Perfect Day to Say Goodbye

On a perfect day sometimes you get an echo of earlier perfect days. On a random Saturday, with blue sky and perhaps the colours of fall; a crispness in the breeze but still the warmth of sun on your shoulders, you know that all things pass and the work of our lives is to acknowledge the passing with grace.

Time moves. We know this. We say this. We tell each other this. And if we are a part of the dead baby club, we mourn this even as we accept it. Our entire lives, from the moment our child left us, will pay testament to what it’s like when your heart lives in two places. In just a minute, an arc second away, some other time and some other universe, there is a mother and a father and a son named Gabriel.

And there is here, where Gabriel is a picture in my bedroom, tucked into the space between my heart and my lungs.

And in the time that has passed, I am so many things to so many people. I am a woman I could not have imagined in March 2008, when I came to the internet; full of loss and heartbreak.


Last December, right in the rush of Christmas, the bill for my hosting came due. I gulped and paid for it, mostly because I did not know what to do with this space. In February, I looked at the budget and analytics numbers, wanting to know who came here and why. Continually, my Life after Children FAQ gets accessed. Melissa at Stirrup Queens has kindly agreed to host that for me.

In December, perhaps a bit sooner, this blog will leave. Like all things, sometimes it is just time to go.

Before then, I wanted to say thank you. For 15 years I came here to tell you what I was doing and how I was, and so many of you answered me. You listened, you cared, you became friends.

I am a woman I could not have imagined in 2008, but I am her because of you.

Much love,

Cheryl (Mrs. Spit)

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11 Responses to Perfect Day to Say Goodbye

  1. Mali says:

    Cheryl, I haven’t been a frequent commenter, but I have popped in and out over the years, some more regularly than others. I saw this post title and thought I didn’t want to miss, and I’m glad I did.

    In particular, I have appreciated that you have been there for others. I think we all blog for ourselves, but we also blog for others, so they can see there is life afterwards, that life goes on, and that it will be full of ups and downs. It helps make some sense of our losses. I thank you for being honest, and part of our ALI blogging community.

    And I wish you the very very best of life in the future.

  2. loribeth says:

    Oh Cheryl — I know you haven’t written much here lately, and we are in touch elsewhere, but I will be very sad to see this blog disappear. So much wisdom and insight (and beautiful writing). Thank you for these past 15 (!) years. (I still have hopes that someday we’ll meet “in real life”!)

  3. Elaine H. says:

    I, too, am sad to see you go. Your words are so articulate. So wise. So compassionate. I’ve said it before: “You have a book in you.” Thanks. Best wishes.

  4. Phoenix says:

    Thank you for writing. You helped me a lot!! EnJOY.

  5. Mel says:

    It is the end of an era. And I’m sad to see you go. But I’m honoured to hold on to whatever piece you would like me to hold.

  6. Reese says:

    Thank you for your words for the last 15 years. You will be missed.

  7. Angie says:

    Thank you for sharing your story. I will miss you

  8. GeekChic says:

    I remember leaving you a comment about the inner workings of garburators, and you offering me Roger’s Chocolates as payment.

    I remember Ben and the giant bear.

    I remember giggling helplessly at the free-range hotdog farmer and the spaghetti sauce.

    I remember cursing the perfidy of the universe after the MS.

    I remember gaining a new understanding of the depth of the pain of my childless friends (my being child-free by choice) and appreciating the empathy you helped foster.

    Thank you for sharing so much of yourself. All the best to you.

  9. Sadie says:

    I came here today by chance, having stopped in briefly at my own long-neglected blog. Just wanted to say all the very best with life “out there” and thank you. Your words have brought solace and companionship. You will be missed. Stay well.

  10. Debby Hornburg says:

    I have missed you. Ultimately, I thought you were heading towards this. I am not surprised, but I hope to keep up with you a little bit via your Christmas letters.

  11. Julie says:

    Sending love as you continue to move forward extra love for Gabriel.

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