Friday, April 17, 2009


This morning I woke up without a stinging in my throat, and the bumbling ache that has accompanied me when walking down the stairs to coffee. The puppy didn't soil his crate for four solid nights in a row. Maybe something is working. Opening the sliding glass door, the cold hits my face, and I walked out into the early early morning with Jack. The bird cacophony. The faint hint of sun to the east making the sky look like a bleeding watercolor. The cold dampness of a post-rain morning. And the green. The luscious green. A thousand greens in an unassuming suburban backyard...I wanted to savor the moment. The delicious peace. I remember many years ago my friend Carol telling me about a morning at the beach where she thought, "I wonder if this is the best day of my life." And I have thought of that often...I wonder if this is the best moment of my life. The quiet of a random morning in April when the dog forced me to go outside, I inhaled the beauty of a Spring morning and felt grateful.

All my best moments have been in the morning, among them are all the mornings waking up next to Sam. Mornings walking in Italy alone where I felt so brave, so strong, where I went to make peace with myself...a vision quest with Chianti. The delicious April morning when I was in labor with Beatrice. Mornings in Tucson when I came to work before it was light, and I would finish the morning chores quickly so I could watch the sun rise reflected on the Catalinas with my coffee maybe a cigarette (ah, youth.)

After I wrote this post, I wanted to erase it. There are easy things to blog about--the despair, the moments of devastation when you have to answer a question about your children, the trembling, the fears...but what of those moments where you have a fleeing sense of peace, not about your baby's death, not about your life now, but a sense of peace in the universe? A moment of calm presence. Can I even have a best moment of my life now, or even a fairly decent moment, after the death of my daughter? Does it betray her? Does it betray me? Can my best moment be alone, or must it be something deeper than watching my puppy peepee in the deep dewy mist chilled by the morning air, warmed by my love of morning?


  1. I think we have to savor these beautiful little moments where we can find them, amidst all the despair. I know I am much more attentive to those little moments now, than I ever was before Ezra left. It's like I had to understand what it was to feel REALLY bad in order to appreciate what it is to feel just a little bit good. As much as I'd sometimes like to deny it, there is still beauty in the world without Ezra and Lucia in it. I think by paying attention to that beauty is how we manage to heal.

  2. This is a beautiful post, Angie sweet.
    I now it sounds so impossible, even horrible, to have a best moment after your baby has died... but I think it is possible. Because we have been torn wide open, because grief dug deep holes in our souls and therefore we experience things so much more intense ... including a quiet mundane moment... perhaps not significant to others, but with a hole in our hearts, it feels different.
    Thank you for sharing. xo

  3. Savor those fleeting moments of peace when somehow all feels right in the universe. I think it is those moments that allow us to continue despite our grief and sadness. You are allowed to have beautiful moments and I don't think there is or will be just ONE. I think Lucia would want you to have MANY peaceful/beautiful/best moments.

  4. I'm at such a loss for words today, but I love and appreciate this post. And I echo all that ezra's mom, janis and shanti mama just said. It doesn't betray Lucy, it honors her. But I too have moments like this - like I'm smiling too sincerely, or having too much fun in a moment, or sitting too quietly and being ok with it. I do know what you're saying.

    Just found your blog and looking forward to one of those quiet sittings to delve deeper into it. I love your writing and am so pleased to see another PA girl around the blog.

  5. I'm not sure if you feel the same way or if I'm projecting myself into your post, but I struggle with happy moments as much as I struggle with despair. I struggle with thinking about the possibility of another baby and the joy that could bring when I miss E. It all feels like a betrayal. Even if I rationalize it all away, the feelings resonate. The guilt.
    Oh, and my puppy could use a few tips from Jack. :)

  6. I say make the most of these moments, these days. The bad ones are still sure to outnumber them at this early stage. I said to Simon last night I was happy, and I can tell you in all honesty, it was the first time I have said that in eight months. I'm clinging on to it, as I still feel happy today, and that can only be a good thing.


What do you think?