I Can't Use This Here.

So, I get this comment recently, and I have no idea what the commenter meant by it. So I didn't publish it with the post of which it was related. I didn't recognize the name from those who frequently offer their comments and contribute and help to make meaning from this loss and share in the work of grief. The name has no link, so I left it where it was in a holding pattern in the moderation space. I left it there as I tried to figure out the purpose of the comment, "Everything comes to man if he will only wait. . . ."

My first thought was, "I can't use this. I can't use this here, in A Fifth Season."

I can't use this statment in my place of pause to reflect and parent my child's memory, because I'm her mother. I am a woman. That matters. I don't accept that "man" is inclusive of all humankind, especially when my gender is a beautiful and important facet of my relationship with my daughter as she was in life. How I experienced her death is also highly influenced by my gender. I can't use "man" and "he" in this space. It carries little meaning. Perhaps the message was for someone else?

I take a mental walk away, and begin click to "reject," but that's not my way. I'm hooked on rumination. I look within and I look without, because I think it's important that I understand to the best of my reasoning--and that is the purpose of this Fifth Season.

I consider "Everything comes," and smile. "Ha," everything is already here. What I have is what I have in this moment. Sometimes, I feel sadness, and more frequently of late my emotions are quite stable and when I laugh, it's quite hearty. I know how luscious a laugh is, and when it comes, I welcome it. When sorrow and tears come, I embrace them as well--truthfully I can't say that I welcome them, but I can say I honor the experience, and in that sense sorrow is welcome as well.

Perhaps the most, frankly, irritating word of the phrase is "wait," because it suggests wanting or needing something that one doesn't have. I shall now commence to kneading and stretching this word through a range of possible meanings. No, I don't have energy for that. I realize that "wait" is pivotal. The obvious question seems to be "wait for what?"

"Nothing." I have nothing to wait for. I have what I have and love those who are here and not here (my sweet baby, Caitlin), so I am back to "I can't use this here." I reject the comment. Perhaps, the commenter will share again, only next time express what he or she truly means to share. As John Mayer sings, "Say what you mean to say." But, no matter, I know what it means for me. I can't use this, here. Peace.

Late to the ICLW Table

Ah, I am late to the ICLW table. I thought that this month, I would be able to participate more fully, but alas, I am struggling again. So, I will say, "Thanks for all who came to visit. I'll be madly commenting beginning NOW!"

I like the ICLW because it gives me a chance to connect with more bloggers out there in the land of bereavement, TTC, infertiles, adoptive parents, and so many more. Scheeeeeuuuuu there are lots of us out there!

This weekend, DH and I left a busy work week behind and visited friends. It was nice. I'd post a picture, but Blogger and I are "fighting" and it won't cooperate.

Ever just feel like no matter what you do nothing will cooperate?

Compassion: Not as Easy as It Looks

Compassion is what you'll frequently hear from a baby loss mama when she describes the gift or lesson she received from her child or as an outgrowth of her grief. The practice of compassion is more likely to increase after tragedy or traumatic life events.

It's not as easy as it looks, though. And a recent unfortunate blog post by a mother who by all accounts is a compassionate loving mother to her children, her family, her friends and her blog readers, seemed to illustrate this thought. She chose to use some words that unfortunately hurt a community of women, she didn't intend to hurt. She apologized, but for me it seemed to illuminate something bigger.

Compassion: Not as Easy as it Looks

Because, from her comments it seems that she intended to hurt someone. She intended to hurt those who she perceived had judged and hurt her by their comments. There's plenty of evidence that others have been quite hateful toward her role as a mother, though perhaps not to her personally.

Being compassionate is more readily possible when the compassion is given to those who readily receive it and with whom we have a relationship or perceived connection. It's no great surprise to anyone that we are typically less compassionate to those we don't connect with, or lay outside of our social, religious, ethnic, or economic class.

Plenty of comments were left for the blogger, some genuinely trying to help her see that she had hurt the IF and loss community and some who aimed to explain why her words were hurtful. And yes, there was plenty of plain meanness posted, and several so ugly it was unfathomable to me. The blogger fended them off as best she could and seemed to respond in kind; if poster was reasonable so was she, if sarcasm was reeking, she added a stench of her own.

An e-conversation erupted on another site to discuss the post and the comments. Those posts were full of injured and angry words (mine included) and the site provided a safer place to express the hurt--a place where no matter what we said, we knew it would be received.

Compassion: Not as Easy as It Looks

As I read the posts (after posting mine) from beginning to end, I could see the struggle of many to be compassionate to the blogger who had injured the community. Some tried on the perspective of the blogger, and a few angry injured posters removed their words. The blogger apologized twice, and a brief discussion ensued as to the veracity of her apologies. One commenter stated, that the blogger did not want to understand, but wanted to be right.

The desire to be right, I'm convinced, is an obstacle to being compassionate. If your goal is to be gain agreement, sway others to a point of view, then you aren't in a position to listen, learn, and love. And when we're in this mode of teaching others what's right, we aren't particularly receptive to be admonished for words or behaviors that aren't caring. Sometimes, I think we know our behavior isn't compassionate and it's easier to shrug off any criticism, but when we aren't aware (as I believe said blogger was unaware) and taken by surprise that we have acted poorly we find that compassion is not as easy as it looks.

We try defensiveness, trading barbs for barbs, and eventually we may apologize. But will we choose compassion next time or will we merely pull our circle closer around ourselves to prevent another lecture or gentle chide? Could we agree to disagree? Could we learn to use, "for me" or struggle with disclaimers, rather than make proclamations? Will we be willing to accept admonishment and aim as Maya Angelo states, "When we know better, we do better."

Our unfortunate blogger's last statement was that she felt "beat to hell." I read each of her comments and responses and it's clear to me, she's working hard to be compassionate. I thought she didn't know how, but truth is we don't know how until we know better. I'm convinced that to practice compassion we need to hear from those we may have injured (and that frankly sucks); and to be part of that practice, we also need to make our injuries known. I learned a great deal tonight with this e-life event. I wish we had all been kinder (acknowledging that so many were kind) and hope we are able on this arduous journey to practice compassion, 'cause it's hard work.

Compassion: Not as Easy as It Looks

Peace, Kim.
Peace, baby loss and IF community.

About "Followers"

When I entered the blogosphere as an active blogger, I learned how things work the way most of us do--by doing. I clicked and added and linked and posted and commented and followed. Wait, followed? What's that?

It's a way to subscribe to another blogger's RSS feed. It allows me to link to blogs that I find interesting, helpful, insightful, and worth keeping track of, and it helps me read the new posts by letting me know when they are posted. Once I subscribe, I become a "follower." Like so many e-life terms (like "friending" your DH on FaceBook--weird) this one was a bit uncomfortable. Following in real life seems to connote agreement by suggesting that the one who follows is aiming to go in the same direction as the one being followed. Going in the same direction can lead to an assumption of agreement and "rubber stamping" the ideas posted by the followed blogger. For me, following meant merely to keep track of and pay attention.

"What cool, interesting, insightful, or controversial thing will they say next?"

When I ask that question, I click the "follow this blog" button. I usually add bloggers who have the common link of bereavement or parenting struggles of some kind which fits "going in the same direction," but it feels more like we walk together or meet along the way--not follow.

Another bit of awkwardness about this "following" is that I now had followers. Weird, again. I don't think of my readers as aiming to follow in my path. Yikes! Who would want that? I have no delusions of guru. Rather I recognize that others simply have some interest in reading about my journey. They frequently comment, and sometimes don't, and both responses are fine and appreciated. I changed the title of followers to readers, but that sounded so impersonal, so I went with the FB term--friends, so my blog better reflects how I feel about them, but (and this is an UGH), Blogger insists on labeling them "followers."

Now, I've been on the blogosphere for nearly a year (I know, a neophyte), and have discovered an issue with this follower thing. Some bloggers find that they will have individuals stop following, and conclude that it's because of a post the follower disagreed with or was offended by. The now non-follower removes his/her link as a consequence of that disagreement or offending post. This feels crappy to the followed, and may result in hurt feelings. The blogger may become more careful with his/her future posts. I'm not sure that's a bad thing, we ought to be careful of the words we sling out into the universe for others to encounter. We should be careful not to incite hatred or spread vicious lies or be downright mean--because I think nice matters. But, perhaps, it's the term that's causing the trouble.

If we understood, that people read our blogs for a variety of reasons, we might not feel hurt if they stop following . . . or get a big head when we gain another "fan" as Google describes it. Not everyone who follows is a fan. If perhaps, we understood that following wasn't always a "hey, you're my hero" kinda thing, we might be better served. More importantly, we might better serve by contributing to a conversation about this most difficult and joyous life. (Yup, I'm goin' all human condition on ya.)

Sorting out my own participation, I made several conscious decisions about this follower thing. I like reading a wide variety of opinions and pathways, and my life is richer when I read posts with which I disagree and agree. So, if I'm a follower of your blog; I'm a fan!--meaning, "I love reading your blog." It's a gem when I discover a blog that pushes buttons, prompts me to see life in another way, or makes me go "hmmmmmm." It's also validating when I read a blog where the blogger's ideas resonate strongly with me. I see myself as 'reader,' and as I wrote before, I have no delusions that those who read my blog are following me. I like the way following allows the blogger to link, thereby expanding e-life connections, and I like the way following helps the blogger keep in touch with interesting people who are willing to articulate their life experiences, emotions, and what holds meaning for them. Oh, I also like the recipes and pics of the backyard, too!

In short:

Following is cool; I just don't like the label.

Blogging and Healing

Some bloggers have written in the past (and recently) about when their real life family and friends discover or read their blogs. Some find it disconcerting that real life and e-life has met on the blogosphere. Others have invited their family and/or friends from real life, then found it to be frustrating. Still others fear that the blog will be discovered. And even though they may track visitors by area of the country, it's not like they get a "Hi, Sweetie, it's me your BFF from HS!!!" Instead the blogger can be left to wonder, "Has my e-life been discovered?" Often the follow-up question is "And how do I feel about that?" Still others have a completely open blog to friends and family as well as their e-life friends and family.

I'm convinced that the bereaved community (and the IF community) blogs a bit differently than perhaps other bloggers. I tend to read confessions of real life struggles. Dead baby mamas tend not to waste time painting themselves as better than perfect; they don't have the energy because they are busy trying to survive. I also tend to read "thinking out loud" posts, when the bereaved make sense of how their lives are situated living without their child. (I do quite a bit of this.) We also write stories of what real life looks like and feels like now. The trip to the grocery store means something more than getting a jug of milk; it can be a painful emotional roller coaster ride. I've read plenty of honest rumination of past firmly-held beliefs. The bereaved seem to be fearless in pulling their beliefs apart and refashioning them to help them survive. The bereaved blogger also seems fearless in tackling the expression of ambiguous emotions (what others call negative emotions) of anger, jealousy, rage, and depression. Sometimes the rants remain as rants, but most often the blogger will write his or her own resolution and usually, in my opinion, finds a healing way to live in the "normal" world where babies don't die. That process of acknowledging emotions, telling stories, exploring life philosophies, and sending out e-hugs in the form of comments to other bereaved is a primary reason for blogging.

Why blog? Why not just keep a diary, or use your real life support group of family and friends?

Well, navigating the normal world when traveling a grief journey typically takes longer than most of the "normals" understand. Some will say "move on," hint at moving on, or ignore the dead child. Some who read wonder at the raw emotion that leaps off the net, and think that we are wallowing. There is so much more to write on this subject, but I'll close with this.

For me, blogging has been an immense help to me by being a vehicle to explore, express, and find meaning. Although, I had/have lots of support from family and friends, I could tell I was wearing them down. And help comes in the form of the many comments fellow bloggers leave in support, and in reading the many posts of other parents who struggle with many kinds of loss. Sometimes I have nothing to post, so I work on healing by leaving as many comments as possible.

Things to Do While Awaiting Blogger Inspiration

Find out what color your mind is? Yup, it seems that by answering less than 10 questions you can discover the color of your mind. Turns out mine is Green . . . and that means . . .


Of all the mind types, yours has the most balance.
You are able to see all sides to most problems and are a good problem solver.
You need time to work out your thoughts, but you don't get stuck in bad thinking patterns.

You tend to spend a lot of time thinking about the future, philosophy, and relationships (both personal and intellectual).

My, didn't that make me feel all terrific. I'm balanced! Whoo-hoo. Well, on to the infamous FaceBook. FB is infamous because it's not a particularly bereaved-mom-friendly place, and because if you need some time sucked out of your life you can take a quiz about your favorite internet subject---yourself!!!! So I took one that would tell me what career I was.



Ouch, I say. I do think about the problems of others--in fact it is an essential component of my career. I am no longer attracted to needy people. I gave that up for life many years ago. I still respond to people who need my help, but I have learned to say "no" to protect myself. Ouch, though that I help others so people will like me. That one hurt. It's a nice natural result, people tend to like you or be nice to you for a bit when you help. It starts with "thank you." But, many times people are not responsive, but I still like helping, because sometimes the feeling of doing something nice is about me and not them. Weird, huh!

OK, this one doesn't fit into the "fun" or "ridiculous" category, it's actually quite serious. Project Implicit has several tests one can take to discover what thoughts you may hold implicitly even though those thoughts may state explicitly something to the contrary. So, I took a test to see if I prefer white or black people, and if I had positive or negative associations with either group. Here was my result:

Your data suggest no difference in your automatic preferences for White people vs. Black people



That was pretty cool to see, because I'd taken this test several years ago and both times it came back with slight preference for white people, and so this time I felt like there was evidence that I've grown and become more intune with what I consciously strive to achieve. BTW this test gained a good deal of attention when it provided data that suggested that even African Americans had a preference for whites and associated negative words with blacks. The data was disturbing to many, especially to those of us in the field of education. What were we teaching? Were our actions promoting tolerance? Are there equally positive and negative images and messages of both blacks and whites in our media?

But, I digress.

Disappointed with Paul Olsen

So, I'm thinking about love and a mother's love and a children's book, I created a tune to ("Mama, Mama" by Jean Marzollo) that I sang to Caitlin in the hospital and the illustrations in this book are simply beautiful and tender and, well, wonderful. So, I'm messing with the blog tonight and I see Paul Olsen's "Loving Animal Mother POD," and I think, "That's lovely, I'd like to see pics of animal mamas and babies."



So, I click and try to add, and well,---this sucks for a bereaved mother---the link is broken.



So, I frowned, I mean really frowned, the brow is still furrowed, and I felt a bit of disappointment with Paul Olsen. I hope he fixes the broken link soon. If only other broken links could be fixed as well . . . . if only. . . . .