Tear. You can have it both ways with this one – ‘tear’, as in the things which drown my eyes and shine tracks down my face in the lamplight; or ‘tear’, as in the portion of my heart which ripped and ripped again with each loss and each reminder. A year ago today I shared…
I’m gonna do it, for the distraction if nothing else. The week has still been a week, and good things happened in spite of the really awful. So there’s that. I mostly just still feel…numbish. But there have been times when I’ve laughed, and some were even caught on camera. Another rollercoaster week here inside…
Dear Life, You win. You’ve been winning for years, but I thought I was a fighter. I thought I had Right on my side. Or Love. Or *something*. And it’s not that there wasn’t love, not by any means – it was there. Lots of it. But you cheated. You fucking cheated.
I wasn’t ready to write this, all of a sudden, because my brain had a short-but-violent meltdown of the ‘disordered thoughts’ type, and I couldn’t see beyond the rim of my own navel, for an embarrassingly long couple of hours. Friday evening was spent in a mire of misery and self-loathing and the only thankful…
This hearkens back to the spirit of one of the reasons I decided to write so frankly and openly here – to document the dual horrors of miscarriage and infertility and the ways they impact, in the faint hopes that someone, somewhere, will read it and feel less alone; less the way I did while…
It’s been a while… …to the point where I discovered that Facebook ‘yells’ at you if you’ve not published anything for longer than it deems appropriate – “Your paltry number of Facebook Followers haven’t heard from you in EIGHT days! Write them something! Have you disappeared? Buck your ideas up!” I stopped writing so that…
By the time my Grandma died, she no longer knew me. She barely remembered her children (her biggest smiles reserved for her youngest – my uncle) or her doting husband, who sat by her side, silent in his grief at watching the shell of his wife slip away. Her soul had gone ahead, as is…
I don’t want to write this, not really – and I know I don’t owe it to you – but I feel like I owe it to myself, in a way, because I’ve committed (as part of my justification for having a blog) to documenting the ups and downs of infertility/child loss, as a kind…
I thought this would happen when it was Mother’s Day in England. I thought the influx of cards and reminders and Things In Shops and focus, would be the things which did me in. Turns out it’s Americans. Because yours is (inconveniently, and just WHYYYY?!) a month later than ours. Which is fine, as long…
The thing I remember most starkly about the days and weeks after I first miscarried was how immensely alone I felt. I knew (logically) that other women had gone through this – had walked this awful path before, yet somehow I didn’t feel able to reach out to anyone in person. Perhaps because I was…
