still life with circles

about my artwork.

2012-01-26T07:00:00.000-05:00

Today, I am honored to be guest posting over at Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope for their January create. heal inspire. series on creativity and grief. January is International Creativity Month. I am also giving away a mizuko jizo painting over there. So go over there. Comment. Win something. Actually, check out the whole series, because it is beautifully done, like everything at FOL/FOH. Beryl has

mourning moon

2012-01-20T07:34:00.000-05:00

I loved you before I knew to love you. I whispered your name on the wind.Lucia. Lucia Paz. Where are you?The only thing I hold of you now is the grief, like a cast around my heart. I signed your name on it so many times, it became part of the love I feel for everything. Someone once asked me if you wrote it yourself, I said yes until I believed it.I miss you. I miss your little head. And your

hare krishna

2012-01-18T07:56:00.004-05:00

It had been a long time since we listened to devotional ecstatic religious music--chanting and mantras and bouncing. We listen to Hare Krishna music, because there is a joy there. Children respond well to joy. The words are easy to say and they all mean God. So, we laugh and dance and bounce, and fall into a pile of us. I told Beezus last time we chanted that we should go to the Hare Krishna

pee run

2012-01-12T16:48:00.001-05:00

I sometimes run to the bathroom, when it is morning and the pressure to pee comes on my like a fierce competitor, on my tiptoes, quickly, my arms flailing by my boobs like I'm an impotent, useless, miniature Tyrannosaurus Rex. It is a strange run. Silly and feminine. Yet I growl. ROWR, get outta the way. I need to peeeeee... When I talk to my children about Buddhism and compassion and

wishes

2012-01-10T00:00:00.000-05:00

Technically, I spent the weekend with my children and my mother. Sam left for Ohio to collect the honor of his father being inducted into his high school's football and basketball hall of fame. He left Thursday, drove home today. Mama came and told me to make plans with people, and so I did. So technically, I spent the weekend with my kids and my mother, but I spent less time than normal. I had

old

2012-01-03T07:38:00.003-05:00

I feel old. When I talk about myself, I realize I am describing myself as a 67 year old, rather than a 37 year old. I think of myself living ten more years, perhaps, rather than forty, fifty and beyond. I feel, like I have for the last three years, on the downward slope of life, like Sisyphus, chasing after a fucking boulder with my cane and bad attitude. Grief aged me. Thirty-seven for one

new year

2011-12-31T08:09:00.000-05:00

It's been a strange year. Revelatory and trying. Restless and spiritual. I have more adjectives in me, but I am sitting upright, and they are lying down descriptives. Hold on. My stomach is settling. A low rumbling belch is working its way up. HAAAAARD. Right, and that too. I wrote an awful lot and had an awful lot of it rejected. Not the same stuff, but still, there is some kind of cosmic

christmas

2011-12-25T16:59:00.003-05:00

No one in this house dresses on Christmas. I don't cook. We play with our toys in front of the fire. Nap. Watch the movies Santa brought (Kung-Fu Panda I & II). We listen to the last of the Christmas music. We read the books once wrapped in red and green paper while under blankets (this year, the kids got the Last Wild Witch, Naked Mole Rat Gets Dressed, Conejito). I drink coffee. We eat

three

2011-12-22T09:09:00.002-05:00

It is too warm to be her birthday. The sun didn't rise and set the sky into otherworldly pinks and oranges. It didn't humble me at God's grace. It was just suddenly bright grey at 7:17 am. We didn't light candles, or tell stories, or feast last night as I had imagined. No one but me wanted to remember her in that way. Everyone seemed worn down and emotional. I don't want to force grief rituals

Glow

2011-12-21T07:40:00.000-05:00

I'm over at Glow today, talking about her name and winter solstice.

tantrums

2011-12-20T08:26:00.002-05:00

Beezus talks about death these days. She understands what it means to lose a three year old sister. Newborn to two was intangible. But three is something. Beezus remembers what it is like to be three, back when she was little. Three talks. Three runs. Three skips. Three has ponytails and smart alecky comebacks. Three likes the color purple. Three throws tantrums. I throw tantrums sometimes too.

waning gibbous

2011-12-16T08:11:00.002-05:00

It is a waning gibbous moon. I am a waning gibbous woman. A humpbacked thing half of what I could be. The moon hangs over the tree line, bright and sure of itself. I am floating somewhere else, to the north, cold and unsure. It is day and you can still see me, even though I am a creature of the night these days. Don't let the list of things I do fool you.I am on autopilot. Bake cookies. Drive

the knot of a tree

2011-12-11T17:59:00.001-05:00

It is morning. The sky is pink. It is mourning. My sky is black. My arms grow like grape vines, winding around all I love, weaving into the tree we planted for her, in the hair of my boy and his sister. I feel something more than grief, something like a chasm of hurt in me. Every piece of my life falls into it. Every hurt goes in there, screaming and grasping for ground. I pour the coffee. It is

Winners

2011-12-11T12:07:00.001-05:00

You are all winners in my opinion, but here are the people receiving the giveaways from the last post. Susan won the chapbook. Jill A. won the 12" x 24" painting. Kate won the 5"x 7" painting. Please get in touch with me, lovely women, and email me your addresses and thank you to everyone who entered and who read in this space.

25 Days of Giveaways--Day 10

2011-12-09T06:00:00.000-05:00

Welcome, Auckland, New Zealand! And all the rest of the world. It is midnight on Day Ten in Auckland, even though it is 18 hours earlier in my neck of the woods. Tonight is also the Long Nights Moon, which is the full moon of December. It is an auspicious time for a giveaway, me thinks. I am so grateful for Tina at Living without Sophia and Ellie for hosting the 25 Days of Giveaways every year.

engorgement

2011-12-05T07:27:00.001-05:00

I have finally reached the point where I had to wean Thor. He would not stop nursing on his own and he only liked to nurse in the middle of the night. I was the human binky, sticky and abused. I curl around his body, breast exposed to the night creatures. He paws and grabs and bites and sometimes screams at me for not being right where he wants me just when he wants me to be. In daylight hours,

the doves

2011-12-03T22:19:00.001-05:00

Her tree stretches up and out. I hung a small bell patina-ed green. Her tree is still small, but taller than my husband. When it dropped its leaves this year, they blushed from red to yellow to green, top to bottom, like the rainbow. I kissed Lucy's tree when I was stacking wood beside it. It caught me off guard. I thought of it and kissed it and then thought myself crazy. We search the nooks of

the rain

2011-11-29T22:58:00.001-05:00

The rain drummed on the roof last night, suddenly torrential, like the sky opened up, like it was summer. I had read on the weather website that the rain was coming, but then when I heard it, it felt different. I can't articulate it but it felt metaphoric, perhaps important. I would have highlighted that section of the book if I had read it. The rain continued steady and true all night and into

some additional thoughts and questions on anger and patience

2011-11-29T14:14:00.001-05:00

I just feel like I have to say that the anger we feel because of our children's death is, of course, justified anger, a natural element of grief. And what Cathy said, anger at evil, or child abuse, or sex trafficking, those are circumstances that should make us angry, angry enough to want to change something. But I think the important part is what we do with the anger. Cathy brought up some

question: anger and patience

2011-11-28T07:54:00.001-05:00

Edited to add: This question came in the comments of this post: another post where I kill a metaphor by slow torture. In that post, I talked about how I drew lines in the sand with friends, resided in a place of anger and impatience. And how through recovery, I am learning about how detrimental anger and resentment is to my spiritual condition, and how it feeds into my spiritual malady. I also

gratitude

2011-11-24T17:39:00.001-05:00

After an early Thanksgiving dinner, the baby started whining and grabbing for my shirt. I try to limit breastfeeding to before nap, but I wanted to be still. To lie on my back and not speak. Nor smile, nor cook. Just be. So I grabbed the baby up took him up to bed, even though it was much too late for a nap. After days of preparation, and Thanksgiving pre-k crafts, and pictures, and airport runs,

pilgrims and indians.

2011-11-22T08:30:00.000-05:00

My daughter came home wearing a pilgrim hat today. She has this sort of light brown strawberry blonde hair, and she wore a little jumper today with flowers on it. A pair of pink sparkly Mary Janes. She looked edible, that is how adorable it was, except that my insides went all haywire. We are Native peoples, not pilgrims. And what is she learning about American Thanksgiving? She is in

question: grieving openly around children

2011-11-20T16:19:00.001-05:00

This question is from my lovely friend MA who would like to remain mostly anonymous: Do you think it is bad to grieve openly around our kids, or not to do it at all? Do you think they are growing up with a sort of ..shadow? I know I always, every day, miss my brother who was my mother's first child and stillborn. My mother only talked about him twice, and I don't know anything other than his

another post where i kill a metaphor by slow torture

2011-11-16T07:05:00.001-05:00

I feel like I am the precipice of major change in my life. I read the cards, lay them out, one right after the other. Something has to give, but I feel paralyzed by something like too many choices. It's a first world problem. In my card layout, there is beauty and fear in the middle of sticks and wands and cups and...Grounding, that is what I wanted early on. Some ground beneath my feet. My life

an arm

2011-11-10T22:32:00.000-05:00

I have an arm. It is this long. It is the length of you from me. It is the length of a bourbon from my lips. Bourbon. Lips. *swoon* When I hear the word bourbon, I get all misty-eyed. I miss cracking the wax. I admit it. I miss the smell. I miss the burn, and the vanilla aftertones. After all, I drank bourbon primarily until I stopped drinking. The expensive kind. The small batches. Don't

wild injuns

2011-11-09T08:10:00.002-05:00

I am listening to Joni Mitchell's Blue and drinking black coffee. I gave up walking back and forth to the kitchen and placed the entire thermos on my printer. I am wearing my husband's boxer shorts, Uggs, a black t-shirt, and a deer antler strung on a delicate ball chain. The deer antler was found by this hippie in the Oregon rain forest. A women in Philly strings them and sells them. There is

november

2011-11-03T08:08:00.003-04:00

The baby keeps bringing me markers to open. I don't connect that the eighteen month old is asking me to open markers and then running away into another room. I am writing, dammit. I can't be distracted. Stare at the screen. Peck at the keyboard. Open a marker. I crouch, peering into my post-apocalyptic world. I don't know what genre this novel is. I lead a Girl Army. I have dreams. Except it is

La Llorona

2011-10-31T14:15:00.002-04:00

See, I really do dress like a calavera and/or Frida Kahlo whenever I am feeling lonely or strangely unpresent in my skin. Sometimes it coincides with Dia de los Muertos, other times it is a random day in July. I transform when I paint my face white, not just externally, but I feel stronger, more beautiful. I cannot tell you why. It feels more me than me. Today is Halloween, and tomorrow and

everything in my heart, I love

2011-10-28T09:04:00.000-04:00

Do you know how much I love you? He shakes his head, both back and forth and right to left. Smiling. Flirting. I love you as much as the sky, and all the stars, plus infinity and an apple. He shakes his head again. No. He says no with his whole body, moving from leg to leg, like a vehement, Tribal No Dance. Oh, but I do, my love. I love you as much as everything. It is too much for my heart

spoken word blog round-up

2011-10-21T07:52:00.001-04:00

I am just going for it. TODAY IS HERE! The Spoken Word Blog Round-up has arrived! Can you feel the excitement buzzing through your screen? My idea is simply this: I love hearing writers read their words, and blogs suffer from an immediacy problem. Our feelings are temporary, we capture them in a post, we move on. But I don't want you to move on. Some of the best essays I have been privileged

news and a new project, maybe?

2011-10-13T08:27:00.000-04:00

The barns begin to pop up right off the highway. Red dots on the horizon, silver columns rise next door. The familiarity of those pieces of landscape touch something sacred within me. It is home. It is a home I walked around but not in. I am a stranger in the suburbs. I belong only because we all don't belong. I try to clear my mind as we drive. I never know what to expect when I walk into a

sober

2011-10-12T07:28:00.001-04:00

Three months after Lucy died, I wrote this: I am both drastically different, and exactly the same. I am exactly the same person living a drastically different life that looks exactly the same. In the beginning, I told myself my own story. I had just quit drinking and was going to meetings listening to people's stories of drinking and recovery every night. I stopped drinking and stopped being

sunday haircuts

2011-10-09T23:49:00.001-04:00

"Are you ready for your haircut, baby?" He tugs on his hair. His long nods move his entire body. He teeters into the bathroom. We debate whether or not to undress him. We debate if I should hold him, or let him be. Meanwhile, he sits on the stepstool, waiting. This whole ordeal has something to do with his hair, he has figured that out. He bends his head down so I can see his mop of a hair. I

on opening doors.

2011-10-06T14:43:00.000-04:00

I lead with my head, like the boy. When in doubt, tuck your chin into your chest and ram. Smash. OOooch. Try the knob. Crunch. Oooch. Excuse me? Turn the knob. You know, the handle. What knob? Kerputz. The one under your head. Open your eyes. Crack. Oh. There's a knob. Stop ramming your head into the door. It will take forever to open

music

2011-10-02T23:31:00.001-04:00

I forgot to put music on. That was the first thing that popped into my mind after everyone was gone and I took off my shoes. I wrote little tags with ingredients for the food, placed miniature pumpkins in strategically festive spots, displayed the travel journal, bought two different kinds of plastic spoon, but I forgot to put on music for ambiance. There was a hum, a collective chorus of love

family night

2011-09-28T09:06:00.003-04:00

We stand around and take in the room. Or rather, I stand around and take in the room. The jobs, the traffic light, the pictures of little names painted with dots and stripes, the paper dolls holding hands across the side of the room. I am standing in front of a tiny desk with papers that say "Bea's Family." Do you think we have to sit in that little chair? There is a man standing next to me,

headless

2011-09-27T07:38:00.004-04:00

Off with my head. Or something like that. I'm over at Glow in the Woods today talking about decapitation, babyloss and impermanence. Fun, no?

pick-me-up

2011-09-20T21:45:00.001-04:00

Not to be overly dramatic, but sometimes it feels like my chest is wrenched open and my heart is exposed to the world. I am naive. Is that surprising? It still surprises me. I angers me that I can be reduced so quickly to shaking and tears and feeling like she died again because of one cruel remark. I am skittish here, like a crack-smoking chihuahua. Or something. A shaky hairless little thing

Kindness Walk in Philadelphia, PA

2011-09-19T10:01:00.001-04:00

When Lucia first died, I felt like the only woman in the world who lost a child in this way. Then I reconnected with my friend Mimmy, whose son Alex was born on Mother's Day of 2004, almost three months premature. We worked together at the time. I was single and oblivious, but we all grieved with Mimmy. Alex died three days later. As the weeks went further from Lucia's death, Mimmy and I emailed,

questions thirteen through fifteen: gurus, relationships and remembering.

2011-09-12T17:53:00.000-04:00

Nerissa: Do you ever feel like a babyloss/grief guru? Not like you are an expert or you are totally enlightened about it all. More like, people (like me) come to you and seek your advice, even though it's not necessarily advice that you give so you are like a guru... Do you know what I mean? Are you ever overwhelmed at how many people share their stories with you and come to you in such a

question twelve: spirituality

2011-09-09T08:24:00.000-04:00

I'm going to take these questions individually as they are all sides of the same cube, but all have different perspectives. FireflyForever: So, where are you at spiritually? I have always admired your willingness to engage with issues of faith faith/spirituality/religion and baby death. I have deliberately avoided raising it on my blog as I'm too confused and scared by it all. Interested to hear

first day of school.

2011-09-08T12:02:00.003-04:00

We began walking fifteen minutes before the bell. It didn't seem that far, but with a four year old watching the sky for birds, playing with her unicorn bag, and skipping here and there, it is farther than fifteen minutes. It is like incredi-minutes--stretched out and impossibly short, intangible and ordinary. We pass our friend's house. She points it out. And then the big road that makes us hold

question eleven. creativity

2011-09-07T09:44:00.002-04:00

Sara: You do a lot of creative stuff. How/when do you get it done with two little kids around? Hope's Mama: How do you find the time and motivation to keep up with all you do, especially online. You maintain a handful of blogs, all very well, and you post very frequently. And when you are posting, you're often talking about all the things you're doing when you're not online - crafting, cooking

Mu

2011-09-05T22:34:00.005-04:00

Fuck, I just need a moment to breathe. Ugh, these clothing are so oppressive. My body is so oppressive. Just a moment to breathe. In and out. I cannot control who reads here anymore than anyone else can control what I write here. Should I use that as a mantra? Maybe that is irrelevant. Maybe it is the wrong statement. Maybe it doesn't fucking matter in the end. I sit, legs crossed, hands

still life with circles

2011-08-31T07:30:00.064-04:00

I came into this post from today to edit it more precisely to say I wasn't leaving forever. I seriously get literary dysentery when I get anxious and depressed. And it was confusing what I was trying to say. I don't know what the fuck I am doing right now. I am incredibly unnerved by all of this stuff. I came in to edit, then I accidentally erased the whole post. There is not a copy in my

question eleven: the kids

2011-08-31T06:03:00.103-04:00

In this collection, Jen asked me about Beezus and Thor, so I answered her questions and posted some pictures of them. Just thought I would put that out there, if you want to skip this post. Here We Go AJen: If I think of a better question, I will come back later, but for now I want to hear about what Beezus and Thor are up to lately. What are their favorite things? How do they do

questions four to ten: random bits and the winner.

2011-08-30T05:17:00.001-04:00

This is a collection of random questions asked of me. And I also randomly drew a person from the questions post. And that number EIGHT and that winner is SARA from Heart Heal Hope, who I adore. YAY! You get to choose either-- They Were Still Born, which my essay "Mothering Grief" appears in, In the Midst of Winter, or GNOMES. Just email me, love, and I will get it off in the mail to you soon.

question three: pregnancy after loss

2011-08-29T08:00:00.000-04:00

Angie: Pondering how to word my question just right so I'll get a mile long post with all life's answers on how to survive pregnancy-after-stillbirth without dissolving into the schizophrenic bag lady on The Simpson's who throws live cats at people. So here it goes, how did you do it? At what point did you and Sam finally realize Thor was Thor and not Lucy? (Kevin and I are constantly calling

question two: dealing with living children and grief

2011-08-28T08:28:00.000-04:00

Kate: My question, something that's been troubling me since my son was stillborn last year, is how will I explain this to any future children we're lucky enough to have? I know you have young kids, so I'm wondering how do you explain Lucy's death to them? Drew was our first, so I'm just wondering how I will explain this to any brothers and sisters he may have. I guess I'm just anticipating the

question one: karma

2011-08-26T21:16:00.000-04:00

Okay, y'all have given me some incredible questions to answer. So, I am answering one theme of questions at a time. You can still ask me questions. I will be answering them every day next week too. I will select a winner next Tuesday. This is one I have been meaning to write about anyway, so I am starting with this. It got very long very quickly. Sarah: OK. Since you asked. I'm still

news, giveaway and ask me something.

2011-08-25T12:45:00.000-04:00

Good aftermornevening, Hedgehogs. My loves. A post with some news bits, call for questions and a giveaway. News bit number one: MISS Foundation is planning a local walk in the Philadelphia area on October 15th. Location still undecided and plans are just being made, but I think it would be awesome to mobilize the babylost community in the greater Philly area for a Kindness Walk. More details to

short story

2011-08-25T06:52:00.002-04:00

Today, I am over at Glow in the Woods rewriting my long story into a short story. Pop over for a read.

the telephone

2011-08-23T08:57:00.001-04:00

I loathed the telephone. Eight months ago, if someone asked me to call her or him, I would groan inside. Seriously? Can't we just email like civilized people? Sometimes I still loathe it. Except that when I first sought help with my sobriety, someone gave me a list of phone numbers and told me to call three numbers on the sheet every day. Three. One. Two. Three. I didn't think it would

pain.

2011-08-19T08:41:00.000-04:00

I test the floor. Oooo, ouch. Wait. Breathe. My back shoots a pain through my mid-section, down through my legs. My knees click, crack, pop, crunch. My hips locked into the cowboy position. I grab for the boy and he crawls across the bed giggling. I grimace and make my way across the bed to catch him. I want to play, baby, but it hurts. It hurts. I hobble and wait for him to come to me. By the

the rain

2011-08-14T13:31:00.000-04:00

I love the rain--the sound, the smell, the feel. I love it more than anything that isn't mammal. Sometimes more than some mammals I know. It feels like a thing to me, like a breathing thing, alive and magical. Maybe it is a residual effect from living in the desert for five years. I understood why societies worship the weather and nature, particularly when you live in a place not designed to

friends

2011-08-07T17:22:00.001-04:00

I miss my friends. Strangely, in the earliest of days, I missed so much of myself that wasn't even really gone yet, or maybe that I never really had. Things like my confidence, and my security, and my innocence. And now, I really don't miss any of those things anymore. What right did I have as a thirty-seven year old woman to still have innocence? And my confidence? Nothing but a thin veneer

on writing and the drink.

2011-08-05T08:20:00.001-04:00

Sometimes a bourbon is just a bourbon. And I want one. Sobriety gets all muddled up in seven months, like a perfect mint julep. And what I mean by getting all muddled up is that in the beginning of sobriety, quitting drinking was just about me not buying whiskey and drinking it. A few months later, my drinking became about my childhood. A month later, drinking was about my long list of character

across the universe.

2011-08-01T11:33:00.000-04:00

Nothing's gonna change my world. Nothing's gonna change my worrrrld. Her singing catches me up. Nothing's gonna change my worrrrld. It makes me sad, suddenly and powerfully sad. Nothing will ever fix that break between thinking nothing is going to change your world and it changing. Her sister died. That is normal to her. One day, someone will tell her that not every sister dies, and that her

imaginary friend

2011-07-27T07:08:00.000-04:00

She stretches the length of the couch, her nose buried in a book. I want to cuddle her up, nibble on her toes, kiss her neck right under her chin. She looks like a miniature woman with her long muscular legs and artist fingers. It is only her little baby belly poking out in that adorable, perfect, unself-conscious way of a four year old, that reminds me how little she is. I feel like I missed

Snippets about Thor and Beezus.

2011-07-22T09:16:00.000-04:00

It had been a while since I pulled up her picture. The other day, Beezus asked me if Lucy looked like her or Thor. "Yes, my love." "Which one?" "Both of you. She is the perfect blend of both of you." This morning seemed like a fine time to see Lucy. It is overwhelmingly hot, and I am doing work. Looking at pictures is a luxury I rarely afford myself. I called to Beezus. Thor tottered in

Right Where I Am

2011-07-19T17:12:00.001-04:00

When I first thought about the Right Where I Am project, I kind of envisioned it as a Babylost It Gets Better, though not better, because it doesn't get better, but it somehow changes and the changes are an interesting sensation we must pay attention to, as someone once told me about labor pains (That isn't interesting, sister, that shit hurts.) (And not to downplay the very very important

the comfty chair

2011-07-14T13:43:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I don't wonder what she would look like if she lived, I wonder what I would look like if she lived. Like a domino trail, I feel parts of me fall, touch another, it falls, until I am nothing but a heap of fat mush around a still-beating broken heart. My organs writhe around my grief. My muscle twist and cramp around my sadness. I ache. I read on a blog about how stomach muscles atrophy

still life everyday

2011-07-12T14:02:00.000-04:00

If you don't know, I have a blog called still life everyday, which cataloged my adventures last year with the Creative Every Day (CED) project. The beautiful thing about CED is that it created the habit in our lives of being creative and thinking creatively every day. This year, I am so much less formal about that project, but interestingly enough, I think I am so much more creative in how I

home again

2011-07-11T00:13:00.002-04:00

There is always a moment when I am traveling with my kids where I wonder what the hell I was thinking. And that thought immediately rolls into the next one which is "I am never flying again." I try to remember when flying was just me worried about my stuff. When I complained about a Korean girl with bad breath one flight, and another where a man drooled on my shoulder, but then bought me a drink,

the gulf

2011-07-06T08:39:00.004-04:00

It's pretty here, except for the rigs dotting the horizon. I just called them oil rigs when we first got here, but my brother-in-law told me they were natural gas. I nodded. I don't mind making sweeping generalizations about things like that. They pump fuel out of the ground. I don't need specifics. My sister-in-law said, "Whatever the hell they are, they are blocking my view." I have never swam

questions

2011-06-30T21:52:00.002-04:00

I'm over at Glow in the Woods today sharing my story about a question.

somewhere else

2011-06-29T00:07:00.000-04:00

There is a 4"x6" index card with a list of my lists, so I don't lose one along the way. There is a list for what to pack, what to buy, what we need, what we are supposed to do before we go, what we are supposed to do the day we go. There is a list for each person even though two of them can't read. There is a list of things to take care of that actually says, "Wax eyebrows" underneath "Suspend

wild thing

2011-06-21T09:05:00.000-04:00

Restlessness overtakes me. I watch Intervention. Twice. Then Hoarders. Then pace a bit. Sometimes I feel like a wild thing, a creature of the moon. I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. Why aren't I sleepy? Is it because of the moon or the earth? What am I worried about? Nothing. I am a wild thing. Wild and unattached. An animal. I told my daughter the difference between monkeys and apes.

retreat

2011-06-13T21:47:00.001-04:00

I turned off the street from the city. It is one long street that starts at the zoo, and goes on and on, through the ghetto, the burbs, passed a few universities. And then it keeps going to the farms and the Amish and another country really. If you keep driving long enough, I guess every street takes you somewhere else. The convent is a left, a right, a right, a left, turn at the Virgin Mary,

Randomness and another project?

2011-06-08T07:36:00.000-04:00

My totally unscientific observation about Facebook: It isn't until you lose your child that you realize that a large percentage, perhaps even the majority, of Facebook status updates and posts are about pregnancy (complaining or otherwise), babies (complaining or otherwise) and kids (complaining or otherwise). It isn't until you quit drinking that you realize that the majority of the now

Guest post: Right Where I Am: 2 Years, 6 Months, 28 Days & 1 Year, 4 Months, 5 Days

2011-06-01T20:29:00.000-04:00

It is my great honor to welcome my first guest post on still life with circles. Very early in my grief, Danielle and I began exchanging emails. She was and still is a frequent commenter on my blog and several others in the community. Her insights, wit, compassion and kindness instantly drew me, and many of my friends, to her. Her first son Kai died a month and a half before Lucia, and we quickly

wild is the wind.

2011-05-30T12:31:00.001-04:00

Today I am over at Glow in the Woods. I felt inspired by Nina Simone's song Wild is the Wind, and feeling wild and windy and sad and loving and everything in between. Maybe it is like grief jazz. Here is the song if you are interested.

Right Where I Am Project: Two Years, Five Months.

2011-05-25T15:57:00.004-04:00

ATTENTION: Reader Readers, the post includes the project I mentioned a few months ago, the one where you talk about right where you are in your grief and what it is like now, so new people can get an idea of the experience of grief further down the road, and so people further down the road can reflect on how far they have come in their grief. "I want to write about Lucy, but I feel lost in all

slamming doors

2011-05-23T09:25:00.000-04:00