Death and the Mother

A fellow bereaved mom's blog post made me think of this video. Here it is with (((((hugs)))) to fellow bereaved moms. 

Her Name

When your child is gone, what you have is her name. Her name is tangible and in a small way, writing it places her here in this place with me.

Don't Panic Take Two

I'm re-reading the third in the series of "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and given my last post, smiled when I read these words.

There is an art, it says, or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.

So, that's my plan, will take a leap and forget to land. New motto:

Have Risk: Will Fly

Don't Panic

are the words written in friendly letters on "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." Wish the "Book 'O Life" came with this friendly suggestion. As I get closer to my new job, I find that panic is a occurring far to frequently. Perhaps I will find that the answer is 42 and that even though the new job won't be the life I had hoped for it may be "not entirely unlike" fulfilling.

Early Bloom

This is far to early for the season Caitlin's tree to bloom, but one lone bloom showed herself in this oppressive heat. Blooms are supposed to occur in November!

Tired

That's all. Sometimes that's all I got. Today is one of those sometimes.

Folk Song of "Farmer's Curst Wife"

So, I've been perusing through folk songs from long ago. One in particular I found amusing and particularly at the final verse, I found my self silently nodding, . The opening verse is:

There was an old man at the foot of the hill, 
If he ain't moved away he's livin' there still, 
Sing heigh, diddlei, diddlei fie!
Diddlei diddlei day!

As I sing through the verses and the story goes
Devil shows up.
Farmer fears Devil will take his son. 
But, the Devil wants his wife.
Wife goes to hell and fights back so much that the Devil brings her back.

The final verse made me nod my head.

There's one advantage women have over men: 
They can go to Hell and come back again. 

Sometimes that's just what it feels like we do. We get drug to hell by agents out of our control, but somehow through shear force we fight our way back. I don't know how, but somehow it happens.

Bumper Sticker Rage

"My baby was born at home"

---Big 'effin deal. My baby is dead. She was born and then she died.  My bumper sticker should read:

My baby was born in a hospital where they repaired her heart

and

WE BROUGHT HER HOME.

Consider editing your bumper sticker, perhaps . . .  

"I'm grateful my baby is alive."

Expressions of superiority suck, and are usually evidence of naivete or an inability to consider other points of view.

OK, rage released. Sorry if I offended home-birthers. I'm sure parents who want a more natural entry into this world for their babies are passionate about home birth. I'm sure it feels like an accomplishment for their children to be born at home. From my angle, it's an accomplishment for any child to be home alive.

Unexpected Sad Lyrics

Well, the fourth of July has come and gone. I watched and participated in many a sing-a-long of patriotic songs, but found that lyrics that once held pride unexpectedly brought a lump to my throat this time. God Bless America has some sad lyrics this year.

"from the mountains to the prairies to the oceans white with foam"

I do hope they are successful with relief wells to stop the oil from spewing into the Gulf. We need to work on bringing the ocean back to "white with foam."

God may have blessed America, but we're sure doing a nice job of screwing it up. UGH.