Irreverent Eloquence

          Does that seem strange? You've been gone for so long. But I saw you. Or shadows of you, glimpses of who you could be. In the tint and curl of Charlotte's hair...in the twist of my little toe, tucked under just like yours. I saw your smile in the curve of Gretchen's pouty bottom lip, in the dimple in Eden's cheek when she laughed.      I saw you again in the twinkle of your Daddy's eye. It caught me by surprise to see you there, winking at me across the room. Caught my breath in my throat, made my heart skip a beat. I choked a little, a tear running down my face; for some silly reason it was a shock to my system to see you here, in my home.      You're here everyday, I carry you with me wherever I go. I don't doubt your presence when thoughts of you flit through my head. There are few times I can even bear to put you down, for moments only, when I am distracted so wholly by real life. And yet you can still make me jump...

My 3 "Big Sisters" with their Griffin Bear. I took the girls to do Gretchen's 2 year old pictures a few months ago. I pulled out matching dresses for the big girls on the off chance that they would all be well-behaved and smile nice for a 3 girls photo. I also grabbed the Griffin Bear. Who is this Griffin Bear you ask? A few years ago I acquired this perfectly soft stuffed animal when I won a newborn package, complete with gender neutral onesies, from an online contest. All the clothing has been divided up between my girls and others' babies but the bear remained in a box in storage. Each of the girls had been given a bear when they came home, each with a shirt saying, "I was born in such and such Hospital." They have never been toys to play with, never really been loved properly for all their soft pink fuzz and removable shirts. Their bears just sit on shelves or in a keepsake bin, a quiet reminder of time spent in the captivity of the NICU.      ...

In the lonely office there was a laptop  and a mom and photos of others' babies on Facebook. And there were three new birth posts And two pregnancy announcements  and an instagram of a growing son and a smiling dad.  And a due date and a belly and all the news is worth telling And a silent sad mom whose heart is now Yelling, Good night office, good night laptop.  Goodnight photos on Facebook. Goodnight birth posts and stories. Goodnight father. Goodnight son. Goodnight due dates. Goodnight cute bellies.  Goodnight news so worthy of telling.  Take a breath sad mommy, stop your heart from yelling.  Remember now to let out that air.  Say Good night to all happy mamas everywhere. 

My "Holiday Party" look (never mind the hair and lack of makeup). January 23, 2014. I can tell you the Happiest Day of My Life so far. I could mark it on a calendar for you if you'd like. Show you in black and white, circle it in red with a bold stroke. I recognized it as a superbly happy day then, felt like I was close to the summit of a mountain I had failed to claim before, failed more than once, making this time "The One". I could taste the cold, thin air of that night, stinging but refreshing as I pulled the shopping bag out of the back of my car. I was a flutter with excitement and couldn't wait to share. At more than 37weeks pregnant with Griffin, I was on top of the world. I had taken my daughters shopping the day before for a dress, succeeding in finding the perfect little black number for a date I had never hoped to make. Aksel's holiday work party is an event we look forward to every year, a time when we don't mind find...

This is a very personal post and though not gory, it discusses reproduction and loss, and of course, Blood. Please stop now if you'd prefer not to be exposed to anything of that nature.  October 2007       For the last six years of my life I have been waiting for Blood. Seems strange to phrase it that way but like clockwork, Blood flowed into my life every month until we started having children. Before our first daughter was conceived, Blood was predictable, down to the day thanks to modern hormonal medicines. And Blood was a trusty companion, never late or missing her mark. One month, though, we thought we were ready and ended the prevention, and found we were easily pregnant with Baby #1.  That pregnancy flew by and a little early and much too quickly our daughter was born, followed by my old friend Blood. The afterbirth was messy and unexpected (I'm well read but firsthand knowledge was eye opening!). It was not a scary visit, though profuse ...

I have a confession: I eat raw cookie dough. I let my kids eat it too. Terrible isn't it?  It's dangerous you know.  It harbors all kinds of scary bugs in its deliciousness. Specifically E.coli and Salmonella. I should really stop doing it. I should prevent my kids from ever doing that too right? What could happen to them if they got sick from that one bite of sweetness that floats memories straight to their brains is too much for me to handle.         I don't gate our stairs at home. I never have. All my kids and both my husband and I have fallen down the stairs. I really should do something about them. They're dangerous. Hard with their wooden treads, they are an accident just one slippery sock away from happening. I let the girls ride bikes in the cul-de-sac. Most of the time while wearing their helmets and me watching... Though sometimes they don't get the helmet on properly or right away. And sometimes I am in the house, peeking on the...

This is supposed to be an angry, vengeful post. A 'shove it up your rear you B' kinda rant. I've been saving this one for a day when my ire was raised high enough, when the fits of passion and fire raged within me and this could be my outlet.        Today isn't that day though. And it turns out, as much as I want to burn you, my old friend, this post probably won't be ablaze with hate.         Insight hit me tonight in the most unlikely place and a parallel ran in my mind to you. So I'll tell you all about it in the hope that putting my life in words and all my thoughts about our friendship's end in perspective, will help me gain some much needed peace. It started innocently enough. Yours was the last condolence card that came in the mail. Ironic it was, as I saw it at the time, a supportive card that absolutely was not. I read it just once. And then I threw up. The blame in those words made me so sick I couldn't contain it any longer...

This is a throwback Thursday post for me with an update/edit.  I want to acknowledge that after everything my family and I have been through this last year and some odd months we have appreciated every single one of you that has sat with us in our moments of difficulty and everyone that has held space with us for our grief. I read this blog post from another loss mom prior to giving birth to Henry. It is so fitting that I feel I need to share it with all of you.  What a new mom to a baby after loss wants her friends and family to know. I am continuing on a bit of an emotional roller coaster these days and I value still the one on one time I have gotten after Henry's traumatic arrival. Thank you, thank you, to those individuals that have watched our girls and made us meals, taken us out for a break, fielded an emotional text or phone call, and even those whose prayers have supported us from a distance! I have no doubt that when I return to work in a few week...

February 28, 2014        I set the scene early in the morning, primed myself for drama. Aksel was moving slowly, having dropped off our oldest at school and come back home to me. The plan was for him to head to work, to drive to Rochester and pick up the other two girls later. He was leaving me for the day, for the weekend, alone. Maybe I was armoring myself, amping up to be ready for the loneliness that was stalking me. Maybe I was running on crazy hormones...either way, I was bristling. I had the day outlined in my head, and now here he was, in my space, mucking up the script.         I got short with him as he made breakfast for both of us, huffy when he was trying to be chatty while getting dressed. I sat inwardly fuming, quiet but on guard, waiting for him to hit the road. I could tell he didn't want to leave. He stalled, doubled back for another kiss, said his goodbyes more than once. I shooed out then and listen for the door to...

       I walk into the house, without my husband and girls tonight. I step into the dark entry, weighty in its silence and it seems empty, but I am not alone. "Hello the house!" I smile, turning on the little lamp in the living room, its glow dim but already warming the space like a sunrise, illuminating the shelf where my little man waits.       Griffin's box hasn't moved, his photo remains next to his sisters, perched high enough to catch our gaze when we  wake and step downstairs every morning, when we come home from a day away, and especially when we're spending quality time with family. He is here, to be part of our lives everyday in what small physical way he can.         He doesn't wait here at home for me though in anything more than that box. In spirit, I strap him in for the ride to work in the morning, leaving him for short stretches in the backseat of my mind as I listen to songs on the radio or cat...

I'm not myself these days. Will I ever be again? I've tried to catch some "selfies" in the mirrors around my house, thinking that maybe I'll capture a glimpse of her, the old me, lurking there.  In the beginning of the "after" I could not bear to look at the reflection. Something in those haunted eyes would always startle me and there was a hollowness that sapped the soul...In the "before" I could peek into any mirror anywhere, a quick view into a looking glass for a hair touch-up, makeup application, or wedgie check was not even a thought.  These selfies make the looking easier. I can analyze the faked smile, practice and work on the sad eyes, like I would work on choosing the perfect outfit. In truth, the seeing myself itself is getting easier. Months it has taken, to simply see my own face without beginning to cry. But I am well versed now at putting the face on to go out into the world, so my tolerance for this new me is a bit ...

     I've reached my "goal" weight set years ago after my first baby. Twenty pounds lighter than pre-pregnancy weight with my 4th child, I should be so thrilled. Yet here I stand in front of the mirror, holding my breath to evaluate myself.        I see the stretch marks and surgical incisions, healed and no longer angry red as they were not more than a few weeks before. I force myself to touch the lines that grew up my belly as my son grew to full term. My daughters marked me so minimally in the years gone by. With my oldest, she set those squiggles on my sides, barely pulling me taut on top as she was carried low and born early at thirty-one weeks. With my second and third daughters also born prematurely, I added a few vertical stripes and those two fine white scalpel lines that quickly faded from my skin, but were etched into my heart and memory forever like raw razor cuts.        My son though, did the number on me. In the l...