The Boy In Our Hearts

She knows she has another brother, one she can't play with or see or talk to or torment. One who won't torment her back, the way her eldest brother does.

“He's in our heart,” she says, pointing to her chest.
“Yes, baby,” I tell her. “He's in our heart.”
“I'm not a baby,” she says forcefully. And she isn't, of course. She's four. But she doesn't only mean that she's too big to be called baby. She knows she'll always be my baby. Daddy's baby. Our baby.

A Very Lovely Summer

The strawberries have going berserk in the front yard. The bean plant I unceremoniously ripped from one back yard container garden survived its relocation to the front yard as well and one long reaching vine climbs happily up a shepherd's hook I'd been keeping in my I swear I'm going to do something with that pile for years.

What The Fates Allow

I sit with my back to the Christmas tree, a roll of wrapping paper on the floor in front of me. There are a dozen or so gifts to wrap for the children and I am excited. This will be the loveliest Christmas we've had in years.

I roll the thick paper back onto itself and press it down to give myself a crease, the way my mother taught me when I was young. I slide a knife through the fold to give myself a good cut edge, and then flip the paper over. The first gift to be wrapped is a darling Playmobil set I would have adored as a girl. Who are we kidding? I adore it now.

Milestones, Etc

Originally posted to Livejournal February 1, 2010

Dear Christopher Robin,

I know that you probably wouldn't have been born on your due date even if I had carried you to term, but it didn't make Saturday any easier. Your dad was home from Dallas this weekend, which made it a lot more bearable, but that's only saying so much.

One Hour of Remembrance

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. When we first lost Christopher Robin, I couldn't imagine needing a particular day of remembrance. I was choking on a grief so thick it seemed as if it would never abate.

And then, life did that horrible thing it always does in the aftermath of tragedy: it goes on.

(And on, and on...)

It's going to be a really busy night in the RunningNekkid household tonight. Most of them are nowadays.

Five Years of Going On

Trigger warning: stillbirth, including a photograph.

Tonight my brother Evans is coming over for dinner. It's his birthday, so we'll feed him nachos and birthday cake and do our best not to totally embarrass him. He will fall asleep on the couch at least twice. He will read a novel on his Kindle and awkwardly goof off with my children.

And it will be really, really perfect.

Okay, so maybe not all of it will be perfect.

There Will Be No More Babies

She seemed to be looking for something, as we stomped our way to the park. She'd pound her red-headed hammer against a telephone pole or a rock (don't bam bam the tree, sweet girl, it's alive) then peer into the grass; the rustling branches of a rosemary bush.

"What do you see?" I asked.
Instead of answering, she muttered into her dirt covered hand.

A Whispered Awareness

October is an ocean of pink. Everywhere you look, you can buy affirmations of solidarity to let everyone know that yes, my licensed water bottle proves I am in this fight. Even my beloved Sounders sported their obligatory pink to support breast cancer awareness. A pink ball was used, to further the cause.

I'm sure that was super helpful.

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