Archive for December, 2015


So, I bought my husband, among other things,  a robe and slippers. I have two robes, but find myself slipping into his. I love this husband of mine. His cologne is on the robe.

Douglas the Douglas Fir Christmas Tree has been derbies. The lights and one blue ornament I have just seen are all that need to be removed now. Then, he will go out.

I often wonder why so many people respond to the death of my child with, “You can have another one.” with a pat and a small smile. Really? Your dog dies and people fall all over themselves with sadness and well wishes. My child that I grew and loved and birthed passed from being a part of me to being separate and cold. Yet, no one tells the pet owner to just, “Get another dog.” They are allowed their grief, their sadness. The pet is allowed to have exited and been enough on its own. But my baby, supposedly, and my grief can be replaced by, “Having another one.” What is the disconnect with the value of human life vs. all others?

Since my classes are nearly over, I am preparing to return to full-time work. I have been on a 37 hour schedule for a while. The work load never decreased, only my hours. Therefore, I need all 40 hours to complete my tasks. I look forward to working hard and working well. To completing more in a nice timeline.

Each day I look forward to the return home of my honey. To his hugs and voice. I am so glad he is mine. He is my constant through this winding, scary, hilarious life we walk together. We have never raised our voices to each other, never sworn at the other. We try to listen and value the other’s words. We tread gently when one is upset. We apologize and accept responsibility. We try to give grace, seek understanding. I strive not to hurt him. He protects me, as well. We are one. When one of us is wounded, we both take the pain. He is so very kind to me. I try to love him well. We are one.


Oh, what a year this has been. What a terrible, joyous, difficult year this has been.

Lately, babies and their mothers are everywhere. That is what it is. The hard part is the ones that are rubbed in our faces. Women cannot help being pregnant, but they can have some sensitivity. Some imagination. How could someone with child, or already a parent, NOT understand the possible pain associated with spouting it off, to me?

We sent out birth announcements with our Christmas cards. Days later, DAYS, a friend, eager to share, made the first thing I was exposed to in the early morning, the news of her brand new pregnancy. Is there no understanding, no empathy. You have just received a fresh reminder of the son that I buried five months ago, and your first thought it not, “Maybe I can wait on this?”

Since the friend missed the obvious painful error in her actions, I squeezed out a ‘congratulations’ and cautioned myself to have little to do with her, at least for a while. If she was unable to see this, why should I expect her to tread any lighter in the future? If I involve myself too much, this will be a long, painful pregnancy, and it’s not even mine. Therefore, I will be careful.

I don’t yet understand¬†how careless people can be sometimes. My baby is dead and you expect, what, happy tears for your brand new one? Please. Leave the nonsense outside.