When I think of your music, of the music that connects me to you, I think of the word from Old Irish, to keen, to lament loudly over the dead. There is a part of me that’s always keening for you. And that part longs to sing — to sing, as if you were still alive, as if you needed me to sing you to sleep, to sing you awake, to comfort you with my voice.
Read MoreA lifetime of love — more more more — not of a living body, but of one beyond the physical — love felt in the network of cells that remember and ache — rocks gathered on the shore — reciting these poems — simply saying the name, Charles Wallace, and I love you — it's catching that baby up too.
Read MoreOn one side of my heart, a deep well of love, admiration, awe, and gratitude for every being that gets to exist. How is it that anyone gets to make it out into the world alive? What an absolute miracle each life is. And then there is the other side of my heart - an ever-tunneling density of love packed into a black hole that will never be fully received.
Read MoreI just wish I could walk and walk and walk and keep walking. Maybe forever. Into the mist of an impossibly dense forest on an impossibly steep mountain. And then walk some more. Maybe I will find him there.
Read MoreThis week’s post is a Kitchen Table post, where we settle in together with a cup of something warm and have a chat. In this post, we’re thinking about how online spaces have been part of our experiences of grieving. Come sit, if you like. We’ll throw another log on the fire, make you some tea and listen, if you want to share.
Read MoreBut what if we thought of both responsibility and resilience as collective, rather than individual?
What if we walked away from the individual memoir of the one sad woman, all alone in her shame?
What if we began to walk together, forming a collective chorus, louder and louder until our voices can’t be ignored?
Read MoreBereaved parents of lost babies and potential of all kinds: come here to share the technicolour, the vividness, the despair, the heart-broken-open, the compassion, and the other side of getting through this mess called grief.
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Parents of lost babies and potential of all kinds: come here to share the technicolour, the vividness, the despair, the heart-broken-open, the compassion we learn for others, having been through this mess — and see it reflected back at you, acknowledged and understood.
Thanks to photographer Xin Li and to artist Stephanie Sicore for their respective illustrations and photos.
: for one and all
: ttc | pregnancy | birth after loss
: not ttc | infertility after loss
: parenting after loss
: on the bookshelf
: how to stop lactation when there is no baby
: how to help a friend through babyloss
: how to plan a baby's funeral
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