How strange that I should share my obituary when I am very much alive and well, but there you go. I wrote this in a flash non-fiction course with Christi Craig as a silly little play on form. I later attempted to fictionalize it simply by changing the name of the character, but realized that this was indeed always about me, or rather, my perception of myself. So I’m keeping it real. Lest my obituary reads as follows:Read More
I’m changing my word. Can you do that, mid-year? I don’t know the protocol for the whole word-of-the-year business. But I’ve decided I’m changing mine. Or at least, changing the definition slightly. And since my word was originally “open” - meaning, I want to be open to new ideas, new challenges, new perspectives, I think the shift is actually quite apropos.Read More
So often, we keep our grief to ourselves. We keep it hidden behind a façade, veiled in secrecy and shame. Is it a lingering childhood memory of being told not to cry? Do we not want to burden our family and friends with our sadness? Are we afraid of appearing vulnerable? Or worried that if we allow ourselves to dip into that deep well of grief, we may never come back?
Whatever the reason, we keep our grief private.
The grief that surrounds infertility or miscarriage is even more private. Our attempts at pregnancy are shrouded in secrecy to begin with, the disappointments hidden away with each cycle, or with each premature end. It’s common practice to wait until the jeans begin to bulge to make our happy announcements, and yet, so often the sorrow arrives before we move into our new size, if we move at all. And so we grieve alone.Read More