the inchworm, and a call for writers

There’s a small incision made with deadliest precision
That lets a darkness seep into my heart
But I don’t need sureness or crave some faulty pureness
I only want a warning when it starts
I am not heroic and I cannot muster stoic
But in my life I want a leading part

I didn't think my time at Glow would end this way.

Which begs the question: how did I think it would end? A warm, fuzzy graduation. A neat seal. The conviction that I’m going to be okay. Either that or this: I break into the grief bank and gallop into the sunset on a white horse, robber of the robber, saddlebags fat with a golden life reclaimed.

I’m an inchworm walking, measuring and stopping
The journey seemed much simpler at the start
If I measure every step I never ever guess
That every single step is all the same
And misery forgets there was every happiness
And happiness treats misery about the same

This might have once been offensive, that nature dares to carry on. Green, living things all hungry and horny and full of wick push up through the earth to taunt me with boundless regeneration.

Now, I look down and breathe in pungent brown and all it means is that it's time to take the snow tires off. Time to dig out the lifejackets and buy a new rake and fix that broken flip flop and get some sun on my legs because I'll blind you in a skirt.

That's all.

If I took the road not taken I was probably mistaken
I’ve had a lovers’ quarrel with the world
If I try to make my bed in a great instead
Will my dreams be always only in my head?

I can't be here anymore. I can't even face my own dead baby, let alone everyone else's.

You're terrible. What, do you not even care anymore? You hardly ever think of him.

I do. But it's like walking into an empty warehouse. There's only dust and empty forklift palettes and stacks of corrugated cardboard and me standing there, wondering what the hell happened.

You're abandoning him all over again.

I don't know what to do with myself in that space. And so I don't tend to stick around. I think I need to put myself into other kinds of spaces and trust that he'll find me there if he needs me.

You're abandoning him all over again.

I heard you the first time. You are my inner heckler. I hear everything you say.

A mother does not turn away from her child.

She might if she feels a tiny, loving hand give a nudge.

(inner heckler pauses)

This might have once earned a fuck you, spring, every bud the vision of getting dragged, kicking and screaming, away from things that are brittle and finished.

Now, I look down and breathe in. That's not to say the freshness of it doesn't sting. It does, still, sometimes. But I breathe it in anyway.

On every crowded highway every silent byway 
Every victory soaked in salty tears 
If I stay a springtime green 
It’s through a thousand dirty falls 
I weep to see the wonder of it all

~ Old Man Luedecke, Inchworm

Last week was the second (third? fourth?) time that my time to post at Glow in the Woods completely blew by. Not because my life is any busier than anyone else's. It's just that Liam is suddenly just... so... wholly gone. I feel completely disconnected. I haven't got anything more to say -- at least not on a regular basis -- but it's not neat, not at all. It's confused and riddled with guilt. And this wordlessness means that Glow represents an emotional weight. Which is another layer of guilt. But there it is.

Guilty about reaching a fitful end. Guilty for not being in a constant state of reverence for Liam. Guilty for not feeling capable of dredging the depths of a thoroughly-scraped bottom. Guilty that I no longer wear depths on my face like the lights of the Vegas strip.

I don't know what I'll do about all that guilt. Probably the same thing I do with all that new earth. Just breathe it in, notice that it's there, see it as some kind of necessary newness. And I'll still be here to steer things along -- to be the squarespace goon, to source images, to intervene with rubber chickens when needed. Which is hardly ever. But still.

This is sweetsalty kate, founder, signing off. I join the emeritus. Almost two years to the day after launching this site with the lovely Bon, I entrust it to my beloved friends and fellow writers, and to all of you. I gallop away. Or, really, more like a canter. And not so far away. Just over there.

open call: glow needs new writers

Glow is in need of two new writers, if not more. We'd like to hear from you. Submit your writing for consideration for the roster of Glow's regular contributors by May 1st, 2010.

We're looking for strong writers that prompt others to consider universal themes. We don't just want to hear about death -- although death is a big part of all our stories. We want to hear about life. Your womanhood, your manhood, your stance. Identity and work and hopes and rebuilding and medical hoops and love and luck and how your world view has changed and keeps changing.

We've done our best to provide a diverse selection of writing across the spectrum of loss -- including stillbirth, premature birth, the NICU, and neonatal loss after birth among others. This goal of balance will factor into the voices we choose to come on board on a regular basis.

Have questions about the open call? Comment on this post, or send us an private email here. We'd love to hear from you.

UPDATE, May 13, 2010: Submissions have now closed. Thank you all so much for your generosity of spirit and support, to all the people who stepped up and offered to lend their voices to this gathering place. We're busy getting to know a wonderfully diverse group of writers, and we'll be in touch as soon as we can with next steps. Thank you everyone!

Comments

[Sophie]

Kate, thankyou so much for all you have shared. I understand. I have begun to feel similarly. xx

[loribeth]

Kate, thank you so much for Glow & for all the wisdom & inspiration you've shared here. I'll continue to be a reader over at your other blog!

[Audrey]

Glow was a revelation when I finally stumbled here. I just wish I'd known about it earlier. Thank you, Kate, for this space and for your sublime writing.

[Reba]

My husband's cousin pointed me to this site less than a month after we said goodbye to our precious twin daughter and son. It was newly launched and it felt like it was there for me more than almost anything else at that time. Something lined up correctly and I had this resource. Through it I found many, many blogs, and eventually even started my own.

Thank you for your writing and for co-starting this place. I read a lot even though I don't usually comment, and I want you to know you have helped and continue to help more people than you realize.

[Jeanette]

Thank you Kate. Glow is a beautiful place, I'm so glad it's here. x

[Katherine]

I would write, though I'm not sure what I can do. I would ask my mother to write from time to time as well, because as she pointed out, grandparents end up with a grief too - not just the loss of the grandchild, but feeling unable to help their child.

[mindy]

Part of me wants to submit my name, part of me wants to run away quickly, shedding this Varsity jacket as I go (because even at the Dead Baby Club we need letter jackets, right?). Thank you for creating this space that has saved me many times. I've come here to cry, to mourn, to shout out for a life preserver from someone, ANYONE, because it didnt matter who answered, just that someone DID.

[Jayme]

I'm also at that place... where I am somewhere else in life and my grief is no longer front and center... I think I like it here.

[eliza]

Kate - I am simultaneously despondent and completely cheering at the same time.

Your writing was a complete lifeline to me when I was struggling in the newness and rawness of my loss. I printed out one of your posts (Necessary Spaces) and carried it in my wallet. I needed that so very badly then, and you had the words for me. This place has been a soothing balm to my soul - and you especially have made that happen.

But you've said before that this place is one where people come and go. And there, hopefully, comes a point for all of us, when as much as we would like to stay near the shore and help those who are gasping for air and reaching blindly around them to try and see what this scary, strange new world holds . . . it's holding up our own progress. It's dragging us down too deeply, holding us hostage, bringing us back to face grief we've already faced.

I'm not there. I'm just at the point where I am reaching out to grab someone's hands and urge them take that first shuddering breath. Then the second. Then the third. I'm still close enough to my grief to need to face it head-on.

You've done your part. You've done more than your part for those of us who are newer. This community is amazing.

I thank you for it.

[Melissa]

Thank you for your writing and for this site. I have found much solace in reading the words of others that have put into form feelings I have had.

I am contemplating throwing my hat in to be a writer; I've been keeping my own blog and have either written or thought of writing things in keeping with the glow themes.

[Catherine W]

I can never thank you enough Kate.
For your beautiful words.
For sharing your Liam with us.
For your gentleness and compassion in your dealings with each wave of us frail and bedazzled new arrivals.
I can't articulate what Glow has meant to me over the past year and a half but reading through your old posts, I found my answer.

From' I am completely lost'

to a deep breath and a rubbing of eyes and a blinking in some strange new sun and

'I am not completely lost.'

Because I don't think I am. Not any longer. Thank you Kate.

[afteriris]

I'm hovering between listing all the ways that both Glow and you yourself have helped me and realizing that it's impossible to articulate, so why try.

So I'll just stick with Thank You. Sending love x

[Sally]

I think I'll say what afteriris said. That's easy. I have been here nearly the full two years. I am so sad to see you go, but will keep up with your writing at sweetsalty.
And I'll never forget your Liam.
xo

[caholmes]

Kate - I actually discovered your website years ago and found myself crying miserably at what happened to your Liam. I could absolutely not imagine dealing with such pain myself, much less with such amazing grace and articulation. I visited Glow a few times back then but not very often because it wasn't for me...yet.

I still find that so eerily ironic that I can't help but push the thought out of my mind that I had some sort of premonition that I would need to know where to find you again someday. How could I have known and of all the websites I've browsed over the years, why did this one leave such an impression that I knew exactly where to find it when I needed it most?

I've had other such thoughts in the months since I lost Olivia, but again, I continue to push them out of my mind. I'm not ready to imagine such other worldly notions. I can only appreciate that you were here. It hurts a little to imagine this place without you. I must admit my first thought was of being left behind. You are the one who drew me in, and now you're moving on, but I do understand. Some days better than others.

As others have said above, I just thank you. Thank you so much for being here, for inviting all of these wonderful women and for making a space for us. This space is both the last place on earth I wanted to enter and now the only place I want to be some days.

[Maddie]

As others have said, thank you for your words and starting this place. I come here everyday and find comfort. One day I hope to make it to that place where this isn't where I start each morning but I'm nowhere near there yet.

[TracyOC]

Happy trails, Kate. Thank you for making this journey less lonely.

[Angie]

Kate, for weeks and weeks after my daughter died, I fought inside my skin to get comfortable, this was the first space I found that felt like home again. No matter what happened at the market, or engaging with the world, here was this space that was markedly made by my people. Simply, thank you. For this space. For your amazing writing. For sharing your journey. You have given so much to this community and so much to me. xo

[Rebecca]

Kate, thank you for sharing so much of yourself here. Like many others, I find this place to be such a source of comfort. It's really the only place I can come and not feel like I've totally lost my mind.

[heather]

my takeaway from your book----we recycle the best parts of ourselves and move on the better for it. no one will always see our wrecked parts as useful, but you've created such a space here where it all fits, the well-worded, the awkward, the raw and honest--- and that is a gift. love to you.

[Cynthia]

Kate--I am so sad to hear this news, but also happy that you've found your way and made such a protective space for others while you were at it. I first found your blog through Sweet Juniper when Liam was first born, and followed you here to Glow. But I never stayed long, feeling like an intruder, until my own son died at birth about a year later. Glow was such an important place for me in that first year after he died, and continues to be a place where I can check in from time to time, when I'm feeling wobbly. Thanks for everything.

[sweetsalty kate]

You're all so incredibly wonderful. Thank you so, so much for being here. Heather, that's such a sweet way of putting it. And caholmes... it's so eerie that you found the blog and stayed, and then needed Glow for yourself. You're not the only one who shared that. Premonition.. I had some of my own, too...

There, see? Now I want to write a Glow post. :)
xoxo

[julie]

I think I just swallowed my tongue.

Kate, I've said it before and I'll continue to say it...you are my hero. You showed this babylost momma that I don't have to put a ticker with a little fat cherub on it to mark my boys death dates and that it's okay for me to feel this fucked up myriad of emotions all at once over burying Becks and Sully before I was even ready to say hello to them. I'm broken, sad, guilty, forever changed by being babylost, but you've showed me that that's all okay. Glow has changed me forever in the deepest depths of my broken heart.

While I'm sad to see you signing off, it feels right as I read your post and nod along knowing you're doing what you need to do. I wish you peace.

And I've calmed the fuck down knowing that I'll still be able to get my sweetsalty fix on the blog.

Much love, Kate.

[Lani]

I don't think I even need to say how much your writing and this blog has meant to us in getting through what has been the one of the most awful & tragic events that anyone could ever face.

You have created a very special, unique community. With that, we are so thankful. I also want to thank you for giving Chris such a powerful place to share his voice.

We will miss you!
xo
Lani

[Forgotten]

I don't know where to begin. I've been back and forth between here and there and I find myself back again to wish you farewell. I'm glad you've found your way to where you are mostly comfortable with your life taking place again. It feels good to breathe even if the air sometimes stings.

I will miss your writing here but I will happily watch you spread your wings at your blog. Best wishes and many more deep breaths as you plunge forward into your LIFE while still honoring Liam's life as well.

[melka]

thank you, kate. what you've done here is so, so good. your own voice and those you've let sing and sigh and wail in warm communion here has meant the world. a miniature, mighty atlas, helping hold up many, many small worlds. i honestly don't know what i would have done without it.

good luck and much love to you,
xx

[Steph]

I don't possess a fraction of your eloquence, Kate, so I will simply say: Thank you. Thank you for creating this safe haven. Thank you for leading so many of us through these dark and, at times, scary woods. Glow has been my life-line. I don't know where I'd be without it.

[Skytimes]

The previous commenters have found such incredibly beautiful words, so I'll just stick with a plain and boring, but heartfelt and sincere: THANK YOU! Glad you keep on writing at sweetsalty.
xx

[margaret]

Kate, you directed me here to the Glow after I emailed you to say that I understood the precipice and I was there, teetering on the edge when I found your blog and read about Liam. I have found immeasurable comfort in the words you have shared both here at the Glow and on your blog. Words of comfort were what I craved while trying to fill that yawning chasm left inside when Calvin flew away. I have learned and grown so much in my grief journey thanks to those who have gone ahead and hacked out the trail for me to follow. I leaned on your words to guide me through the unknown and I trusted the voices that told me this pain would mellow into a dull ache in time. I am so grateful for all you have done for me, for the other women here. I am so grateful to Liam for taking Calvin by the hand and urging me to contact you when I was drowning in sorrow. I can never say thank you enough...My heart aches to hear you are leaving, yet at the same time I think I knew. I hope to make my way into that place some day. Much love to you...

[Liz]

Kate, you've been so much to so many. You still are and will be. I for one am glad to hear that your grief isn't raw and awful anymore; that you are moving in the way that you need to and not letting guilt rule your movements; that you feel there are new spaces for you to explore. I hope you know, way down under the mean sneaky guilt, that this need to move elsewhere has nothing to do with not caring or loving and everything to do with living, with healing, with continuing to blossom despite having known such loss.
You're an inspiration.

[Erica]

When my loss was very fresh, I responded to what was then called 6 by 6 here at Glow. I remember getting an email from you, Kate, and I remember how I read it, hungrily, gratefully, amazedly, digesting the information that someone else also knew about loss and NICUs and making decisions you never thought you could make. Yours was the first of many kind hands held out to me as I staggered around in the dark, and I'll always be grateful for that.

I wish you all kinds of luck and happiness with your new earth.

[Janel]

Let me add my sincere thanks to the mix, Kate. Your writing has been a balm for my wounds. Someone who speaks with heart and wisdom and avoids platitudes at all cost is a rare gem of a writer--and the only kind I can stomach. And your labor of love in founding and administering Glow has resulted so much beauty and healing. I fully support your desire to go emeritus, and I hope you are released from whatever guilt you are carrying. Thank you for continuing to support Glow administratively. And I hope when/if that too becomes a burden, you will release that to other hands as well. All the best to you!

[red pen mama]

Kate, I completely understand this feeling. And I think you are brave for recognizing it and acting on it. God bless, God speed. I know (vis-a-vis sweet l salty) that's it's not peace per se, and not peaceful. This place is a wonderful resource, and will continue to be. You will always have my gratitude for founding Glow.

[Jenni]

me too. i'll just say thank you. you have created an amazing space here, and it has been a huge comfort to me. peace to you on your further journeys.

[eagordon]

Kate-I've been thinking about this a lot. I think nature wants balance. Maybe when life tilts too much in one direction, the forces of nature try to bring back some sort of stasis-after winter comes spring, after summer comes fall. It's not that in spring we forget the cold of winter, it's that we carry it in our back pocket and take it with us-we remember the colors of the leaves or the gray sky. Lost babies are not any more or less loved when their mother can see the blue in the sky or notice the buds on a tree again-it's just nature trying to come back into some sort of balance. xo-Ellen

[Bon]

you done good, Kate. in making space for this place, sustaining it with your energy. and there are good strong hands to take care of it, here.

i think of it as a warm black pebble that gets passed from hand to hand, the small thing that is nonetheless comforting in a time when all is laid open and raw. it can't be held onto forever. there are always hands waiting, no matter how much we might wish nobody else would need to join us in the line.

your words always make my head dance.
xo
Bon

[Megan]

Kate, I feel like you have been my friend through this journey, though we don't know each other. Your writing has been a window into my own thoughts and feelings, you have helped me to see my own grief more clearly, put into words the jumbled up disaster that's been in my head the last two years. This post is no different - i feel today everything you wrote. I am in such a stage of guilt right now, it hurts me to think about my son at all, and it hurts that it hurts (if that make any sense). I am rambling, and wonder what i will do without you to organize and explain my thoughts for me.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I will miss you here, but I understand. I wish for you (and all of us) some peace.

[B.]

I think I'm in a similar place, Kate, although I could never articulate it that beautifully.

Thank you for creating this space. IRL, I have no one that seems to understand the way that all of you do. I've needed this.

[JB]

Kate--
I congratulate you on your realization and transition. I, too found you through sweetjuniper, held my breath at your bravery in the NICU, and witnessed your establishing this place. I kept it in my mind, and then came to need it myself. You have done a great service to many by building this place, and more will stop by.
I am so happy you are moving on, and I triumph in your progress in doing so, as well as everything else you have going on. Although this was and will be a huge part of you, it is still only part of you--there is so much else.

[Janis]

Yes, thank you thank you thank you.
And all the best wishes and so much love.
That's the thing, we don't know where to find them, but they know where to find us. We are here, until we are there.

[kristin]

canter on kate.
there is beauty in knowing when to let go.
you built a sacred place here.
that is your beautiful mark

much love on your continued journey.