked into a treatment room. Droplet precaution sign posted on door, and door closed. Everyone who enters the room has to wear glove, gown, and mask. Our hematologist came down to assess the situation. He decided transfusions can go as planned. Phew. I would have cried if I had dragged us all in here only to have to drive home again. This is the longest I have been able to remain in a position other than horizontal for the past 48 hours. That alone warrants transfusions happening.

With all of this happening, my little one immediately began freaking out, refused to put on a mask. Panicked with seeing us in masks. Panicked at seeing everyone else in masks. Crying softly, and clamoring to me to hold her tight. It makes me think of all of the times she was in China, needing transfusion. Was she scared during transfusions without a mama to hold her? While in the hospitals in China, did she need to wear a mask or did everyone else wear masks? Seeing this today, did this remind her of something? A memory without a clear thought since she was a baby, but a visceral memory none the less? I will never know the answers. It makes me think of the enormity of what my girls have experienced before they came to me. Things they experienced all alone. As orphans. It makes me grateful that now I can protect them as best I can from future trauma.

Blood is now started, and we are in isolation. Mercies have started. Actually, they have been here all along, from the beginning of this latest trial. A friend made grocery store runs for children's motrin and jello. She did this in the middle of Saturday's snow with poor driving conditions. Food and groceries were delivered by a friend from church on a Sunday, before even knowing that I would be unable to move from my bed, never mind cook. My dad made a soup and my mom has been doing pick up duty with the healthy girls. Friends have been keeping us in prayer. Coworkers and friends have been sending texts and offering runs to stop by or run to the stores. Facebook friends have sent constant words of encouragement. A dear friend offered to come relieve me of staying with the girls during the transfusion, so I could go home and rest. An offer I would have taken her up on, if Yaoyao wasn't only 7 months home, and still too fragile in her trust and security. The nurses just brought us dinner, and gave the girls some toys to play with and keep. There are beds we can take a rest on in our isolation room. Just when I think that solo parenting is toughest during times of illness, I am reminded of the village we really do have. The village that sometimes I forget about under the weight of being ill, or when life just seems overwhelming. The village which surrounds me and empowers me to make the right decisions for my girls. The village which makes these life challenges just a tad bit easier.

Grasping for mercies

Twelve hours ago I entered a room in Mia's school. Waiting in this room was the advocate, elementary head of special education, speech and language pathologist, classroom teacher, and ESL teacher. I felt calm and ready to hand things over to God. The meeting began. They asked for a medical update. I explained that Mia's hematologist is an expert in beta thalassemia major. She is receiving exceptional care with him. I explained that he was concerned about her growth failure, and sent us to the endocrinologist. The endocrinologist felt Mia had a underlying syndrome. She saw genetics and genetics agreed that she likely had a syndrome. Russell Silver Syndrome. A pin drop could be heard in the room at that moment. I was not looking up to see individual faces, but saw writing by everyone. My advocate explained that this syndrome carries many of the symptoms we have been seeing with her, from the very slow eating, slow processing, learning difficulties. We reviewed the texting Mia had last June, which showed serious deficits in comprehension, memory, reading, and math. I explained she has difficulties with homework. I explained that she has difficulty understanding words and their meaning. For example, last week's homework required writing sentences from words studied in the week. One of these words was "hung". She understood she needed to write a sentence. The sentence she wrote, was "the boy hung his grandma" (not spelled correctly, but that wasn't the intention for this assignment). I did not gasp when I read the sentence (although wanted to) but asked what it meant. She said "you know, the boy, you know, made his arms like this" (making a hugging gesture). I was calm and collected. I told them I needed help for her. She already has so much up against her with thalassemia.

The speech therapist was the first to respond. She said she did some research into children's language acquisition when adopted internationally. Within 12 months, most children show catch up in the new language, with respect to comprehension. Expressive development typically follows receptive development. For Mia, it seems backwards. Her comprehension has always seemed further behind. She cautioned me that what she was sharing was for children adopted under age 2, not at age 5 like Mia. I reminded her that Hannah was adopted at almost 3, and within 3 months showed above age comprehension. I also reminded her that Mia was developmentally at a 3 year old level when adopted. The speech therapist said she would do some type of "trial" of speech therapy. This means that she would offer 2x30 minutes, for 6-8 weeks. After that time, we will reconvene. Maybe she is thinking that a little boost is what she needs. Maybe. Again, I was trying to be open minded and receptive.

When the classroom teacher gave feedback, she said, as she did at parent/teacher conferences, that she sees no issues in the classroom. She sees her perfectly fine. No.Issues.At.All. My advocate spoke up, and asked about her thoughts about the homework difficulties she has. He said maybe it's a memory issue then. I brought up that she is unable to state her phone number or address, despite working on this for the 2 years she was in kindergarten. The special education program head asked the teacher if she believed Mia has a disability. She emphatically said NO. My heart dropped. How can this be? What was I saying and why is she not hearing? Does she see the homework I send back to her with all of the notes on it documenting the struggle? The advocate asked if she needed to review information with Mia. She replied that she needed to review information with most of the first graders. My advocate spoke up and said that Mia is beginning to become aware of the differences between herself and other first graders. It is impacting her self esteem. The teacher countered, saying she sees nothing but confidence and participation in the classroom. Every single item we brought was minimized or dismissed. Again.

Mia's ESL teacher did show some visible signs of genuine concern. She was unaware Mia was still able to retell basic information like her address and phone number. I told her that every week the reading log asks the question, "the book I like best is_______ because_______". I explained that every single week the because is answered by "I like it". It is rote. There is no explanation about why she likes something. The speech therapist said to give her a choice to see if she can expand why she likes it. I will try that. But I cannot understand why at half way through the school year the classroom teacher feels this is typical. Clearly the other kids are expanding. Hannah can even answer "It funny" at age 3. The ESL teacher responded by saying she will try to add a third time a week with Mia. She wants me to document what I am seeing with her, and keep a log of these things. A very big mercy.

When it was clear that the teacher was unwilling to support any concerns whatsoever for Mia, my advocate spoke up. The testing completed by the school all suggests that her very poor skills are due to ESL. I believe the poor skills are what impacts what I see living with her. Doing homework with her. Parenting her. My advocate said we disagree with that finding that the scores were due to ESL, and request and independent evaluation to be paid for by the school. The school had no choice to agree. They are saying they have a contract neuropsychologist, and he could likely do it quickly. My immediate thought was that he could be biased since contracted by the school system. I have the choice to find an outside person. Although I said I would accept the contracted neuropsychologist, I am considering finding a neutral person without clear ties to the school. I am praying for guidance and wisdom with this decision.

The meeting did not go as I had hoped. I had hoped that with all of the homework errors documented, and with all of the medical issues, they would at least begin development of an IEP. Or even offer her a 504. None of this happened. The advocate told me that this year for Mia is lost. She will not likely get any specialized services. I need to prepare for this. And so, I am grasping for mercies. I know they are there. I have thought about it most of the day, as people texted, called, or emailed to let me know there were thinking of us, praying for us, hoping for the best. Mercy right there. The fact that my advocate quickly asked for an independent neuropsychological evaluation and it was agreed to is another mercy. I guess the school didn't have a choice since there were not going to back down from the "only 2 years of english" issue, but it is still a mercy. The fact that I remained calm, collected, and articulate through the meeting is another mercy. This is my child we are talking about. What she has endured in her short life is unreal. What they are doing to her is a huge injustice. Many kids have an IEP/504 based on beta thalassemia major alone. Mia doesn't. Yet I remained calm, and spoke my piece. I did not react in anger. Big mercy. The ESL teacher is really a remarkable person. I do trust her, and told her this. She is asking to work with me, on the concerns I recognize, and keep in communication with her. Mercy. Mercy. Mercy.

This journey is hard right now. My hopes in the process being salvaged are gone. There was no recognition that Mia has such a long, hard road in front of her. But I see glimpses of His light. I am making myself look at it. Grasping for it. Clinging to it. I know that He is there. He is leading. He will provide.

12 hours...

In 12 hours I will be meeting with the elementary special education supervisor, Mia's classroom teacher, Mia's ESL teacher, and the school speech and language pathologist about their findings that Mia is ineligible for special education services. If it looks like I am counting the minutes, I am. If I said I was completely at peace with this meeting, I would be lying. All of my past experiences in trying to obtain special education services for Mia have been met with such opposition and dismissiveness that all of my faith in the system has been lost. I have no trust in those in charge of educating my child. This is a sad fact. However, the fear that I woke up with this morning is no longer there. It has been replaced by the sense that God is in charge of Mia. He always has been. He protected her while she was living in an orphanage, with anemia so severe that people have been known to slip into a coma and die from it. He guided my family to her, after she waited for 2 years for a family on the waiting child list. He gave grace as we struggled through the first months together. She is His. She always has been. Her needs are known to Him, and He WILL provide for her again.

I will not be walking into this meeting alone. I have hired an advocate who will accompany me. He knows the laws. He knows the rules. He knows what my rights are. He knows the system. He understands the testing which has already been completed. He has said he is literally appalled at how my child has had her needs dismissed. I feel confident that he knows what he is doing. But even greater than that, Mia has a bigger advocate going into this meeting. One who commands us to care for orphans and widows. One who asks us to love one another. One who asks us to offer forgiveness. To offer grace. Even to those who have been obstacles to my child's educational and emotional well being.

And so tomorrow, I will *try* to extend some grace to those who have wronged her. Mia is complicated. She is a child who came here a age 5 with beta thalassemia major. Perhaps because she is not a behavior problem, tries her best to please, and is truly one of the kindest children I know, the educators had hoped she would be ok. Perhaps they really did believe that all of her issues were due to "only 2 years of english". However, the circumstances changed last month with the realization that there is likely a second diagnosis of a syndrome which explains some of what is complicated about Mia. I am hoping that the educators will be able to see this. I am hoping that they will be willing to work together to help her achieve to the best of her ability. I am hoping that I remember that I have the choice to reflect Christ while in this meeting. I choose to surrender to the one who holds Mia in His hands, and trust that He knows what is best for her. I choose to believe that He will provide for her, just as He has always done.

Moving forward for 2014

A recent conversation with a dear friend reminded me that everyone in life has adversity. It is everywhere. Yet how we respond is the important part. How we *choose* to respond. Do we look for the mercies? Do we cherish the goodness amid the hardship? Or do we focus on the enormity? Do we become stuck in negativity? For the past several weeks I have felt overshadowed by the current trials. I lost my focus. There are still moments in the day where my focus is lost, but I understand what my friend was telling me. God never looks at me and thinks "her needs are too much". He looks past the needs, and says I am worth it. Always. That thought stopped me cold in my tracks.

Yesterday was transfusion day for Mia (and subsequently for Hannah, although for Hannah it isn't "life or death" as it is for Mia). It was also the day of the first blizzard of the season. By Wednesday, I was worrying about how I would get into Boston for our 3:00pm transfusion time if the weather was poor. I started worrying about how we would all get home. I worried about the two older girls having school, and possibly being released early. Worry instead of trust. Ah, yes, I still have a way to go. By 7:30pm Wednesday night we got the call that school would be canceled for both Thursday and Friday. Mercy #1. We would all go to Boston for the transfusion. Another dear friend living in Boston offered a place to crash if we became stuck in Boston due to poor driving conditions. Mercy #2. On Thursday morning, I called the hospital to see if we could come in early. The forecast was snow for the next 36 hours. The sooner we could get in and get back, the better. No cancellations yet. However, I decided to get the kids ready, pack clothes "just in case" we could not drive home, and head into Boston in case of cancellation. As we were driving, I got a call saying they would start the transfusion early. Mercy #3. We got safely into Boston, and each girl was easily accessed for IV to begin transfusion. By two of our favorite nurses, Marisa and Diana. Mercy #4. Our child life specialist Jill, heard one of the girls say she was hungry...and out came the lunch menu. For all 5 of us. Mercy #5. An hour later, Mia's hemoglobin was remarkably 9.3 despite being at day 24 since last transfusion. We would be out of the hospital at 4 hours, rather than 5 hours. Mercy #6. I could keep going and going. Minimal sibling squacking. Mercy #7. On the road home by 4:00pm. Mercy #8. Friends and family calling or texting to see if we made it home safely. Mercy #9. No transfusion reactions. Mercy #10. Children who slept the entire 2+ hour drive home, giving me a break to think, pray, and listen to music uninterrupted. Mercy #11. Ect. Mercies everywhere.

As my precious friend reminded me, my children are watching me. They are learning how they could respond, someday, when they face a trial which seems overpowering or too big. I choose to focus on the mercies. I choose to focus on what I can do, and let go of what I cannot. I choose to trust that Mia's needs will be provided for; that our needs will be provided for too. I choose a new beginning for 2014.

Genetics 101

The testing for Turner Syndrome came back negative. Our endocrinologist emailed right away with the results, and said we should immediately head for genetics. Forty eight hours later we were sitting at our Children's Hospital satellite site awaiting the genetics appointment with the physician who is clinical director of the center. For anyone who has had their child assessed by a geneticist, this will be nothing new. We, however, had never seen a geneticist. I had no idea what to expect. I figured that she would take a look at Mia, like endocrine had, and then order some bloodwork. Wrong. Our first hour was spent with a genetic counselor, who meticulously went over every single detail that I could possibly provide about Mia's time in the orphanage, time at home, time at school. She carefully reviewed and made copies of Mia's school evaluations, where it says that her learning issues are all due to ONLY having 2 years of english, and that Mia needs no supports in school. She knew we were seen by endocrinology the week before. She knew the Turner Syndrome was negative. She said the words "Russell Silver Syndrome". My head started to spin. Despite knowing that the endocrinologist had said "syndrome" I really thought that somehow I must be dreaming. Surely he was mistaken. It now seems that it is not "if" she has a syndrome, it is "what" syndrome. It was explained that we were heading into the realm of "rarer" syndromes. Turner was the first suggested, because it is the most common. One out of every 2000 births. What we are looking at now, are much rarer.

After the first hour with the genetic counselor, the MD/geneticist came in for another hour. This is the part where the patient is looked at as if under a microscope. Meticulously. Every.Single.Inch. "Clinodactyly" both hands. Several "Cafe au lait" spots. "Single palmar crease", left hand. "Micrognathia". "Frontal bossing". Words like "Microarray, Methylation, Epimutations" and I was lost. Testing will be done, with results to come back in 6-8 weeks if we are lucky. Another family waited over 3 months for their results. I explained we have a meeting with the special education administrator in January about their decision to provide no support services for Mia, and was hoping to tell them something about what is currently under investigation. I was told that there *could* be some potential initial abnormalities identified by that meeting, so call before the meeting. I was then asked if I was providing her with private therapies, since the school isn't providing anything. Guilt overtook me. No. I have not been getting private services for her. I thought to myself I will need to figure a way to fit it into our week. I cannot live in denial any longer.

I am trying not to overthink Russell Silver Syndrome (RSS), especially after the Turner Syndrome was negative. However, there are some very interesting features of RSS which seem to fit perfectly, all of which Mia has. The hallmarks are cafe au lait spots, clinodactyly, micrognathia, a triangular shaped head (broad forehead moving to a small chin), a wide mouth which has corners that turn downward, and asymmetry. Of course the kids with RSS have growth failure. Check. Have that too. Kids with RSS have never been on the growth chart for height and weight. Check. She has never even been at the 1st%. The other huge issue (over 60%) is SLOW EATING. Check. Have that too. To think there could actually be an explanation other than behavioral. Anyone who knows Mia, knows how painfully slow she eats. As in, up to 3 hours at school to eat a small bag of pretzels....not a bag purchased in the store, but literally a "snack" bag filled about 1/2 way with pretzels. Pretzels that she requested because she likes them. Mealtime is draining. She is always the last to finish. Kids with RSS have poor appetite. Again, check. Mia has never once initiated asking for a snack. Ever. Now, if she sees her sisters eat something, and she *really* likes it, she will ask for it. But never, has she ever, just asked for something because she thought of being hungry. Kids with RSS often have motor and language delays. Check. Mia did not walk until well over 2.5 years of age. Her speech still is not clear at times. Kids with RSS are said to have processing difficulties and math difficulties when in school. Check plus. Despite Mia's teacher reporting that she is doing perfect in the classroom, homework and life shows definite difficulties understanding things and completing math homework. Kids with RSS have horrible teeth, related to poor enamel and tiny baby teeth. Permanent teeth are misaligned and erupt in a different order. Check. Mia came home with cavities in every single tooth in her mouth. Her teeth were so small. Now that her permanent teeth are coming in, they are coming in front of others. She lost all 4 bottom teeth prior to losing one top tooth. Definitely following a different order.

The journey to diagnosis continues. Our hematologist was relieved that Mia's growth failure is not a direct endocrine issue, as it could have been a consequence of her iron overload which happens as a result of each transfusion. Meaning, her iron overload has not damaged any of her endocrine organs. This is a relief. However, he also said that when the Turner karyotype came back negative, he thought RSS. I am grateful for his honesty, and for keeping me in the loop of what he is thinking. If Russell Silver Syndrome is positive, she will be the only child worldwide with the dual diagnosis. And if it's not RSS, it is likely some other rare syndrome. The enormity of that weighs heavily sometime. But I know that I have been prepared and equipped for this journey, and trust that through Him, I will be able to advocate and provide for her to meet her best potential.

It's not a feeling, it's reality

I have been told that I should begin writing. Writing about the reality of my life. It will be therapeutic, I was told. And it might allow others to be His hands and feet. So here I am. Tired. Weary. And not used to feeling this way. I said "I feel overwhelmed. This is too much". I was told, "It's not a feeling, it IS too much..."

I am single with 4 beloved children. I work full time as a pediatric occupational therapist, in one of my state's early intervention programs. I recently became a supervisor, which I love. Two of my daughters have beta thalassemia. They both receive transfusions every 21 days. The transfusions take 4-5 hours at our incredible children's hospital which is an hour drive away, one way. I've been ok with that. I knew I could do the medical piece. I never had any doubt that I could handle that part. Needles, blood, tears, hives, fevers, chelators, nurses, doctors all come with the thalassemia territory. It's been our life for the past 2 years.

And now this. For the past 18 months I have been concerned. My 7 year old has hardly grown. At all. So, about 18 months ago, I started saying to the NP who works the thalassemia program "I am worried. She doesn't seem to be growing". Rather than being met with a "hmmm" or "I will share with Dr N" I was met with a "she's fine". "She's Asian". "They are small". BUT, I said, "I have two other Asian daughters, and they all grew". In the NP mind, it didn't matter. "She's fine" she said. She never reported my concerns to the hematologist. Instead, she insisted she was right, and I was incompetent. An alarmist. A thorn in her side. At my daughter's 6 year old physical, our pediatrician said "I'm concerned, she's barely gained 3 cm of height, and 2 lbs of growth. Let's refer to the growth and nutrition clinic". Off we go, only to have the growth clinic tell me that they will call hematology. When they called me back (I'm guessing they spoke to the NP), they said, "we will offer a nutritionist". Now, I work in early intervention. I work with a nutritionist. I know the growth strategies of adding butter, heavy cream, pediasure. We never went to their nutritionist.

Last August, my 2 year old Hannah had her first clinic visit with our hematologist and the NP. They said the reason to transfuse my 2 year old was to ensure proper growth. I laughed a bit. I said "it certainly hasn't helped 7 year old Mia for the past 21 months". The hematologist asked the NP to pull up her growth chart. He took one look at it, and said "she needs endocrine". There it was. Finally, I was heard. This was NOT in my head. I was not an alarmist. My girl was NOT growing, and needed endocrine. Our hematologist has since apologized for the not looking very good to either my pediatrician or I. We no longer need to work regularly with the NP. She has never apologized.

While all of this was happening, life went on. Mia started school. She came from China with global delays. I knew this. I asked for testing as soon as she got home, to be completed in her native language. It was never done. Eventually, they tested in english and she was given an IEP. She needed to repeat kindergarten in a full day program. After the second year of kindergarten, I was told she no longer needed any services. She was doing terrific. All this, despite testing which showed serious deficits in comprehension, memory, vocabulary. I was told, these results were because she "only had 2 years of english". I bought it.

Starting first grade with Mia has been an eye opener. She nows has homework. I have watched her struggle. She doesn't understand things. She took the bus home, somethings she has done for 2 years, and didn't recognize our bus stop. She didn't get off. Two other bus incidents happened, resulting in missed buses. The school said she is doing terrific. No worries. Um, ok.

Last week we went to the endocrine appointment. I liked him immediately. He asked me what my concerns were. He spent alot of time methodically listening and reviewing things. He told me that prior to our appointment, our hematologist spoke at length to him. I liked hearing that there is coordination between them, two great minds working together. The endocrinologist explained his thought process. He said that diagnosing someone as "genetically small" is the last resort, when everything else had been ruled out. Thoughts drifted back to the NP "she's just small". He did not think we were looking at that for Mia. He said the next thing to consider, is a thyroid issue. Mia had testing of her thyroid, and all looked fine. He said another thing to consider is growth hormone. He will look at that, but thought it would be fine. He said finally, another factor which could contribute to the growth failure we were seeing is a syndrome. A syndrome. I thought ok. He then pulled up the Turner Syndrome growth chart. Mia follows it perfectly, at the 50% for girls with Turner Syndrome. She has a broad forehead. Her pinkies curve in on both hands. She has a broad chest. Her elbows are distinct. He said, we needed to test for it. He said, try not to panic. He said, it would explain the learning issues. The bus issues. He mentioned another syndrome to test for, *if* Turner came back negative. He advised me to schedule an appointment with a geneticist.

So here we are, awaiting diagnosis. Awaiting to hear if she will have a high risk of aortic dissection, kidney issues, hearing loss, vision issues, and need growth hormones. I know she needs those special education services in place again. That's a no-brainer, even without this potential diagnosis. I feel overwhelmed. I feel fragile. I feel needy. I was told "you ARE overwhelmed, fragile, and needy. This is NOT a feeling, again, this is the reality of the situation. You are single with 4. You work full time. You are in over your head". I was told this is too big to manufacture my own provision. It is not humanly possible. That things are far beyond my resources, spiritually, financially, emotionally, relationally. That fear, doubt, and insecurity will be part of the journey. And that this is part of a faith journey. My faith journey.

I want to feel back to my self again. I know we will be ok, and that this will just be our life. But I want to feel normal again. I don't want to worry. I don't want to feel overwhelmed. I don't want to feel fragile. I don't want to feel grief. I was told that it will take at least 6-9 months to come to acceptance, and I cannot expect it before then. Um, I wanted to feel back to normal yesterday. I was told I need to give myself time. Time to begin this new normal.

I was told that when Mary said yes to God, she had no clue what she was committing to. I was told that when I said yes to adopting, I also had no clue to what I was committing to. God invites us, and we have a choice, whether to say yes or no. I chose yes. And it was right. I know that. What I am wrestling with, is that I said yes to thalassemia major, and all that it entails. It is a serious diagnosis. Mia qualifies for Make a Wish. Her condition is life threatening. I knew this when I said yes. But a syndrome on top of it? Really? There is only *ONE* other case of beta thal major and Turner syndrome world wide. One. My girl could be the second. Really?

I was reminded that when I said yes to adoption, I was invited. But, I didn't ask for it. I didn't ask for this. Mia didn't ask for this. No one does, really, when saying yes to that invitation from God. So it's where trust comes in. It's where faith comes in. It's where belief that we will be carried, somehow. That God is with us, and He will provide. I cannot deny my reality. And in accepting it, I will find God. I will find Him over and over again.

There have been mercies, signs of God's fingerprints, over the past 9 days. My best friends have listened, supported, researched, and prayed. They have brought me meals, and ran to the supermarket for me when I just couldn't do it. They have brainstormed, coming up with suggestions when I have felt paralyzed. My pastor and his wife dropped everything to come visit, to listen and pray, even though he is on sabbatical. Friends have offered kind words, sent messages. All signs of mercy. Mercy truly is a beautiful thing. If the NP had actually listened to me, and we went to endocrine a year ago, I likely would not have beautiful Hannah with me. It would have been too much to go back for one final adoption. The NP was sent to ensure that Hannah came home first. It was this insight that took my breath away. It was from a friend I have never even met, who pointed out this mercy. Little Hannah is the contrast to grief and sadness, as my pastor so eloquently said. She radiates joy.

I know that things are unfolding as they should. I know that I have been gifted, and that God is good and merciful. I know that I have been uniquely prepared to handle this journey. It doesn't change the fact that this is a hard journey though. And someday, my faith will be stronger. Because His love is stronger. And we are not alone.