Fox on the Run (My Insides, Out.)

on pearls and oysters

2012-02-07T18:41:00.000-08:00

Someone told me once that I am
like a pearl, and tried
earnestly
to explain it to me and
at the time I smiled
wanly, I'm sure
and nodded and thought it was
a nice, if somewhat empty, thing to say.

Now I think I am not at all
like a pearl, or at least
I don't really want to be
for a pearl, at it's heart
is sand, and sand
is broken rock, worn down
to nearly nothing, grey
or brown and dull and I hope
my heart cannot be described with such
dreary words as broken, grey, brown, or dull.

I hope that I am more like the oyster,
whose pain created the pearl.
The oyster, who did the hard work despite
the wounding foreign shard, who
wrapped and wrapped a grey and dull and
hurtful broken thing in
silky iridescence, covered it in
layers of beauty and mystery
and the joyful surprise of discovery and yet
will never forget that yes, there is
a secret bit of brokenness
at the heart of this lovely thing it has made.

In my dream, he has a red coat.

2012-02-06T22:22:00.000-08:00

In my dream, he has a red coat. A red coat, and a striped scarf, and tiny black mittens and tall green boots.

I lift him out of his car seat, and he cheers and wraps his arms around my neck. He is big enough to walk, but I love the smell of him, love the way he rests his cheek ever so briefly on my shoulder, love how his hand wanders into my hair, despite the mittens. And so I carry him. Because I can.

It is cold here. Our breath leaves us as wispy white ghosts, making us giggle. We whisper together excitedly as we walk up to the apartment, and knock, and wait to be let in. My brother whips open the door and we are welcomed with that enveloping enthusiasm that never ceases to startle and amaze and comfort me. My brother is all enthusiasm, all quick movement and noise and taking up space and I absolutely adore him for it. Noah hides his face, feigning shyness--but we all know better. Soon enough he is laughing and playing and running around with R, and they are ridiculously cute together, and it is good, it is so, so good, and we are happy.

We are so ridiculously happy.

----------

Sometimes I wonder if this is happening, right now, in some alternate universe. I hope it is happening. I hope it happens again and again and again. I hope there is a place where my baby is alive. Live, baby! Live, my darling. Live and be happy. Play with your cousin and grow and live and be happy.

And you too, other me. I hope you can live, and be happy. Just like in my dreams.

real

2012-02-04T14:53:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I like to pretend that I know you. That you call me up just because. That you are proud, as I am, of the things I've accomplished.

I like to pretend that when I was small, and so often sick, you would test my forehead with a kiss, that you would read me stories and make a pot of soup from scratch, just for me, your presence and your undivided attention coaxing me back to some semblance of health. It's all I ever needed, to get well: the smell of soup, and knowing someone cared. It's still what I need. It's still what I never receive, except for the one time, and then not from you.

I like to pretend our house was always clean and dry and full of light. That it smelled nice, that you smelled nice. That you smiled more often than frowned. That you loved me. That you loved anything at all.

My mind is strong. Even I can say that, and with confidence. I didn't just erase the bad things, as they happened; I made up new and better things to take their place. Not much better, but a little better. Rational, nearly palatable. Just this side of horrifying. Bearable, you know? Bearable, I thought. But I don't think that, anymore. I think I know exactly how Peeta feels when he says, "Real, or not real?" Dreading the answer, either way, for neither memory is a welcome one.

I wish you were real, and not a story I made up to keep my heart from breaking. I wish I knew I'd have a chance to make my stories true for someone else.

notable quotables

2012-02-01T20:10:00.000-08:00

inspired by BRIGHT RED HOODIE :)

...

2012-01-23T15:00:00.000-08:00

The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.

Albert Camus

confession

2012-01-18T13:45:00.000-08:00

I want to scoop up your words and put them in my pockets,
run them between my fingers in idle moments
sprinkle them around me, my magic circle
my trail of crumbs back home. I come
greedily, silently and often
a thief in the night
and I take take take, and your words
shine a light or
blow things to bits or
make space inside of me that was not there before. It is
foolishness, really
to leave such treasures lying about, where anyone can see.

But I love your foolishness; the generosity
the kindness, the courage of it.

Catherine! Jess! Kate! This one's for you. Because I think you are magnificent, and because your writing makes my life better. I pretty much fail at commenting, but I really do love you.

come morning light

2012-01-15T13:03:00.000-08:00

Sad, but so well done I can't stop listening to it.

some other beginning's end

2012-01-02T23:15:00.000-08:00

Into a new year, a golden year -- a glory year, I hope. Just me and my full full heart and steadfast spirit and diamond mind. No secret dreams, not this time; I've laid them out, big and small, gentle and attainable but challenging still, and if I can achieve even half of them I'll feel that this was a more than worthwhile year.

friendly ghosts

2011-12-30T22:35:00.000-08:00

Work is just that, isn't it, and taking more out of me than I ever knew it could. My words are scarce, even inside my own head, all echoes and whispers and fragments of things that almost are and then are not. What words I do have are saved for them, for my dearest, my friendly ghosts.

bits and pieces

2011-12-24T23:07:00.000-08:00

There is nothing left, nothing
but a box and
another, smaller box
which
contain

bits and pieces
ribbons, lace
cards and letters

the teeniest, tiniest
things:

brown monkey shoes
stripey shirts
a hat
a blanket
a book
a dress

all that is left
of the two of you, and
who I hoped
you'd be.

the very last day

2011-12-15T23:42:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in a living room. I am living. I am loved. And tomorrow we will have Christmas. (Christmas!) It doesn't matter the day. It will be Christmas here, tomorrow. It will be twinkly lights and yummy dinner and nutella and chocolate and torn paper and peppermints and squeals and pajamas and blankets and gingerbread and smiles. It will be presents made and bought and wrapped in secret and taped up tight with names all scrawled across the front in black sharpie. It will be hugs and squeezes and not letting go not even for a second because this is the last day, the very last day. The last day together. Our Christmas.

concise

2011-12-06T23:07:00.000-08:00

My posts are often short. I cannot go on at length, for what is left to say? I cannot tell you of their darlingness, their splendidness. Their precious, precious hearts. I cannot tell you.

I cannot tell.

exist, cease, persist

2011-12-02T10:04:00.000-08:00

This short article by Brian Greene was really interesting to me.

I think about death and dying a lot. That sounds morbid I guess, but I don't think I'm morbid. I have encountered something that changed me profoundly; I consider it often because I need to understand it as best I can, or risk running mad, shattered by my lack of... well. Shattered by my lack.

People rarely seem to want to talk about it, which makes me appreciate candid opinions and theories like this one all the more. It's only a way of thinking, of course; but what else do we have?

the playlist game

2011-11-23T11:41:00.000-08:00

I can't remember where I got this from, but it seemed like a fun thing to do today. If you like, you can create your own post and join in below using Mr. Linky, or just share your playlist in the comments. Then in a week or so I'll choose someone at random to win a little present from me, including a mix CD of my most loved Christmas/Winter songs. :)

01 | Your Favorite
Volcano - Damien Rice

02 | Makes You Happy
Kill Your Heroes - AWOLNATION

03 | Makes You Sad
The Chain - Ingrid Michaelson

04 | Reminds You of Someone
Safe & Sound - Matthew Mayfield

05 | Reminds You of Somewhere
Airplanes - B.o.B.

06 | Reminds You of a Certain Event
Running Up That Hill - Placebo

07 | You Can Dance To
Sing, Sing, Sing - Benny Goodman

08 | You Can Fall Asleep To
Song for Viola - Peter Bradley Adams

09 | From Your Favorite Band
Secrets - One Republic

10 | From Your Favorite Album
Poison & Wine - The Civil Wars

11 | Recently Discovered
Cameras - Matt & Kim

12 | An Unexpected Fave
How I Roll - Britney Spears

13 | Describes You
Everything's Just Wonderful - Lily Allen

14 | For When You’re Angry
Not Afraid - Eminem

15 | For When You’re Excited
Queen of the World - Ida Maria

16 | For When You’re Sad
Bring on the Wonder - Susan Enan

17 | To Be Played at Your Wedding
Lullaby - Dixie Chicks

18 | To Be Played at Your Funeral
How the Day Sounds - Greg Laswell

19 | Makes You Laugh
Hallows - Mandy Maynard

20 | Your Favorite at This Time Last Year
Maybe Next Year - Meiko

I hope you'll play! I have a wicked sore throat that kept me up into the night, and a muchness of things to get ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow. I could use some good new songs to get me through it!

my favorite part

2011-11-09T09:39:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving was always
nine miserable hours in the car
through the day and long into
the deep night
but then
waking up
alone
in a bed piled high
with clean quilts
behind a narrow door that locked
in a little room at the end
of the hall
where the air was warm
and never smelled of damp or rot

it smelled of turkey
which had been in the oven for hours already
and it smelled of forethought, which smells like love
and the sound of coffee percolating
marched purposefully down that hall
soft but persistent
a call to wake up, wake up
it's today
it's morning
and no one is drunk yet
and you are safe for now
and warm

wake up, enjoy it
while you can.

lullaby

2011-11-07T00:41:00.000-08:00

I miss my baby.

2011-11-06T21:08:00.000-08:00

I cried today. I haven't cried in awhile.
I miss him so much.

fierce medicine

2011-10-30T18:21:00.000-07:00

This is the only book I read all month. It took me that long to get through it... and it was worth every minute. This woman is amazing; her writing is powerful and challenging and inspiring and I highly recommend this book to survivors of every age and shape and kind.

sin city

2011-10-27T11:10:00.000-07:00

We went to Vegas for my cousin's 21st birthday. It was awesome ♥

1. en route 2. birthday shots 3. new york new york
4. hard rock hotel 5. mgm lion 6. at breakfast
7. view from stratosphere 8. bellagio fountains 9. birthday girl

just for fun

2011-10-21T17:35:00.000-07:00

spotted on Creature Comforts

instagram love

2011-10-18T21:19:00.000-07:00

1.new haircut 2.tree root heart 3.quilt project 4.caramel apple cider

I'm on Twitter now [vera_kate], and also Instagram [verakate]. So, you can totally check it out... You know, if you're into that sort of thing...

xoxo -- v

bring on the wonder

2011-10-15T20:13:00.000-07:00

a hole in the world

2011-10-15T13:18:00.000-07:00

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

raw

2011-10-08T23:56:00.000-07:00

My consciousness streams like comets, like meteors. Streams like rivers running madly, racing to the sea. It could be like this all the time; this free flow of thoughts. This sea of ideas. But I am surrounded by sluices and dams, all meticulously handmade... I'm terrified of drowning, you see.

A seamless transition.

That's what we all hope for, isn't it. But does it ever really happen? Is it even possible? I don't know. I think it might be a thing we made up.

I feel like every change I've ever made has been wrenching, like ripping off a band aid--only not done and over then, quickly, like they say it will be, but awful and messy and the sting doesn't fade, it just gets overwritten eventually, maybe, by a new kind of sting that isn't any better, just different.

It is so abrupt, this wide world. Blatant. Blatantly kind; blatantly cruel. Lacking in subtleties.

Oh, subtlety.

How I long for quiet details, rather than this vast, raw experience I've had. Raw like meat. Raw like bones exposed. Raw like animals in the winter in the wild, cold, ravening, merciless. Harsh.

Weeks, months, years. My baby is dead, dead! And it guts me still, in the same beautiful, haunting way it always has and always will, except that my breaths get bigger, now, instead of smaller, and I am so excruciatingly alive I can hardly stand it. I want to cry and sing. Laugh and scream. Shake my fist at the falling sky. Dance. Dance. Dance.

I am alive.

Last night I dreamed I was pregnant, heavily so, and happy. Near the end of the dream, I thought my water broke, but I wasn't sure, because I'd never felt it before. It made me sad, in the dream. I didn't know what to do next, and I was so sad. I felt like less than the other mothers, the ones who had done this before. I felt that I should know.

I was still sad, when I woke up, still unsure.

There is indescribable pain radiating outward from behind my right shoulder blade, as if there were a massive hook through and through my flesh. (It's happened before, right there, though I couldn't tell you why.) I've been almost totally incapacitated for two whole days. Disheartening. I try to breathe into it, but it's deep deep down and it's boiling lava hot and it hurts-hurts-hurts-hurts-hurts, and I'd rather just lie as still as I can, and pretend it's not there.

Story of my life.

Oh god, it hurts. All of it hurts.

But I am fierce, and clever, and strong, and no one has completely gotten the best of me yet.

the sun will still rise

2011-10-02T21:51:00.000-07:00

the law of bad things

2011-09-29T10:35:00.001-07:00

I hate that good things are so foreign to me it sends my system into shock. Crushing, crushing. Can't breathe. Dangerous scenarios feel natural, feel expected, feel like where I'm supposed to be. This whole year, nothing bad has happened to me, and I feel like I'm running from the law. The Law of Bad Things. Fugitive of horrors, hidden away for now -- but it's only a matter of time.

disquiet

2011-09-28T22:16:00.000-07:00

On the cusp of great things, and my first flawed instinct is to throw myself backward, toward known miseries, rather than risk flinging myself forward, into I-know-not-what.

fml

2011-09-21T18:09:00.001-07:00

The problem with feeling indifferent about "God" is that I have no one to rail at when I'm upset.

something that's like you

2011-09-17T19:56:00.000-07:00

Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. It doesn't matter what you do, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away.

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

better run, better run

2011-09-16T22:03:00.000-07:00

reckless

2011-09-14T21:42:00.000-07:00

Did I ever tell you how, a couple of months ago, I realized that I'd never broken a single bone in my body? Not only that, but did I tell you how shockingly ANGRY that realization made me feel? (Furious! Livid! Absolutely seething!) Not because I had any desire to actually break my bones, but because I was missing out on the kind of life experiences that cause broken bones -- and I was missing out on them for all the wrong reasons.

It made me want to jump from a high place, crash my bike, try skiing for the first time. It made me want to drive to Mexico in a borrowed car without any money. Go to a party with a hundred people I don't know. Drink too much, dance on tabletops. Get my lip pierced on a dare. It made me want to do things I've never done before.

It made me want to be reckless.

My current mantra, via weheartit.com

because

2011-09-13T15:09:00.000-07:00

I've been really stressed out lately because everyone is having babies except for me and because I finally got a new job which is amazing but also scary and because [the boy] is being noncommittal and it's driving me insane and because I don't have enough people to talk to about things and because I miss my friends so much and because I keep realizing all over again how much I hate my parents and what they did and how much it effected me and because there is so much revelation going on up in here it's making me dizzy... and because I know I'm the one who has to pick my own self up and make what I can out of this hard, hard life, every day, until it's done.

at sixes and sevens

2011-09-11T15:20:00.000-07:00

I'm so out of sorts this week I hardly know how to begin to describe it.

many words, no courage

2011-09-05T21:09:00.000-07:00

via weheartit.com

brash & brazen

2011-09-04T21:58:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just want to walk in there and kiss him, right in front of everybody. No nervous small talk, no half-promises, no guessing games. Just to see what it would be like; a hello and a goodbye at the same time.

Sometimes I wish I didn't worry so much about what happens afterward. After the bold gesture; after the dramatic moment.

It holds me back from trying so very many exciting things.

self-consolation

2011-09-03T21:37:00.000-07:00

Someday, every piece of clothing I own will be chic, and then it won't matter what I put on, I will always look like I have it together.

(I just went to the video store in yoga pants and a cami. All I can say is that I was really, really tired... And maybe I've been living in NorCal for too long. Nobody else thought it was weird, but I sure did.)

a center tightly wound

2011-09-01T15:48:00.000-07:00

They always called it "poise" but
if they'd asked, I'd have told them:

No.

Paralysis.
Inability to move.

---

Even now, I do not make
unnecessary movements. After
a run I push my muscles
to stretch as best they can but
though I am
leaner day by day it is often all I can do to

brush the very
tips
of my
toes, always
just out of reach, because
I am so inflexible,
unbending, rigid inside
and out. Every day

I operate from
a center so tightly wound I
do not know
what
might
happen
if it were to loosen
and so I do not

yield. For if this
twisted
mass of knot on
knot on
knot were ever picked free, what then

would be left to fill
out this treacherous
skin that is
the shape of
who I am?

little tiger

2011-08-31T22:09:00.000-07:00

I miss you, my baby, my darling son. I miss you.
Sweet dreams, my love.

....................

2011-08-31T18:21:00.000-07:00

1. un-birthday balloons 2. dessert

...................

2011-08-27T13:19:00.000-07:00

1. elephant 2. giraffe (Oakland Zoo)

..................

2011-08-26T22:02:00.000-07:00

1. & 2. jumping off the waterfall

musical interlude III

2011-08-26T08:07:00.000-07:00

.................

2011-08-25T22:36:00.001-07:00

1. movie date

................

2011-08-23T22:23:00.000-07:00

1. - 4. riding the cablecar in SF

...............

2011-08-23T21:44:00.000-07:00

1. on the pier 2. sea lions

..............

2011-08-22T18:25:00.000-07:00

1. summer girl

.............

2011-08-21T17:11:00.000-07:00

1. flippy-floppies (Sophia and Vera)

day of hope

2011-08-19T00:04:00.000-07:00

Learn more about the Day of Hope.

............

2011-08-18T14:07:00.000-07:00

1. pom garland in the window

...........

2011-08-18T13:19:00.000-07:00

1. & 2. white paper poms

2011-08-17T21:36:00.000-07:00

..........

2011-08-16T11:40:00.000-07:00

1. lacing up

musical interlude II

2011-08-15T23:54:00.000-07:00

.........

2011-08-15T14:26:00.000-07:00

1. lunch break

........

2011-08-14T18:40:00.001-07:00

1. waiting

.......

2011-08-11T15:19:00.000-07:00

1. story mapping

......

2011-08-10T12:53:00.000-07:00

1. ceiling fan 2. dress and door

.....

2011-08-09T11:46:00.001-07:00

1. feather 2. breakfast

musical interlude

2011-08-08T15:15:00.000-07:00

....

2011-08-07T12:33:00.000-07:00

1. self portrait, bw

...

2011-08-06T17:47:00.000-07:00

1. Oakland skyline from Alameda 2. Simba

..

2011-08-05T15:05:00.000-07:00

1. fortune

.

2011-08-04T17:13:00.000-07:00

1. sno shack sign 2. sno cone

the august break

2011-08-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

Learn more here.

glósóli

2011-08-02T00:14:00.000-07:00

mercy

2011-07-31T22:31:00.000-07:00

One month.

Oh, mercy.

I am coming undone.

hot damn!

2011-07-30T21:59:00.000-07:00

I went to Payless to try on some pretty shoes, in an attempt to make myself feel better. It did help. (I mean seriously, how amazing do my legs look right now?!)

sigh

2011-07-30T15:53:00.000-07:00

So very out of sorts today. I don't know what to do.

.:.:.:.:.:.

2011-07-23T13:15:00.000-07:00

I have dreamed in my life, dreams that stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.

Emily Bronte

midnight premiere

2011-07-16T18:07:00.000-07:00

On Thursday night I went to see the final Harry Potter. It was epic. Here is a photo in which I am super excited and also I have Gryffindor nails. :)

And here is my awesome shirt that I made. (Sparkly!)

And this is what we were singing while we waited. It makes me giggle.

Got Hermoine's wand / She's the best witch! / Watching Harry Potter / Feelin' fly like it's quidditch

Anyways... that's what made me happy this week. Thought I'd share. ♥

speechless

2011-07-13T15:58:00.000-07:00

Do you ever get the feeling that you've already said everything you ever needed to say? What do you do, when life carries on, and you have no words to describe it? There are people listening to me now; finally, finally. And suddenly I am speechless.

It is summer. I am by turns depressed and elated. The world spins: day and night and day again. I feel like I owe you something. I don't. If anything, I owe me something. I think I should be more grown up than I am. I think I've been grown up for much too long.

The world spins.

I cannot impart wisdom. Whatever you have is what you will always have, what you have had since the day you were born. It is in you. It is already in you.

summer mantra

2011-07-07T00:47:00.000-07:00

(source)

a standing invitation

2011-07-02T13:57:00.000-07:00

If you are someone who reads my words and you are ever in the Bay Area, you should let me know. We could, like, hang out and stuff. (I mean, I hung out with Alana one time, and she still talks to me, so I can't be too crazy.) Seriously though, email me and let me know if you want to get together. I am always happy to meet a friendly new face. And we can talk about whatever you want. I'm game. xoxo

writer's block

2011-06-28T21:23:00.000-07:00

I need to let myself be free. Allowed to write crap sometimes, to delve into my realm of experiences, good and bad. To go at it full tilt, headlong, and risk it all and plow into brick walls and end up totally spent but maybe--maybe--find a well of story that I can draw from, and shape into something recognizable and True, and send back out into the world.

I do kind of want to be a little bit famous... Only don't tell anybody.

Fly! Fly! Baby, don't cry.

2011-06-23T10:35:00.000-07:00

Never let your fear decide your fate.

over it

2011-06-19T10:19:00.001-07:00

I'm not over it. Any of it. I doubt I will ever be "over it." Rather, I feel as though I am--suddenly--in it. Not again, but for the first time. I am in my life. And the clarity and the openness come not from looking back, but from looking around. Here. Now. This moment, and this one, and this.

I am in.

every beautiful thing

2011-06-16T17:15:00.000-07:00

via weheartit.com

yesterday

2011-06-14T09:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I wore my letter A necklace and Lissie's new pony necklace all day. I colored in her coloring book. I sat by the pool and read poems. I went swimming. I laughed with my cousin. I went to a hole-in-the-wall Phở restaurant, and had lovely food served to me by even lovelier people. I got the oil changed in my truck. I ate a grape popsicle, outside, in heavy summer heat, and didn't mind it dripping down my wrist. I wrote about my girl, and the circumstances surrounding her existence, on fb. Took a deep breath, hit publish, asked more people to remember her with me. I went to the gym after dark. I ran a 10.5 minute mile for the first time in a long time. I walked out afterward into the first true summer night; still warm, and smelling of flowers. And I was happy.

xoxo

2011-06-13T17:35:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it's been four years.
Mama loves you, baby girl. ♥

do not stand at my grave and weep

2011-06-13T08:02:00.000-07:00

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.

Mary E. Frye

the book of time

2011-06-06T12:24:00.000-07:00

2.

For how many years have you gone through the house
shutting the windows,
while the rain was still five miles away

and veering, o plum-colored clouds, to the north,
away from you

and you did not even know enough
to be sorry,

you were glad
those silver sheets, with the occasional golden staple,

were sweeping on, elsewhere,
violent and electric and uncontrollable–

and will you find yourself finally wanting to forget
all enclosures, including

the enclosure of yourself, o lonely leaf, and will you
dash finally, frantically,

to the windows and haul them open and lean out
to the dark, silvered sky, to everything

that is beyond capture, shouting
I’m here, I’m here! Now, now, now, now, now.

Mary Oliver, The Book of Time (excerpt)

identity

2011-06-05T22:25:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to think about who I am, of what kind of a person I am, and I find that I am almost entirely defined (inside my own head anyway) by what has happened to me in the past, and what I want to happen in the future. Meanwhile, or until then, or whilst I'm in-between... it's as if I only partially exist. As if the space of life I'm occupying right this minute isn't quite real, or isn't quite enough; or I am not quite real, yet, nor quite enough. As if, until I reach the very end of it, I won't quite know if mine is a story worth telling.

to have no stars to reach for

2011-06-01T19:58:00.000-07:00

It must be borne in mind that the tragedy of life doesn't lie in not reaching your goal. The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach. It isn't a calamity to die with dreams unfulfilled, but it is a calamity not to dream. It is not a disaster to be unable to capture your ideal, but it is a disaster to have no ideal to capture. It is not a disgrace not to reach the stars, but it is a disgrace to have no stars to reach for. Not failure, but low aim is a sin.

Benjamin Elijah Mays

if I had you, babe

2011-05-31T21:11:00.000-07:00

right where I am [part 2]

2011-05-30T10:17:00.000-07:00

No-No: 1 yr, 8 mos

Ah, my son. My son.

There is a certain little boy who frequently visits the store where I work, with his mother and grandmother. He is roughly the same age as Noah would be, had he lived. He is also the same color: coffee with cream. Delicious. Gorgeous. Just what I always wanted. A year ago, looking at him made my chest cave in. (One day I literally had to hide, crouching behind my cash register, choking on dry sobs.)

He's toddling now. I saw him last week, holding on to his mama's finger and grinning like crazy over his latest accomplishment. I wanted to scoop him up and kiss him all over his sweet face. I wanted him to be mine. But he's not. He's not my Noah.

No one else could ever be my Noah. My special boy.

I would give anything to have my baby back. To look into his eyes, and see the whole of my universe suspended there. To hear his stories, told in his own unique voice. To feel the solid weight of him in my arms. To watch him grow. It is a fool's dream. I know that nothing I could ever give would suffice. I understand that I am helpless and -- unexpectedly, mysteriously -- my helplessness doesn't make me angry anymore. Every day, I forgive myself a little more for being unable to save him. The self-hatred that had hardened like a lump of obsidian in my ribcage is slowly chipping away.

I don't know about tomorrow, or the day after that, but this is where I am right now. Right now I can say, with a delicate confidence: It is so. It is sad. It is beautiful. It is terrible. It is long. It is the most painful thing that I have ever had to deal with -- and I have dealt with a lot. I am a champion. I am a mother. I am afraid. I hurt. I lose. I win.

It is simple. It is hard. It is so... it is so... it is so.

Where are you? Join up on Still Life with Circles.

right where I am [part 1]

2011-05-27T16:19:00.000-07:00

Lissie: 3 yrs, 11 mos

I'm almost to her day, Lissie's Day, again. I've been thinking about her a lot, but I haven't been that sad. Not yet anyway. There are other things, occupying my attention right now; happier things, more urgent things. And I don't feel guilty about this, as I would have once. I recognize that I need to embrace happiness when I can.

My grief has changed, recently, as grief does. I've moved away now, for good, from the "this can't actually have happened" phase: the phase where I keep expecting that maybe, just maybe, there not only really is an alternate universe where my children didn't die, but that one day I might wake up in it. Sucks to be you, version of myself that I switched with! Ha!

Yeah. Probably not going to happen.

I guess you would call it acceptance. My baby died. She doesn't need me anymore. She's not coming back. No matter how much I cry, no matter how much love for her I hold in my heart, no matter how many times I say her name... she's not coming back to me.

But she was here, for a little while. She was here, right here inside of me, as close as one person can be to another. She was here and I got to know her, even if it was just a teeny tiny bit, just the smallest sliver of knowledge. I got to be connected, however tenuously, to a bright-burning spark of life and glory. I got to give her a name. That was my privilege, my honor. And it's a beautiful name, for a beautiful girl -- a girl who simply couldn't stay. A girl I have to continually learn to let go of.

Her story is permanently intertwined with mine. She'll not be forgotten; I don't worry about that. Being dead does not make her more important to me than if she had lived, and if she had lived she would not be more important to me than she is now, dead. She's my daughter, I loved her, I love her still. The memory of her is tied to me like a balloon tied to my wrist. I don't need to grasp at it; I already know it's there. It moves when I move. We are connected.

Even if I let go, we are still connected.

Join this conversation on Still Life with Circles.

a conversation

2011-05-25T00:12:00.001-07:00

Please, be nice to me. Be gentle. Be kind.

I'm sorry. Sometimes I still expect too much.

Yes.

We are getting better though. The breakdowns are fewer and farther between.
I thought that the fear had become greater, because of it... but now that I'm
looking closely at it I don't think that's true. It's not any better, and it's not any
worse. The fear is the same as it ever was.

Nobody wants to hurt. Pain is scary. And there is so much of it here. Inside.
We have to keep bleeding it out.

I don't like blood.

No one does. It's traumatic. And usually, blood belongs inside; good blood
shouldn't be seen. It shocks us when it's seen. But bad blood must come out.
Old blood, too. Or it turns to poison.

Yes. We know about poison.

Yes.

it's too quiet

2011-05-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

Loneliness is eating me alive.
Why does everything I want seem so unattainable?

love will save the day

2011-05-20T13:24:00.000-07:00

Listen as your day unfolds / Challenge what the future holds / Try to keep your head up to the sky / Lovers, they may cause you tears / Go ahead release your fears / Stand up and be counted, don't be ashamed to cry

You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser / You gotta be hard, you gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger / You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together / All I know, all I know is love will save the day...

::::::

2011-05-18T20:26:00.000-07:00

journal

2011-05-13T02:05:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to brace myself for the summer's coming grief. But it's hard to do -- and probably fruitless, really -- since I have no idea what it's going to look like this time around. So maybe I will try instead to simply let go of any kind of expectations I find myself developing, and just take the days as they come.

I know I'm stronger now. I've also had time to settle into my new environment. I miss my family still; but I've gotten used to not seeing them every day. It doesn't hurt so much anymore. And I guess with every year that goes by, in the same way, I get used to not seeing my kids every day, too. The ache will always be there; I'm not ever going to forget. And I will always think of them as my babies... But I also know that they are so much more than just my babies.

They are more than their tiny, unfinished bodies ever were. They are themselves. And while the flesh that housed them for so short a time is gone, and they could not stay here without it, they were always more than that, and what is essential about them still exists. I really do believe that. They are a part of my story, and a part of my heart. They have shaped me as a person, and will continue to shape me as a mother.

I'm so sorry you never got to meet them.
They were impossibly lovely.

I will always be sorry that their siblings won't get to know them, too. That my third child will have all the trials and priveleges and common personality traits of a first. Firstborn, though not first borne. But I hope I can do a decent job of integrating Ailis and Noah into our lives, and that their names will be associated with joy and inclusiveness, familiar and sweet, instead of pain or sadness or separation.

I am beginning to subscribe more and more to the idea of neutrality; the idea that things and events simply Are, and it's what we do with and during and after them that matters.

And so I think I'll not say again that Ailis "should" be here or Noah "should" be here. It is too strong a word, and it hurts too much. And I think, perhaps, it takes away a little from the honor and the rights of the child who comes next.

(The one reason I can think of to be grateful not to have had a subsequent pregnancy immediately after my losses is that I do not have the confusion of bearing a child that "would not exist had the other not died." I'm not sure that I believe in that line of reasoning at all, and I hope it wouldn't have troubled me... but it is good to have the clarity that time and distance can bring.)

I choose to believe that everything that was ever essential about my children is now a part of everything I see. That they are reunited with the universe, and so are not really gone, as nothing that was ever here can ever really be completely gone. Stardust. We are all stardust. We are all made of the same stuff, and always were, and always will be.

So in the future, I will look at my children -- the ones who stay inside the fragile tents of their human bodies, the ones who grow and change and speak and reveal to me, little by little, their specific intricacies; and I will smile and I will love and I will drink them in. But I will also look at the sunshine and the dustmotes and the green growing things and the ocean and the stars... and I will smile at them, too. I will fling my arms wide, and embrace what I may of the vastness of the universe, and all that I love that dwells within it, until I am reunited as well.

For what is to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

Kahlil Gibran

I remember

2011-05-12T11:06:00.000-07:00

I remember lying on the dock in the middle of the night with some of my very best friends in the world, staring up at the stars, feeling infinite.

I remember the magic of phosphorescence glittering in the air and in the water.

I remember being up all night, begging Noah to stay with me.
I remember when I knew for sure that he had gone.

I remember the smell of the schoolyard in the fall.

I remember feeling different from every other person I ever met, and never being quite sure why. (But I know why, now.)

I remember so many things I wish I could forget...

I remember being lost in the grocery store when I was four years old, and that my mum didn't even notice I was missing. I remember how utterly unruffled she was, both before and after my return, and my despair at this confirmation that it didn't much matter to her where I was or what happened to me at any given time.

I remember playing Barbies with Danni. I remember her dollhouse was so much nicer than mine, because her grandma was so much richer than mine.

I remember dancing. I remember when I realized I was good at it. Even better, maybe, than my best friend, who (I had thought) was always better at everything.

I remember morning sickness, and I remember when it stopped.

I remember blood.

I remember my first vision of Lissie, breathtaking in its vividness and clarity: a tiny spark of pure Life inside my belly, content, whole, peaceful, filled with laughter and light. (Even though her body was barely formed, she was already so clearly herself.) I remember my awe of her; of her perfection, her completeness, her uniqueness, so separate from me and my anxiety and my fear and my scars.

I remember the day I forgave myself for being my parents' daughter, and understanding for the first time how meaningless that connection was for my future and my personhood. And in turn, how my daughter was her own self as well, and her father's issues and my issues had nothing to do with who she was as a person either -- and that we both would be okay.

I remember riding my bike home in summer twilights, the sound of tires crunching on gravel and the wind rustling through the fields, the smell of corn and raspberries heavy on the air.

I remember the fair.

I remember the ER.

I remember tears, and laughter too, and promising to be friends forever; and I also remember when I first realized that forever was not as long as we always imagined it would be.

Inspired by Alana.

she'll know

2011-05-10T22:40:00.000-07:00

A miscarriage is a natural and common event. All told, probably more women have lost a child from this world than haven't. Most don't mention it, and they go on from day to day as if it hadn't happened, so people imagine a woman in this situation never really knew or loved what she had.

But ask her sometime: how old would your child be now? And she'll know.

Barbara Kingsolver

Lissie Doll, you should be nearly 3 1/2 years old... but instead you are nearly -4.
I really hate math. And I really miss you.

Mother's Day Roses

2011-05-08T11:01:00.000-07:00

Some of us will receive flowers today, in honor of our motherhood; but I know that not all of us will. So I gathered some roses for you, my lovely readers. You may go to the album, right click on your photo, and save it to your computer. Feel free to use it however you like, digitally or in print. My one request is that if you post the photo anywhere online, you would kindly include a link back to my blog.

Wishing everyone a peaceful day. xoxo -- vera

when midnight comes, and finds me alone

2011-05-05T00:44:00.000-07:00

And I'm stuck in a dream / That will not let me go
That will not let me go, that will not let me go / Will not let me go

of noble kin

2011-05-03T21:00:00.000-07:00

When I first decided to name my baby girl, I searched a myriad of websites for names based on the meanings "light" or "sweet" or "good." I was desperate to attach a name to her that was the opposite of my experience of her conception.

I knew that she was completely the opposite of dark and horrifying and bad. She was my daughter. And it was not her fault.

One site turned up Ailis with the meaning "a light," and I loved it immediately. It was perfect. Interesting and different, and I could refer to her as Lissie, if I ever had the strength. I've always liked Lissie. So Ailis it was.

Except I can't find that site anymore, the one that says her name means "a light." (Not that it matters. It's her name, and it means that to me, whatever else the sites say.) Actually, the most common definition that comes up is "of noble kin."

When I first realized this, my thought was: Whaa?

Noble kin.

Ha.

Her father is a nameless, faceless coward who still haunts my nightmares and every shadowed alley, four years after our single shattering encounter. I have no idea what his family is like. And my own ancestry, generation upon generation, is an embarrassment, to say the least. So, yeah. Noble kin? Oops!

However.

The more I thought about it, the more pleased I was with this additional (and indeed, more commonly offered) meaning that is attached to my daughter's sweet name. I like to think that maybe, just maybe, I could count as that noble kin. That I'm enough. That even though I'm just one person, it's enough to make the definition true.

And of course there are other people, who have stepped up and been family to us. I like to think that it makes my girl and I part of a bigger kind of family; a tribe bound by common spirit, instead of common genes. A kinship of perseverance and right-thinking and courage. Full of hope. And gentleness. And light.

My girl is a light, even if I'm the only one who can see it.

My girl is noble, and of noble kin.

a better world

2011-05-02T00:55:00.000-07:00

Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction. So when Jesus says “Love your enemies,” he is setting forth a profound and ultimately inescapable admonition. Have we not come to such an impasse in the modern world that we must love our enemies– or else? The chain reaction of evil–hate begetting hate, wars producing wars–must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, The Strength to Love

I’m concerned about a better world. I’m concerned about justice; I’m concerned about brotherhood; I’m concerned about truth. And when one is concerned about that, he can never advocate violence. For through violence you may murder a murderer, but you can’t murder murder. Through violence you may murder a liar, but you can’t establish truth. Through violence you may murder a hater, but you can’t murder hate through violence. Darkness cannot put out darkness; only light can do that.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, Where Do We Go From Here

never forget it

2011-05-01T01:07:00.000-07:00

Today is International Babylost Mothers Day.

Much love to you, my friends.

closure

2011-04-26T19:50:00.000-07:00

The prosecuting attornies want to know how my father's crimes have affected me, and what I think should be done with him. They are giving me a say; and I imagine, for many crime victims, that is very empowering. But for me... I don't know. It's not something I wanted to do.

I told the detectives everything I could think of when I made my official report, and then I never wanted to talk to anyone else about it ever again. I don't want to think about him. I don't want to hear his name. I don't want to hear the charges. I don't want to remember what he did to me.

I don't want him to have any kind of power or presence in my life anymore. I want to forget as much as I possibly can. I want to have as normal a life as I possibly can. I don't. want. to talk. about it. any. more.

I finally wrote them a letter, but it was very brief -- because the truth is, what's done is done, and nothing anyone could do to him will make me feel better. They can decide for themselves what his punishment should be. And then it will be over, really over. I can only hope that no one ever mentions him to me again.

I think I'm going to do myself a favor, and just pretend that he is dead from now on. Let's have a quick funeral, shall we? Here's the eulogy: He was a disgusting man who will not be missed.

There. I feel a little better already.

Here is my final goodbye: Goodbye to my so-called father. Goodbye to hope. Goodbye to redemption. Goodbye to feeling unworthy. Goodbye to being unloved.

It is finished. Goodbye.

sweet child of mine

2011-04-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

On Saturday some of my customers said "Happy Easter" to me -- most of them in a tone of voice that indicated they were offended that I hadn't said it to them first. (Ignorant bastards.) (Just kidding!) (Not really.)

I just sort of smiled grimly and nodded, because it would be decidedly unprofessional to say, "Fuck you, self-righteous customer with something to celebrate!"

I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling it this year.

----------

Sunday started off all right. A bit of morning banter with my great aunt and her cranky Italian husband, who I love. A little pre-brunch prep. Inspecting the beautiful cherry pies that I had spent four hours making the night before. Hiding some eggs, to be hunted later on.

I had a cheese danish and a coffee (both forbidden luxuries) and some cantelope... and then went back to bed. That part was lovely. I was drowsy from the sugar-crash and had plenty of time before I needed to do anything else. It felt like a holiday. Peaceful. Relaxed. Later, as the house filled with people, my anxiety began to rise; but I was pretty much holding my own. And then.

And then my cousin's idiot boyfriend made a joke about dead babies.

I spent the next 30 minutes bawling my eyes out in my bedroom, getting makeup all over my freshly laundered pillowcases. The worst part about it was knowing that no one was going to come down the hall and sit beside me while I cried. And I couldn't go back out until I was calm again, because I barely knew the 20-some people who were in the house, and I wasn't about to try to explain to them why I was upset. The minutes ticked by, and I felt terrible for isolating, but I didn't know what else to do. Anyone I could talk to about it was busy with family events of their own.

Eventually I had my breathing under control, and could go out and get some food and make small talk as was expected of me, puffy eyed but attempting to smile.

----------

I didn't say "Happy Easter" even once this year. I didn't go to church. I didn't ask anyone if they were doing something special for Sunday. I just plain didn't care.

And I've realized that it bothers me, that I don't care. I've always cared before. But I can't seem to muster a shred of reverence right now, no matter how abstract. I feel so jaded. So angry. So alone.

Supposedly that's who Jesus came for in the first place, though, right? People like me.

----------

I wonder about our traditions sometimes. All the happy-clappy-sunshine, nothing-is-wrong-because-Jesus-is-risen-he-is-risen-indeed. Is that really the only way to remember? It's what I grew up with. Every church service I've been to on Easter Sunday is full of what feels to me like forced optimism. The underlying message being: Somebody died because of you, you horrible person. But it's okay now, because they're alive again. Lucky! That means you're off the hook -- so be happy, damn it!

I don't know, maybe that was just me?

I guess I feel betrayed. I feel like it was all such a sham. Those days when everyone got all excited; sang joyful songs and threw flowers in the air, hugged one another. It was over so quickly. Everything back again to the way it was before. Scary. Unpredictable. Painful.

So Jesus was here, great. But then he left. And now there's just this invisible force wandering around checking up on us, cause Jesus has other things to do.

Ummm?

Yeah; turns out, this is the bulk of the message that I gathered. Awesome. In reading all this over, I think I understand though. I liked Easter before because I felt like some kind of horrible yucky person who deserved bad things to happen to them, and here was this story my church gave me about how it's okay that I'm a bad person because Jesus will help me, thank goodness.

But guess what? I don't think I'm a horrible person anymore. I don't think bad things should happen to me anymore. And I don't think anyone is coming to save me.

----------

Maybe someday I'll believe again that there's a God who cares for me the way a parent should. I want so badly to be somebody's child, deeply loved.