Though she would spend two months in the Intensive Care Unit at River Oaks Hospital in Flowood, Anna would be fine. Her mother, Robin, would not. She died the day after the surgery at the age of 33 without ever laying eyes or hands on her daughter.

But Christmas is a time for good deeds, even miracles.

Quilt label by Amanda: You will always have the love of two mothers.

Quilt label by Amanda. Photo by Barbara Gannett.

Today, Anna and her 5-year-old brother, Jimmy, of Madison can literally feel their mother wrapped around them, thanks to an idea conceived by their stepmom, Amanda.

Last week, each was given a memory quilt made of Robin’s dresses and maternity clothes. The quilts also include pictures of Robin at various stages in her life - from 6 weeks to adulthood.

“It started when Anna came to (husband) Mark and me crying one day back in May,” Amanda says. “She said, ‘I miss my Mama Robin. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to touch her.’ That’s a lot for a 4-year-old to cope with.

“I was talking to a friend on the phone in Memphis about it the next day, and she and I started talking about what I could do to fill this void. That’s when we started talking about the memory quilts.”

Over the next two months, Amanda duck-taped together a rough design of the quilts. Diann Loper, a professional quilter in Purvis, followed Amanda’s basic suggestions but added her own touch. Kathy Bizzarri of Jackson embroidered the words “my arms around you” at the top, and the children’s names at the bottom.

They were made just right for kids their age - 60 inches by 50 inches. Anna and Jimmy can completely wrap themselves in them.

“Maybe it won’t have a major impact on them right now,” Amanda says, “but when they’re teenagers trying to find their way, it’ll be more of a comfort to them. And this is something they can pass down for generations. Mama Robin will never be forgotten.”

Mark Hutchison had his life planned out to the tiniest detail. He laughs about that now.

“You plan, you plan ... life throws things at you that you don’t see coming,” he says, shaking his head.

He and Robin met in 1993 and dated for three years before marrying. An attorney who has handled numerous divorce cases, “The last thing I wanted was to ever go through a divorce ... I wanted to make sure I was marrying someone forever. Robin was that person.”

They waited six years to have children “because I wanted to make sure we could afford them,” he says.

Jimmy was born in February 2002. Robin had no problems during the pregnancy or delivery.

“But later that year, Robin started having headaches,” Mark says. “And when I say headaches, I mean severe headaches.”

As a teenager, Robin underwent surgery to remove a benign brain tumor. “The only way you’d ever know it was a tiny scar at the base of her skull,” Mark says. “She seemed fine.”

But the headaches got worse. Six months pregnant with Anna, Robin went in for a CT scan. Something that looked like a tumor showed up, and Robin was scheduled to see a specialist the next day.

“That night, she had a seizure,” Mark recalls. An ambulance rushed her to River Oaks. Tests revealed four brain tumors. Surgery was scheduled to remove the largest one.

“But they told me that even if the surgery went well, she could be paralyzed ... they basically told me that she wouldn’t be the same person I brought to the hospital,” Mark says.

But there was even more for Mark to ponder: Doctors diagnosed Robin with VHL, a genetically transmitted disorder that involves abnormal growth of blood vessels. Which meant that Jimmy and the baby Robin was carrying faced a 50 percent chance of also having VHL.

Only once in the hospital did Robin wake up. She told Mark she had decided on a name for the baby: Anna Catherine.

Less than 48 hours later, Robin was gone.
Almost immediately, Mark began attending a Parents Without Partners Sunday school class at Colonial Heights Baptist Church in Jackson. He was lonely, he needed somebody to talk with. He shared his story that first Sunday.

Amanda, who had gone through a divorce and survived the 2001 tornado that ripped through the Fairfield subdivision in Madison, was a member of the class. Every week, a half dozen members would meet for lunch.

Amanda and Mark struck up a friendship.

“I felt sorry for him,” Amanda says. “He looked a little lost.”

Their friendship grew, but Amanda finally told Mark that she and her son, Colton Comans, now 14, were moving to Fayetteville, Arkansas, where she wanted to pursue new job opportunities and be near her sister. Amanda had already purchased a house there.

“He told me, ‘Go ahead and move, but you’ll be back,’ “ Amanda says, smiling. “And he was right.”

They married Dec. 22, 2003, a little more than eight months after Robin’s death.

“People thought we were crazy,” Amanda says. “And, at first, I wanted to make sure Mark had some time ... but it just felt right.”

“I think about this a lot,” Mark says. “Amanda married me, realizing she might have to take care of two children with VHL for the rest of her life. But she never made it an issue. I feel like I’m so lucky to have met two wonderful women in one lifetime.”

Thirty-nine days after Mark and Amanda said their vows, a letter arrived. Test results were in.

Neither Jimmy nor Anna had VHL.

Just a couple of weeks into their marriage, Amanda had the house to herself one day - the same house Mark and Robin moved into in 2002, off Bozeman Road in Madison, where they still reside.

Mark was at lunch. Colton was at school. Anna and Jimmy were napping. Amanda stood in the den, staring out toward the lake, when she noticed something in the backyard.

While all else was still, the baby swing moved back and forth, back and forth ... and then stopped.

It did it over and over.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, and I honestly felt like Robin was out there,” Amanda says.

Amanda didn’t share the story with Mark for a few days.

“But when I told him, he said that’s the last thing Robin did before she went to the hospital - she pushed Jimmy in that swing,” she says.

Mark also told Amanda that beneath that swing, shortly after Robin’s death, is where he had found a diamond locket Robin had lost.

“It all sort of made sense to me then,” Amanda says. “I just remember staring at the swing, knowing it was Robin. And I remember saying out loud, ‘Go have fun. I’ll take care of things here.’ “

Two little children wrapped in their mother’s clothing would attest to that.

To comment on this story, call Billy Watkins at (601) 961-7282, or write to Amanda at us-ms@vhl.org

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