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I don’t want to just be
a baby-grow machine
my current identity
as what is growing in me.

I am elaborate and kind
I have thoughts in this mind
there are many things to find
if you’ll only take the time.

I don’t want to just be
a life-hoarding entity
to feel the lives within me
are somehow my enemy.

I have value beyond words
feelings sometimes absurd
experiences that hurt
it all adds to my worth.

I don’t want to just be
a baby-grow machine
a woman that makes dreams
while hers are set to stream.

I am writhing right before you
can’t you see how I adore you
does my affection bore you
has my touch now tore you?

I don’t want to just be
concerned with flips in belly
heart flips come now seldomly
as resting is my duty.

I am yearning to be seen as
the queen a king indeed has
to leave behind the thought past
and be shown a crown cast.

I don’t want to just be
a baby-grow machine
there is so much complexity
in the other parts of me.

Don’t you see
I can’t just be
a baby grow machine
Don’t you know how it hurts me
to not fully be seen
I am able to do more mean
than sleep and eat and pee
I can accomplish great things
if you come along with me
And do no longer shrink me
to baby-grow machine
I am wife and life, humanity
even if it can’t be seen.

Do not only leave me be
a baby-grow machine
i have award never-ending
if you come away with me.

I don’t want to just be
a baby-grow machine
i always need you baby
will you come onward with me?



Yesterday morning I was pretty snippy. I just felt short. I don’t know why.

This afternoon has been awful. It seems like no matter where I go or what time I head there I simply can NOT be early. Leaving earlier than normal still lands me at my destination either the same time as leaving TWENTY MINUTES later or LATER THAN NORMAL.

It occurred to me that perhaps I am trying to be taught the lesson of patience, since it can’t be time management as I leave ridiculous amounts of travel time before I need to arrive. Instead of me learning to be patient and docile and content it just beats me down. It just feels like He keeps beating me down. It keeps feeling like no matter what I do lately it is not good enough, or simply not enough.

And instead of feeling closer and more trusting, I feel utter fear and disdain. The One who holds it all in His hands…it feels like He’s crushing me. Bearing down on me. Squeezing out of me all light.

Others have said how strong I am. How I am ‘doing it.’ Doing what? Feeling like I can’t manage this hole inside of me and NO ONE can see, NO ONE actually cares. NO ONE follows up.

There was a time where I would have said that I have a good group of friends. Let’s run down that list, shall we?

C – For over a year I was always the one initiating contact. Since July, NOTHING. Not one phone call that was not a ‘return’.
M – A couple texts, but only 1 or 3 or so calls answered. A smaller number returned. L – Whatever.
M – Alright, I guess. It seems like EVERY phone call is about my dead baby. You’re stuck on this, for we only talk when I am down.
L – When I needed most to talk about mundane things, if I didn’t call you. I didn’t hear from you.
F – Once. Though you might know some of what I have felt.
E – Once.

There are more, but those are the closest, the ones that most come to mind. Though ‘praying for you’ is nice to say it does nothing for the other parts of me.

And I wouldn’t say that I’m losing my faith. More so losing my taste, for the things that disappoint. Continually disappoint.

And all of this, alone and together, makes me feel so very, incredibly, ANGRY.


I feel nauseous all the time now. I thought it was because of  a meeting I was nervous about. I thought it was something I had eaten, too much dairy. I thought it was because I was hungry, tired, had eaten too much. I thought it was because I was worried about an appointment. I thought it was because of the atmosphere at work. I thought and thought and thought…

But, I am still nauseous all the time, now. I am feeling sick to my stomach most moments. I am lost and upset and confused and angry. And sick. to. my. stomach.

And I have never felt so very alone. It’s like people think it has been long enough and things are back to normal. For them, perhaps. But my normal is without a child. My normal has left a hole without measure. And I am so, very nauseous.

It seems that the empathy set aside for grief is gone. When I say I have had a rough day or a hard week, everyone asks, “What happened?” As though they expect a ‘new’ thing to have happened.

“The very same thing that happened before. That thing that both made me a fully recognized mom and member of a group all too forgotten. My son, who I never held in my arms while he still had life in him, was buried just three months ago. That is what happened. Is that so easy to forget?”

Of course, one cannot be that open, that honest with most. One or two, maybe. But not the majority. Not most of the world.

And as a grieve and re-learn how to live life and deal with this never-ending nausea it feels pretty bad to know those around me don’t understand and don’t seem to want to.


Dear son

Today, dear son, I spoke to your grave
and today, dear son, I felt pretty brave
and your dad touched the box you were in, yesterday
and today, dear son, I stood at your grave.

Today, dear son, I admired my body
today, I did, though your Dad always applauds me
and today, the dips and hills swelled softly
and today, dear son, I thanked my whole body.

For the months that it kept you, safe and warm
and the way it protected you, daily from harm
and the way your Dad kissed and oiled o’er your form
and today, dear son, you’re still safe and warm.

Today, dear son, I looked at your plot
and the earth did begot a wondrous thought
and I picked up a rose without blemish or spot
and I laid it back down, beauty on your plot.

Today, dear son, I missed your heartbeat
and I shuffled a little around on my feet
and your face, like your Dad’s, came before me so sweet
and today, dear son, I savored his heartbeat.

Today, dear son, I walked deeper in love
something that I know you know so much of
and today I felt close to the man ‘Richard of’
and today, dear son, I remembered your love.

Today, dear son, I thought of your flutter
and my heart softly uttered, scarce more than a mutter,
“How lovely, how holy the gift hood of mother.”
and today, dear son, I felt such a flutter.

Today, dear son, I woke up with hope
and I prayed such a prayer well before I spoke
and your Dad and I love you with so wide a scope
and today, dear son, you gave me such hope.

Today, dear son, I spoke to your grave
and today, dear son, I felt pretty brave
and your Dad touched the box you were in, yesterday
and today, dear son, I stood at your grave.

July 23, 2015

I picked out what I would wear to bury my son in tonight.
Simple black on black.
I know that he is no longer there, that his body, without his soul is just a symbol.
Yet, it seems wrong to treat his little vessel with anything but the highest respect.
It DID house his soul for a time.
The entire time we had him.
It allowed him to kick and flip and drink and pee.
It kept him here with us. With me.
That little, perfect body, held within it a soul too beautiful to be seen.
How gracious, we can get so close to one another.
He knew Dad’s voice as well as he knew my heartbeat.
And even when his heart slowed to half of mine, it held him.
This little, red housing, held my little boy.
Tighter than I could. Closer than I have yet to hold him.
And while, he lives on in the presence of God, this vessel ties him back to me.
Allows me to visit and think of him often.
To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.
There is no better place for him.
Not our home. Not Dad’s arms. Not even my womb.
How I wish he were in one of them.
Instead, he is more alive than I have yet become.
And his ten fingered, ten toed, tiny mouthed vessel, is here.
So, I can be as close to him as humanly possibly.
I picked out what I would bury my son in tonight.
As I cuddle up for sleep, holding an identical blanket to the one he will be wrapped in for all time, my heart sorrows within me.
Oh, that I could see his face and touch my lips to him again.
Instead, I clutch this blanket. Hurry my husband to bed. Hope we haven’t forgotten anything. For, in only 12 hours, we will arrive at the site.
Where what remains of Charlie on Earth, will be placed into the ground.
Sealed in a vault, that he may be best preserved.
I chose what I would bury my son in tonight.
And I despise it.
May the Lord continue to show us His grace and shower on us, His peace.


Today is day two of pumping.
Day two of expressing.
Day two of producing bountiful amounts of breast milk.
My body responding to the changes.
The changes that come with bearing down and birthing.
Birthing another soul into the bright, chilly atmosphere of life apart.
It is going well. The pumping.
The storing of liquid gold for a child.
A child I don’t have. Not with me.
I have this child. I have had this child.
But he is not WITH me. He is physically absent.
This son’s soul is with Abba. His empty vessel a few miles away.
But, I am pumping, expressing, storing.
For a child. A child I don’t have.
For a child in need. Perhaps like my own Charlie.
And I will continue to squeeze and freeze and squeeze and freeze.
For a child. A child someone has.
A precious, precious, incredible soul someone has.


I went for a drive tonight. It wasn’t terribly long. Clocking in under an hour.

Why go for a drive? I was disappointed. A touch overwhelmed.

I mean, I’m pretty much in a land-locked city. So, gone was the option of the beach in its consistent crashing. Away was the hope of watching a river pass beneath my feet. But, I needed something that moved. And the car is the fastest thing I’ve got.

So. I went for a drive. How was it? Meh. I noticed a few more businesses and the like around my block. I drove until I saw a street name I recognized. I passed that Wal-Mart that I will never visit again.

I was asked tonight, “What do you want to do?”

My answer was, “Go away.”

That is what the drive was a teensy bit like for me tonight. I still had to come back. I am still limited on just how far and fast and frequently I can go. But, alas, tonight: I went. I was away. And during that short drive, I felt away. I was just as indifferent as the next guy.

Under/Over (Upset)

Wanting  leaking from my eyes
I wipe away the weakness
Pushing moisture to the side

Feeling has lost its meaning
Aching jabs won’t stay at bay
Easy joy escapes me
Chases happiness away

Thinking becomes doing
Wayward thoughts alive and well
As I near the precipice
I sense a coming swell

Dark orbs search, high and empty
No emotion in them seen
Merely blankness and a hint
Hint of mischievous gleam

Senses all overwhelmed
There’s a nasty storm brewing
And nobody’s at the helm

I tried.

The problem with feeling is…See I tried. I did. I tried this whole feeling thing. I even tried the share feeling with, for, about someone thing. I gave it a good go. A really good go.

But. Hear me: I’m done.

I’m not saying it’s not fun (for a while). I’m not saying it’s not cool (pretty darn cool in some ways). I’m not even saying it was a (complete) waste.

I shared. I opened. I felt. I talked. I listened. I imagined. And now, I quit.

It may be cool for you. May be good for you. Exciting for you. But for me? It’s not worth it.

Know what I felt? Giddy. Silly. Butterflies. Shock. Hurt. Disgust. Hot. Warm. Cold. Ignored. Focused on. Slighted. Happy. Sad. Upset. Tiredness. Excitement. Eagerness. Dread.

You name it, I may have felt it. And I have found that I would be okay if I didn’t feel it again. The drain is not worth it. The trade is not worth it. The ache is not worth it.

Because you know what? She still leaves. Active. Current. Leaves. And he still leaves. Abandons. Departs. THAT does not change. The degree in which I FEEL THE VOID changes. And that, to me, is not worth the other things. Not even close.

Hi! My name is Boston Found. (pause) I am prone to over-preparing.

I like being prepared. Whether that means buying groceries not on my list, getting the lowdown on a professor before the semester begins, or double-checking the water level in my humidifier, I like being prepared.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sorry about this, by any stretch of the imagination, but I am aware that others are not used to this.

The good news is, I’m beginning EMT-Basic training in less than 2 weeks! (13 days. I’m so ready.) But I know that being ready excitement wise is not the same as actually being prepared. So…I checked out a copy of an EMT-B textbook from my nearest (not really, 45 minute commute away) library. I don’t know if it is the textbook we will use, they will give us our books on the first day of class, but the material should be nearly identical. How much can change about how to bandage a protruding object or childbirth protocols? I checked it out yesterday and last night I read the first chapter…and made flashcards. Tonight, on to the beginning of chapter 2, flashcards to come.

And really, I am so excited. I never imagined myself in an ambulance. I can’t even think about what the daily life looks like. Wow. But hey, what do I know? God knows my abilities because He created me. He’s always right. No matter the call, no matter the patient, God is always righteous. May His mercy grace us all. (You see what I did there? You like how I did that? ‘Cause grace and mercy are different…You see it.)