a love song from the early days
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this cursed body of mine, a walking grave,
a shallow coffin,
now scarred by an indescribable kind
of maternal violence
that i shudder to absorb
Life and loss, before and after
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Us mortals, we like to fathom. Make sense. Calculate. Depend on. Plan. We accept that being derailed is part of the journey, and getting back on track reinforces the predictability, the reliability of life. But when life just becomes one derailment after another, do you create a different path?
Read MoreMemory
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This is where my memory begins to fade. Wanting, what I now believe was the protection of my sanity, my mind started uprooting entire events and details of Raahi's hospital stay, as I could not bear to remember the nuances, grief sweeping through me like a forceful mudslide. My memory wanted to forget death, and with it, it had to forget life too.
Read MoreMilk
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I remember exactly how we were sitting on the hospital bed. I remember the color of light coming through the hospital window. I remember A and I looking at each other, our pause of disbelief, and looking back at this idiotic woman who hadn’t gotten the memo. Then saying what I suddenly know I’ll be saying over and over and over: “The baby died.”
Read MoreThe look
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I do not look at myself with those old eyes of mine. Instead, I now look at myself with my new eyes. Raahi’s eyes. I see her Ma, her newly stylish and still nerdy Ma. We both like how she looks. How has your appearance evolved/changed since your loss(es)? Does making an effort to look "put together" matter anymore to you? What connection, if any, do you now make between how you look and how it makes you feel?
Read Moredead metaphor
/We are honored today to present a guest post by Romina. She is a sometimes teacher, all times mother, living with the loss of her third son. Ellis Tilde Asuro was born still on November 21, 2013.
I gave birth to death.
That is not a metaphor.
I gave birth to death
and I don’t know how to wean him.
They hint at it. It’s time to let him go.
They don’t speak his name.
I’ve been told he’s getting too old for this.
If I don’t do it now, this may go on forever.
I pushed death out of me and he stopped being mine.
I pushed death out of me and I stopped being his.
In the nine months since, I could have made a living child.
And in the nine months since, I could have learned to let him go.
But in a whole lifetime, I could not create enough life to
bring him near. I could not transform him into the living.
Has anyone told you it's time to move on? How do you respond?