May 31, 2013

Right Where I Am: 2013

Ailis - almost 6 years / Noah - almost 4 years

I don't track days anymore. I have to stop and count on my fingers, now, to be sure of the years that have passed. Ah, they would be so big! Kindergarten, for Lissie, can you imagine...?!

Alas, I cannot.

They have made me a mother but I am deprived of the experiences that make up the stories that make you friends on the outside. Prison terminology seems appropriate to me; babyloss is too much like a life-long sentence for the wrongfully accused, or maybe involuntary committal to a psych ward. Except there is no release for good behavior, no cure, and even if you escape, finally, on a rainbow, there's still a part of your life that almost no one will ever be truly comfortable hearing about unless they've been there too.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on

My heart is changed. It contains more than I ever thought possible. It is bigger on the inside than on the outside, and through its transformation I became half time-lord, half human, all whole. I have gained a perspective that is dizzying and grounding at once. The universe fits inside of me. Profound and simple and holy and profane. There is room for you too, and in you too.

Mama, mama, be calm. We know how to wait. We are not afraid.
Be calm, mama. We'll wait.

My children are extraordinarily zen. They cannot teach, but I can learn. I suppose that's rather zen in itself.

Into the air, into the earth, into the fire. I am with you.**

Peace. Love. Light.

I am not broken, and neither are you.

*You do not have to be good, Mary Oliver
**Xenocide, Orson Scott Card


You can read my previous years' posts here: Right Where I Am 2011 (Part I)(Part II) & Right Where I Am 2012, and link up with us on still life with circles.


  1. I reread this several times and it's really beautiful. <3

  2. I imagine in sending her to Kindergarten, you'd be giving her to the world. Through your writing, you are giving them to the world. Thank you!

  3. There is a calmness here I recognise. A truly beautiful post. x

  4. So beautifully written; and anyone who quotes Mary Oliver is most definitely a kindred spirit. Thank you for sharing yourself with us.

  5. I did know Mary Oliver's poetry before my son died, and I've come to love them since, so immediately recognized both the one in your post and in your sidebar.

    I keep turning over the line "I am not broken, and neither are you." I don't feel broken now, but I feel like I was. Hmmm.

  6. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
    Meanwhile the world goes on.*

    I think that I am, only now, slowly coming to that realisation. That the world goes on. I think that is why I write less and read less because of that implacable world, going on and on. Sometimes it feels benign and kindly, other times, cruel. But no matter what I say, or feel, or do, it does not stop moving on my account. Unsurprisingly.

    This is beautiful vera kate. Six years and kindergarten for Lissie. It does seem hard to believe. Almost four years your beautiful boy, Noah. Waiting, somehow in the light.

  7. I don't count days exactly unless I really think about it. Time passes too quickly though.

  8. Thinking about you and all of your children. I wish that none of us had to live in a world without our child/children. Sending you hope and hugs. xo

  9. "or maybe involuntary committal to a psych ward." HA! Yes, this world has made me question my own sanity more than ever. . .

    "I am not broken, and neither are you." Thank you for saying that. I still wonder, sometimes. I still feel like a broken human. I still may be a broken human. And I am just trying to make my peace with that. But there is something, somewhere, that really doesn't want to be broken.

    Sending love to you and your babies <3