Monday, June 29, 2009

1,000 Yard Stare

I re-read the cards that were sent to us after Ronan died. I did this a few days ago when I was in the pit.

How difficult those words must have been. Friends, far and near, sitting with their pens in their hands, looking at the blank paper, wondering what the hell to write. What do you say to a woman who has had her whole world turned upside down?

The letters came in full force from about early-mid February. We got some surprise cards, cards from our friend's parents that I barely knew, a haiku from an old co-worker back from Michigan with a picture of her son by a barren tree on a cold winter's day. She said that the picture of her son in the distance reminded her of Ronan.

We received cards from a few older women that I didn't know that well, and it dawns on me now that they probably knew exactly what we were going through, as this DBL extends many generations, from the dawn of man. I am not special. Many women have carved out their stories in hieroglyphs, and yet they managed to go on. It is that very fact that calls to me like that goddamn Drill Sergeant from Full Metal Jacket, dragging my heavy soul out of bed.


I am tired of this war.

Thursday, June 25, 2009



Michael Jackson.

And, the pit.

Yes, loyal readers, the pit doesn't get any less deep and dark because she is here. It just means that instead of sobbing in public, I lock myself up in the bathroom....

I got a 'please forgive me' e-mail from a friend I e-mailed a year ago about Ronan. He claims he stopped checking that e-mail and just came across it.

"I am so sorry. Please forgive me for not being there for you...." he wrote.

I closed my office door and sobbed. Sobbed because he was a good friend. Sobbed because, really, if he were a better friend, he would have asked me over a year ago how Ronan was growing. Sobbed, because I don't know who's who and what's what anymore. Who are my friends anymore? Who is really out there listening and hoping the best for me? I wrote him back, told him I was hurt but I understood and I wished his family well.

I wished him well.

Despite the 1.5 years of silence, I wished him well. Shouldn't I wish him harm and hurt and every creepy, crawly emotion I have experienced in the last year and a half?!?!?

But I didn't. And I won't.

Because even in the pit and with the whisperings of doubt, I can still get a glimpse of who I was before all of this happened.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Happy Father's Day

I have little words today, so these pictures will have to suffice....

Happy Father's Day, baby!

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Love Actually

If a rose were called April Rose

Would it still stink as bad as this story?

I am sharing this with my non- DBL friends as well as those who may have been out of the loop of this in-frickin-sane tall tale.

Apparently numnuts Beccah decided it would be cool to start a blog for shits and giggles about her fatally diagnosed baby (diagnosed with Trisomy 13 which is fatal, like Trisomy 18). She got all sorts of women involved in this insanity, including the Christian community who promoted her blog, held her as the poster child for Pro-Life---held prayer circles, baked cookies, etc. You get the picture. It was a hot mess.

Well, numnuts Beccah decides that her baby girl April was going to be 'born' at home (Seriously?!?!?) and blogged a real-time assessment of the whole ordeal a couple of days ago, which began the snowball effect of something stinks in suburbia. She was outed by the 'heathen' while the 'righteous' threw their stones of do not judge until we know everything, but finally gave in and agreed it was all a hoax.

A batshit crazy girl preyed on the hot button topic of baby death. Shame on her. So what should we do about it? Feel sorry and pray for her troubled soul as the 'Christians' continue to push on their blogs? Burn down her house and drag her by her roots, put her in a burlap sack and beat her with a 1,000 reeds? (which is what I'm sure a lot of people WANT to do).

I tell you what I am going to do--

I choose to sit here, shake my head, and hold those who truly have walked this path in my heart tonight.

That's what I am going to do. I hope you join me....

Saturday, June 6, 2009

A Wrinkle In Time

I was reading one of my friend's responses to a Tooth Fairy issue she posted on Facebook. It was quite a tale about her son suddenly wanting all his teeth back from the Tooth Fairy in lieu of money (!)

And while I was reading, I caught a glimpse of her, and all of the girls who shared their stories, of us in junior high---with big stripes and permed hair telling each other that we finally French kissed that cute guy in the class.

I wanted to tell the nerdy 7th grade me with the glasses (because my father didn't want me to get contacts until high school) about all that she was going to do---and to hang on and not get so damn depressed because the cute guy you liked thought you were not cool enough for him. (He didn't turn out so hot, so I am not all that depressed about it).

But I also wondered would I tell her what had happened to us last year? Would she even believe it? And if she knew about it---would she even had tried to get pregnant in the first place?

What would you tell your young self?