Hi Honey, I Lost the Kid!

Imagine this view from 3 feet off the ground

It happened, and what a nightmare.

We were flying from California to West Virginia with a 3 hour layover in Chicago. Our first time flying with our new baby. One mom, one low vision dad, one 4-year-old, and one 2 month old. Surely a recipe for disaster! The Chicago airport was crazy crowded, so we should have had a clue. Shoulda woulda coulda. We were all exhausted and delirious, running on 3 or so hours of sleep because of our super early flight out of SF.

It was mid-day our time, dinnertime Chicago time, so we ordered some food to go at the airport Chili’s restaurant. As we ordered, Gavin started melting down, trying to lay down on the airport floor, and then dragging his wheelie backpack over my exposed toes several times. I followed suit with my own meltdown, snapping at him instead of realizing he was too spun out to cope and only 4 years old.

Danny insisted we walk while waiting for our food, thinking Gavin just had to run off his spare energy. I stopped at a charging station to juice up my cell phone, craving a break from the wonky family dynamics. We agreed that they’d meet me back there in a few minutes. As I watched them walking away, Danny pushing a stroller and Gavin galloping alongside them, I was suddenly filled with foreboding. I yelled after them, to say something, to tell Gavin to wait with me or to remind him to stay next to his Daddy, I’m not sure. I didn’t get a chance to say anything because they were already swallowed up in the crowd.

Maybe 10 minutes later, my phone vibrated. I answered and Danny’s voice filled my ear, saying, “Gavin just took off.”

I don’t know if this has ever happened to you. I’ve lost Gavin for maybe 30 seconds before in a department store, but that simply did not compare. Huge airport, thousands of people, all kinds of people. And a little four-year-old wheeling a mini-backpack. I imagined the worst: someone grabbing him and him disappearing forever. I imagined a life without Gavin. I imagined that I surely would never be able to forgive Danny, or myself for that matter.

Mostly, I saw Gavin in my mind’s eye alone in this huge airport, and I felt how incredibly scared he must be. I saw the noisy chaos of the airport through his eyes, and remembered how small he is.

Danny retraced his steps towards me, thinking he probably headed back to me. When Danny arrived at my spot sans Gavin, I retraced their steps back to Smoothie World, yelling Gavin’s name. We of course informed customer service, and they started paging him to come to the customer service booth in Terminal 3, as if a 4-year-old would know what the hell that is.

As I wandered the terminal, I repeated in my head, “Please, please, please.” One simple word. And I remembered, strangely, a Mr. Rogers quote. “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” I reminded myself there are more helpers than hurters. And surely one of them would grab him first. “Please.”

Eventually, maybe 15 minutes later, but I honestly have no idea, Danny called my cell and told me they were paging us. They had him at United customer service. Four men comforting my little boy. I sunk to my knees and opened my arms. He ran into them. His little face crumpling into tears and his small boy voice saying, “Mommy,” in relief will be forever etched into my brain.

I am so grateful for the helpers in this world. And for this lesson and this reminder. As we adjust to being a family with two little ones, I think I tend to forget how small Gavin still is. He looks so giant next to our newborn, and my expectations of him have skyrocketed. I think I’ve been thinking of him unconsciously as a mini-adult. And he is so not an adult. He is still in the magical, vulnerable time of early childhood, and I need to remember that. I need to remember him, to pay attention and glory in his everyday growth and discoveries.

Now instead of, “Please, please, please,” I am repeating, “Thank God, Thank God, Thank God!”

Let’s Talk About Sex…or Lack Thereof

When my partner and I met, we were all about chemistry. We christened every room in the house, as well as both of our cars…many times. We made love in a sunny Arizona field and in the shade of a redwood in a public park in Vancouver. We went at it for hours on end and accomplished many, many big O’s. The pull was so strong and intoxicating that it lured me away from another man I deeply loved. We simply could not keep our hands off each other. 

Fast forward 8 years. Two small children, 6 years of cohabitation, 1,001 dances, 357 arguments and reconciliations, one million shared laughs, 5,467 cups of understanding, 34,784 mixed buckets of compromise and acceptance, and a countless number of adventures later. I feel as united with him as ever, closer to him than I have ever been with any other romantic partner. After going through childbirth and parenting with this wonderful man, I feel like we’ve been to war together, and this solidifies the ties between us like blood, making him my family as much as my mother or brother. 

And I don’t remember the last time we did it. 

Yes, we are currently 6 weeks postpartum. And yes, we have a very curious and combative 4 year old under the roof. Of course, I’ve heard all the stories that the healthy sex life disappears with young children in the mix. I’m not unrealistic enough to expect the unrestrained passion of our early days to survive the many years of our partnership. The mystery is gone, and all that jazz.

I don’t want a sexless marriage, but honestly, I don’t really want sex. In my head, I really, really do, but at the end of the day when the brief moment of opportunity presents itself, I really don’t. 

The last time we attempted sex (yes, it was only an attempt), I was in my third trimester. It was late at night, and we tried to sneak in a quickie. While we tried several different positions in an attempt to accommodate my humongous belly and simultaneously pricked our ears for any signs of awakening from our 4 year old in the next room, we somehow lost the desire halfway through. To say it was frustrating is putting it mildly. My partner complained that we are always rushing and there is no longer any foreplay. My big, giant pregnant belly didn’t make me feel sexy; nor was it a turn-on for my man. Sex felt more like work, something we had to do in order to, as my friend’s wise mother puts it, “grease the wheels of marriage.” 

Soon after this, D left town for a couple of weeks. I got a yeast infection. I gave birth, and I needed time to heal. I’m experiencing some kind of pelvic prolapse (sorry for the TMI, but isn’t this whole post a bit of that anyway?), and I am now a bit freaked out to have sex, at least until after I go to my postnatal follow-up appointment. I feel very far away from sex with my partner. I don’t know how to get there. I suggested we start massaging each other to “reaquaint” ourselves, yet once again, I would much rather read a book or tune into Netflix when the evening rolls around. He is starting to show me some desire, thank God, which I think will push us in the right direction. However, when I think about the act of sex, it still feels like something I should do, instead of something I want to do. 

When did sex become work?

I remember a time in my life, about a decade or so back, when I went through a sexual liberation phase. Not that I was going around sleeping with everyone or anything; I did more of that in my early 20’s before I was really sexually liberated. I read about the erotic, talked with my friends a lot about sex, generally pushed myself to become very sex-positive in every way, and explored in a very open way with my one trusted partner (or two consecutive partners, the second being my current man). I felt so juicy and inspired during this time, and endlessly enthusiastic about sex.

I want that back. I need to create space for that. I don’t know how, or when, because I just don’t have that kid of open-ended time to relax into the nectar of slow sex with little munchkins around. It is so hard to shift into an erotic space when one has only small pockets of time and very little energy. Yet, I think if I can pull it off, it will give me twice as much energy as I have now.

Maybe I need to cancel my Netflix account. Maybe I need to erase me Facebook profile, and dedicate my limited time to increasing intimacy in my partnership. Maybe I need to take it easier on myself, give us more time to adjust as a family, and understand my passion is directed towards small children during this time period.

I am really not sure. Please, tell me about your sex life post-kids, or post several years of marriage, after the shine has worn off. Let’s have a frank discussion, people, let’s talk about sex!

 

Short Poem to Coda

You open your eyes for the first time

and glance at the world anew,

studying every shape, shade, corner;

imprinting in your mind these new surroundings that will become so familiar in time.

You study my face, my eyes, so inquisitive;

your hands you splay in front of your gaze, moving your fingers,

linking movement to sight.

Your smell is a drug, I can’t get enough

of this brand newness, can’t stop breathing you in

greedily.

Wave after wave of euphoria wash over me

as I touch your skin, so soft and warm,

so fresh.

This magical, this mystical

time,

so fleeting, but locked in my heart forever.

Meeting you,

who grew from my egg and his sperm

into a full three-dimensional being

with your own path and your own soul.

I am so blessed to be your caretaker

for now.

I am so blessed to hold you in my arms,

feel my lips on your velvety skin, 

smell you, so new,

with the scent of infinite mother ocean waters

and the gaze of all-seeing wisdom and complete innocence

all wrapped into one.

38 Weeks — My Love/Hate Relationship with Pregnancy

I have two weeks to go, and I realize I have been failing miserably at keeping this blog updated. Of course I’ve been busy working and mothering and being pregnant and all that, but I think what I am really struggling with is not knowing what this blog is about. Is it a semi-professional blog where I share information and tips on gaining psychological wellness? Or is it a personal tell-all journal that I use to process my experiences? So far it appears to be both, and I am not sure how and if they fit together. Because of this, I’ve been confused about what to write, how much to share. I have been completely neglectful, and I have come to realize I just need to write. Whatever. Just write. I can create different blogs later, but in the midst of the lack of clarity: Just. Write.

On my plate now is this miracle of a pregnancy. After two failed attempts, I am now in the home stretch. And what a stretch it is, literally! With my first son, I never enjoyed being pregnant. I was sick through the second trimester, and then constantly experiencing heartburn and discomfort through the third. This time around, I am experiencing both the ups and downs, so I thought I’d share my two lists: how much I love and hate being pregnant, the pros and cons if you will.

What I Hate:

• So easily fatigued…so much to do and so little energy.
• Nausea, of course. Thankfully it left (mostly) at 14 weeks this time around.
• Insomnia. I am so tired, yet some nights I cannot sleep for more than 20 minutes at a time…all…night…long. And those nights are incredibly long.
• The damn round ligament pain. Every time I go from sitting from standing, or sometimes when I am just walking, the sharp shooting pain in my groin. Ouchie!!!
• Needing to pee constantly, and drink water constantly, and pee again, and drink more…
• Pregnancy rhinitis. My nose is so stuffed up, I wake up gasping for air. I have to sleep sitting up to not feel as though I am suffocating. I am going to try some nasal strips tonight. Pray they will help.
• Heartburn and indigestion. Again, I have to sleep sitting up. There are so many foods I need to avoid, but it doesn’t matter, because I am burping all night every night anyway.
• So many doctor’s appointments. At this point, I feel like I live there.
• Body constantly on display. Sometimes I just want to blend in, you know? Yet, anytime I’m in public, people stare, ask questions, and make very personal remarks about the shape and contours of my body. The worst is when strangers think it is okay to touch my stomach.
• Constricted lungs. This combined with the stuffy nose often makes me feel as if I am going to suffocate. I feel trapped in this too full body, and there is absolutely no escape…just time to get through.
• Hemorrhoids. Need I say more?
• The kicks and stretches that push my body beyond what I thought its limits were = the opposite of comfort. Little guy is getting crowded in there.
• Anxiety and worry. Even if I hadn’t experienced two miscarriages, I would still be the person obsessing about everything that can go wrong. Life is completely miraculous. How does anyone survive the myriad dangers we face every second? There is this little being inside of me. I have so little control over how he turns out, if he comes out alive and healthy, or if something goes fatally wrong. Yet, he already means so much to me. Being pregnant, beyond all else, is such a lesson and reminder of how little control I have over pretty much anything.
• The anticipation. Not knowing when or how labor will go down. Not knowing if complications will arise. Not knowing how I will deal with any of it. Not knowing.

What I Love:

• Maternity leave. I just started, and am really getting to enjoy this. Sure, I’m busy as hell preparing for this huge life change, but I am pulling in, focusing on my family, having time to reflect on how I want my life to look in the long-term. Invaluable, this is.
• Smiles and kind words from strangers. Sometimes I don’t feel like being invisible. And during these times, I really appreciate the warmth that flows to me from so many strangers. I love that feeling of connection, that hope in the sharing of the sacrament of new life. Humanity can be so beautiful.
• My changing body. I glory in the roundness and fullness. The veins I see crisscrossing my belly and breasts, carrying life blood throughout my body. Embodying the Goddess. What could ever top this?
• The kicks and motions inside of me that remind me there is a little guy in there. I love feeling those jabs and trying to guess the body parts.
• The miracle and mystery of this life growing inside of me. Where does it come from? How do the cells know to create this infinitely complex body and all of its parts? And the soul. Where does this come from and how does it get inside of me? Yes, I know: sperm and eggs and DNA and all that…but, the consciousness of this little being. The mystery.
• The anticipation. It is better than a thousand Christmases. The best surprise ever. The greatest gift. I don’t know when or how, but I know it will be soon, and I hope it all goes well.

The Breakdown:

As you can see, the list of cons is much longer than the list of pros, but obviously the pros greatly outweigh the cons. Yes it’s a hassle, and it’s about the most uncomfortable thing, and I’m not even talking about labor! BUT. When it comes down to it, I think I would put up with almost anything for this payoff. Bringing new life into this world is something that goes way beyond me, and of course I have very little control over it. This is new life we are talking about, people. What an honor and what a privilege. I am humbled and in awe.

And to those of you who want this so much, but aren’t yet here. Please know I have been there as well. I have hoped and lost and grieved and wept. I have watched others go through it, and wondered if it would ever be my turn. I’ve felt that empty barrenness that is so lonely and bitter. And now I am here. Freaked out as hell that something will go wrong, still, and especially now when the stakes are so high, when I am completely and utterly invested in this new life. Please pray for me, and I will do the same for you. May we be blessed with these greatly desired babes in our arms. And most of all, may we be at peace with whatever hand we are dealt. May we find the blessing and the medicine in each lesson.

How to Create Freedom? Embrace Limitations.

Life is so full of paradox, isn’t it?

My entire life, I have done my best to deny, run from, and rebel against limitations. My hippie parents taught me that the rules didn’t have to apply to me, and I still sometimes find myself believing in the fallacy of that sense of entitlement. I’ve always looked for ways out of the grindstone, and I have often found them.

I dropped out of high school after my junior year, took some time off to party and work and party some more, then I went directly to college. I’ve taken many extended vacations to travel and “find myself,” and my family repeatedly gave me a place to stay while I got back on my feet financially after each of these extended leaves. I didn’t experience consistent rules and consequences as a child, and learned to walk all over my mom as a result.

When I finally got my driver’s license at the age of 18, I learned that if I ignore tickets, they get bigger and bigger, and they turn into arrest warrants. This was when I began to learn that the rules do in fact apply to me. Still, I continued and continue to look for ways out. How can I support myself, make good money even, without having to work a grueling 8-5 job? How can I make a lot of money working just a little? How can I manifest a permanent vacation? I know it’s possible, and I am just the special person who will figure it out.

Not.

The longer I live, the more experiences I have that teach me the responsibilities continue to grow. More and more people grow to depend on me. What I considered stressful 10 years ago would feel like a vacation now. I’ve come to accept this little by little, yet I still fight it at times, in subtle ways, like in my habit of always running late.

Cut to an EMDR training I attended last weekend. Trainings are great in a therapist’s world, because not only do we learn new skills to help us become better practitioners, but we also get therapy in the process. We practice on each other, which is awesome, scary, and exhausting.

I can share more about EMDR at a later date if requested, but right now I just want to share my process as it relates to this post. As the “client,” my job was to come up with some kind of stress or trauma trigger that is current in my life. I chose the recurring experience of driving in traffic while running late. I create this scene in my life A LOT, and I am so over it.

The process: track my “therapist’s” fingers with my eyes as she moves them quickly side to side in front of my face while I hold the mental image, feelings, and negative belief about myself that correspond to driving in traffic while running late. After each set, describe what I see, think, or feel, “go with that,” and continue sets until I come to a place of resolution (or run out of time). Sounds strange, I know, but the shit works, and is evidence based to boost.

This process took me all over the place, from issues with my parents, to core issues with myself. Basically, it took me to the root of why I tend to run late. Here is an abbreviated version of my mental movie stream of consciousness: Running late, yelling at myself in my head, I’m a bad person, I always do this. That critical parent part of me yelling and the small child cowering in a corner. The rebellious adolescent popping up, yelling back at the critical parent, this is all bullshit. Fuck limitations anyway. I don’t need to deal with any of this. Tired. Don’t want to fight. This isn’t the way. Maybe this inner critic, that looks and acts like a monster has something valuable for me to learn, and I should try to listen. Don’t want to. Try. Try. This monster wants respect. This monster is here to teach me about limitations. Limits are real, and they do apply to me. I can be friends with them. When I work with them, life is better. I have more choices and mobility. This part of me that wants to throw them off and be on permanent vacation is dead energy. I thrive when I honor my commitments. Running late is how I try to deny limitations. That is dead energy. Life is less stressful, more relaxed and free, when I give myself extra time, when I respect and honor limitations.

I am an alchemist. I can manipulate limitations and create freedom. I am part of this web of life, but I am not trapped in it. I can move all around. It is a sacred honor to be responsible to others, to have that trust placed in me. And I am not alone. I can let go, and let others support me and help me. Limitations have to do with being connected. Rebelling against them is actually antisocial. Life is a dance of shared responsibility. I want to be responsible and I can still rest. Interdependence.

By respecting and learning to manipulate limitations, I become a magician, creating exactly what I want in my life. I build skills, which brings more cash flow into my life, which gives me more mobility and freedom. I can do all of this in an effortless manner, because I have support just as I undertake the joy of supporting others.

So you see: the paradox of limitation and freedom. One does not attain freedom by shirking off the limitations. One attains freedom by diving into the limitations, getting to know them intimately, weaving one’s own web of interconnectedness.

And so it goes. 

 

Funk is not dead.

Super inspiring dance-a-thon for your Tuesday afternoon. I cannot not share this! This little girl has such style and skill.

▲uto F●cus

Six-year-old B-Girl Terra holds it down. I have been totally smitten (and slightly obsessed) with this sultry, groovy and soulful funk-rock extravaganza. 

(Slightly belated) Happy New Year from Tokyo!

Song credit: Platoon by JUNGLE

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Do Expectations Ruin Relationships?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much it is fair to hold our friends and family to our own standards. On the one hand, it is a matter of self respect to expect certain qualities from those we love and choose to spend time with. On the other hand, who are we to say how other people should behave? They probably have a perfectly good reason for their behavior, and I don’t want to lose otherwise good friends because they disappoint me sometimes.

Of course, this topic is different when you look at family as opposed to friends. Take my brother, for example. I love him without end. He is horrible at returning calls or responding to invitations. Seriously, he is deeply faulted in this way. We never know if he is going to show up to family functions. Therefore, we can’t plan for him, we don’t know what he might bring to a potluck, and we don’t know if we should cook enough for him. It is incredibly annoying. It is actually quite disrespectful of him to not consider any of this. How hard exactly is it to pick up the phone, or send a quick text or email? If I think about it, I get pissed.

Thankfully, my sister helps me keep perspective on this. How? She gets extremely angry and vents about it to me leading up to almost every family gathering. She threatens to write him off completely. She is so vehement, in fact, that I find myself sticking up for him. And I find myself coming to the conclusion that I love him, he is my only brother, and I cannot change him, so I may as well accept him as is.

Is this codependent. Am I enabling his behavior? I don’t know. What I do know is that I enjoy the time that I spend with him, and I spend a lot less time being upset if I don’t expect him to function in ways in which he just seems somewhat handicapped.

Another example. I mentioned a friend who I felt really let me down in a recent post here. After we lived in the same town and were really close friends for about 10 years, she divorced her husband and moved an hour away. I didn’t expect our friendship to change because of these events, but boy was I wrong. She almost completely fell off the grid for quite a while, and has never since been available to me as she was before. I felt abandoned and took it really personally, so much that I considered writing her off, and wondered if she had ever been my friend at all.

When she did make time for me, she was often very distracted. When my mom died, I expected her to be there for me, as she had lost her dad a few years back. I expected she would empathize and understand what I needed. I expected wrong. She actually completely blew me off for months after my mom’s death. I was hurt and pissed, and really didn’t want anything to do with her for a while.

Then, I received a condolence card from another good friend in the mail about a month ago, which was also months after my mom’s death. I was pleasantly touched and surprised by this gesture, and it made me examine how i had no expectations of this friend to be there for me. I wondered why. It’s not that I consider the other friend a better friend; I actually feel very close to the one who sent me the card. The only difference is that we have never actually lived in the same town and been involved in one another’s lives on a day to day basis. It’s a different kind of relationship, I guess.

I also remembered that this friend had also lost a parent, and I had never even bothered to ask her the details about this loss. Granted, she lost her dad as a child, but this again gave me pause and made me wonder how good of a friend I am. Would I measure up to my own standards? And why do I hold some friends to higher standards? Do I really want to write off a great, old friend just because she isn’t meeting my expectations? Who am I to judge anyway?

I realized then that I need to move my first friend into another category of expectations, which is the category for friends who live out of town. We can go for months without speaking. I don’t expect them to check in regularly, but when we do get to spend time together, it is like no time has passed. This shift really helped.

Incidentally, this friend did recently contact me, and we spent a great afternoon together. A week later, a plant that she gave me a year ago bloomed with bright magenta flowers. The plant is very low-maintenance, yet incredibly rewarding with its bright and colorful display of vitality. Much like our friendship.

What standards do you hold for your friends and family? How accepting is too accepting for you? do you think it is fair and productive to have expectations of those close to you? Let me know; I really want to hear!

 

May I Suggest

Please watch this video several times. And then several more times. These words have become my new mantra, my words to live by. I had the blessing to be introduced to this lovely band, Red Molly two years ago at the Sister’s Folk Festival in Sisters, Oregon. This song has been one of my favorites ever since.

 

How to Support Loved Ones in Grief

Grief: an experience that many of us don’t know what to do with or how to react to when we come in contact with it. Before my recent experiences with grief, I really didn’t have much of an idea of how to support others in grief. I had my therapeutic training, but that only goes so far and doesn’t always translate to being there for loved ones. It seems to me that in Western culture, at least in the U.S., we are so far removed from the concept of death that we become extremely uncomfortable when it touches us. For this reason, I wasn’t surprised when many of those close to me had no idea how to support me in my grief after the loss of my mother. For those that did give me support that worked, I was pleasantly surprised. For those that didn’t, I mostly understood.

Below I have compiled a few pieces of advice for those close to someone grieving. These are things that did and didn’t work for me while I was (and continue to be) marching down the grief highway. They may or may not be true for others!

• Do call and check in regularly. Ask if I need anything, including practical things like food or childcare. Keep calling after the loss happens. Keep checking in and offering help, regardless of whether or not I call you back. Don’t expect me to call you back. Hearing your voice and knowing you are here for me is worth so much, even if I don’t respond to you.
• Don’t say you “can’t imagine” what I am going through. I know I’ve been guilty of saying this to people before I experienced major loss in my life. Having now been on the receiving end of this one, I can see it really doesn’t help. For me, when I heard this, I felt isolated and separate, as if I was going through it alone.
• Do express to me your understanding that death is a natural and normal part of life. A friend of mine simply said about my experience, “We are all going to experience that.” Even though he hasn’t experienced it yet, and maybe can’t imagine it, I felt his solidarity with my experience. I felt supported.
• Do share your grief stories with me. This has been one of the most valuable forms of support to me. Seeing other people who have come out the other side of grief helps immensely.
• Don’t pay me unexpected visits. Give me space to be in my cave. Call if you want to visit, and wait for my response.
• Do show up for me, especially if you are a close friend. I was really dismayed that a person I had considered one of my closest friends barely acknowledged the loss I experienced, and simply did not show up. I even confronted her about it. She promptly apologized, explained herself, and then continued to not show up. I was especially disappointed because she is one of the few people I know close to my age who has lost a parent, and she is someone I have felt very comfortable with in expressing these difficult emotions in the past. I can only guess that she either A) hasn’t dealt with her own grief around the loss of her father a few years back and is therefore not comfortable showing up, or B) is not as good of a friend as I once thought she was. I haven’t felt very compelled to reach out to learn which one it is. Okay, excuse the rant! Any feedback will be appreciated.
• Don’t give me the sad face the first time you see me in passing after the loss. Seriously, this is the worst. I’m at the grocery store, in a great mood, weeks after my mom died, her death being the last thing on my mind at the moment. And there is my friend, who sees me and immediately associates me with all things tragic. The overly concerned, “How are you?” Well, I was just great, until I ran into you! I am absolutely sure I’ve done this in the past. I remember bringing it up to a friend who’d recently lost her dad the first time I saw her out at a concert after her loss, and she told me straight up not to talk about it. Understand, with grief come myriad emotions. It is not just about depression and despair. For me, there has been a surprising amount of joy in the release of my mom’s spirit. So, don’t project your idea of what grief is onto me. Instead, when you see me, greet me with an uplifting smile. Let me know how happy you are to see me. Tell me you heard about my loss and are available to talk or help out in any way. Pay attention and respond to my response. If I just nod and smile and say thank you, move on to the next subject.
• Do share your memories with me. In the time of my mom’s passing, family and friends gathered together on several occasions. It was such a treat for me to hear stories about my mom from those in her generation, stories I had never heard that helped me get to know her in ways I never did before. Another extended family member sent me old pictures of my mom. These stories and mementos are such a sacrament, like healing salve on an open wound.

That’s all I’ve got for now. Please gift us with your contribution to this list, because I know that everyone has a different experience with grief. Thanks for reading!

Related articles

• Nine things I’ve learned about grief (randomthoughtsfrommidlife.wordpress.com)
• Ill-Equipped for Grief (asisterleftbehind.wordpress.com)

Halloween Hangover

Every time Gavin eats sweets, I remind him to listen to his body and listen to his stomach, so that he knows when to stop. He is actually usually really good at this, and stops himself before he completely gorges. Not so much on Halloween this year.

Here is the conversation we had when he woke me up the next morning with a stomach ache.

Gavin (holding his stomach): Mommy, I can’t hear my stomach. I ate too much candy.

Me (waking up): Huh?

Gavin: I couldn’t hear my stomach. There was too much noise when we were trick-or-treating, and my tummy was shy, so I couldn’t hear it.

Gavin post Halloween candy binge