I scream
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I scream at a hospital bill for naught.
I scream at your big brother for things that aren’t his fault.
I scream “I’m fine” at all the well-intentioned questions.
Unseen
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He saw my pain, my broken, shattered body and heart and I silently understood that he wanted to be able to hold it for me once again. But this time was different. This time I saw his own anguish mirrored back at me. I remember thinking that I would give anything in the world to make it hurt less for him, for us.
Read MoreA family calculus
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Each day since Olivia died, I’ve considered what it means to be a parent to a child no one else can see. Even I can only see her in my mind, but she’s there, the primary variable in our family calculus. No matter how many more children I have, the number people see – the number I see – will be n-1. Always missing one.
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Back to work: A kitchen table post
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This week’s post has us sitting around the kitchen table talking about going back to work. Pull up a seat; we’ll pour you some tea or make you a strong coffee, and let’s talk. Did you go back to work after your baby died? How did it go? What would you tell other babyloss parents about to venture back into that world?
Read MoreWhat is left to say
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The words and tears dry up. It really is like a wound, healing. For days, months, years, I walked around with an open, oozing sore, yelling my pain, unable to be comfortable, making a mess. And then – slowly – the skin grew back.
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