Saturday, August 8, 2009

I heart my free speech zone

Did you ever go to the Grand Canyon? There is a space with a picnic table that is the Free Speech zone. What you go there to do is beyond me, but that space always fascinated me. I understand what happens at a free speech zone at, say, the 2004 Democratic National Convention. But the Grand Canyon? How did that happen. Who uses it? I just always imagine nudists, self-interpretive dance hour enthusiasts, or chicken-wielding performance artists.

When I first began writing this blog, two months after Lucy was stillborn, I basically copied and pasted the incredibly lengthy birth story I had been working on since I returned home from the hospital. And when I posted the last part of the birth story, I thought, “Now what? That's all I've got.”

I walked into that hospital one kind of mother, and came out a very different kind of mother. I couldn't ignore the experience of having my life so dramatically change in twenty-nine short hours. And I thought, narrowly, that Lucy's death, how it happened, what was said, how I reacted, was the important part of the story. Everything else seemed so much more tragic. Our zombie-like existence flitting in and out of keening and rage, thankfulness and anger. We were beaten and exhausted, hurt by friends, and warmed by strangers all while raising a child. It all seemed way too complicated and messy to sort out in front of complete strangers.

I now realize that the greater part of our story is not how she died, but how we lived.

I'm not celebrating any kind of blogoversary, or anything. Just a random Saturday watching Inter.vention and thinking about this space, especially after my incredibly vulnerable and difficult post about my father. I just feel such an immense gratitude to this First Amendment free zone space that is my blog. I really does help. A lot. I cuss, change my mind, contemplate the existence and lack thereof of meaning in this universe, grieve, get angry, love, cry...Basically I am in my own little cordoned off space, dancing the cabbage patch completely nekkid with poultry in each hand. You know, proverbially.

* I just want to apologize for the weirdness of this post and yesterday's posting. This was written and meant to be saved as a draft, but I published it, and Sam's post was supposed to be published and I saved it as a draft. Either more coffee or more sleep.


  1. You're gorgeous, Angie. That's the best bit about this - we can all say exactly what we think and feel. And just keep on loving and supporting each other in return. You're so right, the biggest thing to come from all of this is not how we lost them, but how we go on living without them.

  2. I love that you're a chicken-weilding, nekkid, free thinker. Always. xo

  3. Can I join you in the cabbage patch? I'll bring some pie in case you get hungry from waving that poultry around.


  4. We all need the cabbage patch don't cha know? Nekkid. Clothed. With poultry. Sans poultry.

    I like your cabbage patch Angie. Keep dancing. xx

  5. Here from the Roundup. Thank you for this.

  6. What a beautiful post. And, I just had to go read Lucia's birth story and I was so touched with the stark emotion and honesty I found there.

  7. I love your writing. You remind me of 6 of my best friends rolled into one.

  8. It was certainly interesting for me to read the article. Thanx for it. I like such topics and everything that is connected to them. I would like to read a bit more soon.

  9. Quite good question


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