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.
Cheryl (Mrs. Spit)