second to numb

I haven’t slept much.
My mind seems to overindulge in the hyper analytics .
It appears as though I am my own worst critic.
I don’t have any trust.
The image that was first drawn became smudged out by reality.
never before had there been such heart striking fatality.
The future is stuck.
Struck down and held low in despair
Struggling for breath in loves thick and suffering air
Much too deep of a cut.
No bandaids will hold this compounding fracture
no longer can it all save face and straight stature
No longer whatever it was.
I’ve become an advocate of Stoicism for sanity , a binding pressure to create a custom built identity
Crumbling from shock’s touch.
Tremors of half way thoughts and troubling perspectives
Questioning the quest and the pursuit of objectives
Reclamation is a must.
I’m trying not to be intimidated by myself to be me, allowing a freedom that will course its mark eventually.
I have become increasingly numb.

broken building blocks

I realize that I should be able to control myself in regard to attitude, behavior, emotions, etc., but sometimes I just can’t.
Today is one of those days. This was supposed to be a good day regardless of what I knew prior to going to sleep.

Without fail though brick walls began building their boundaries and I am the one that lives within these borders.
I can’t tell who the orders are coming from only that there is an ominous tone to all things. The who or the what that governs our decisions and provides little markers of measurement tallying up to what becomes us is askew and misinformed. At least, mine is.

However, I don’t just leave it at that. I have to dig in and sift around to expose the roots. Indeed, the goal must be to trace the lineage of pain that the limbs shoot foliage of inconsistencies from.
That exposure though, that uncovering, sends a chill through the vines, our deepest parts are vulnerable. Also, viewable. I try to put each particle in its personal Petri dish for further observation.

Pain is putrid and it multiplies. It is seen perusing around and around each element of action and pushing the edges closer and tighter together. The blur of its rapid attempt to attach fragments of fret to every single string of our hearts is infuriating. Putting this parasite into a timeline and dissecting its power under pressure eludes to what parameters we (I) am working with, or against, for that matter.
It provides perspective. It also opens up the earth and shakes the sediment that surrounds our structures of existence.

There is a warning. It comes across each division and sub shoot of our growing system. It disguises itself as a tool to tend to the digging up of decay. With each thrusting of the spade it carves seemingly unnoticeable nicks in the casings of our membranous earth holdings. This creates constant infliction of trace infections every time these roots of reckoning try to reach further into a safe hold, its foundation.

As I am trying to germinate myself into a new garden there is one constant in this growing zone……
I am already an established organism and my building blocks are working overtime with the intention of new development. With every ground I think I am breaking new, I am reminded that only extensions of me can attempt to gain structure and that each reach further stretches those nicks into marks that end up becoming quite visible and palpable on the surface. Every outside element rains a penetrating reminder of pain and it courses through the etchings as though it was predesigned as such.

he knows

the age of someone often dictates to us what we may think their extent of knowledge is. we are selling the young short. in fact, i genuinely believe that they know more than we – adults – do.
while in the hospital, Solomon’s world got flipped upside down. the only time he had ever been away from me was just a few weeks earlier. my husband and i had an overnight celebration of our anniversary and my in-laws came and watched the children. so although solomon had his first night without me, he was still in the comforts of his home. so this last couple weeks has totally twisted his reality of comfort and normalcy. he has been here, there, and everywhere except at home with his family, going to sleep in his bed.
i noticed while we were in the hospital that he would kind of rub this tip of his nose with his little finger and fuss. i am not sure why, but i really took note of that as it was something i had never seen him do before. his attitude grew into a monstrous amount of squealing and whining, grunting and fussing, yelling and frustration. and we would all say, “well he sees us sad and crying and can see that something is going on,” and we would all agree that he is aware that something was happening, but maybe did not truly grasp the fact that his baby sister was not coming home with us, and that she died.
he met her. he held her hand. he sat on my lap while she shared that same space as we said goodbye to her. he was there for her last breath. he was there for the crying out, the heartbreak, the wailing. yes, some of you might think that it was too much to have a little one there, or any of the children for that matter. but in reality, it is all part of it. they deserved to be there, they had the right to experience all that they could of their baby sister. they needed to share the reason for grieving and hopefully healing. they needed to understand. at least what was understandable.
but did Solomon really understand? yes, he saw and felt all the emotions that we were all exuding, but did he understand that she was now dead and we will never see her again? does he see why his mom cries everyday and sometimes most of the day?
yesterday i began to understand that yes, he does indeed, understand. we were laying in my bed, the same one that i go to sleep in angst in, the same one that i labored in with my daughter when the cord prolapsed, the same one that i have to see everyday in the same room that my nightmare began… and he pointed over to Archaea’s memory quilt. the children all had put their handprints on this quilt that also has Archaea’s hands and footprints. He pointed to Freedom’s hand – “bubby’s”, pointed to his, “mine,” pointed to vaeas, i said “vaea’s,” then i pointed to Archaea’s and asked him whose they are. He said, “sissy’s.” He knew whose they were. He did not ask further about it or her. we put the quilt away. he knows that the heartbeat recording in my pink bear is “sissy’s” but does not ask where she is.
this morning as i was trying to get into the shower, i turned on pandora music. the first time i have wanted to listen to music for over two weeks now (which was short lived – too much pain) it was a christian station that was on there and the song “be held” was on and i just sat on the bathroom floor crying. solomon came to the door and i held out my arms for him to sit with me… he looked at me, started rubbing his nose with his little finger, and tears started welling in his eyes. he started bawling. he started wailing. he sat down in my lap and just cried and cried and cried with me. we just held each other and cried, deep meaningful, painful sobbing. maybe more than i do, he knows.

the call.

warning – possibly graphic and explicit –
my husband says i am doing well. i don’t feel like it.
but i more than appreciate his love and support…
you never know how much you love your spouse until you lose a child together.
you never really know what would cause you to crumble or become stronger.
i have never loved so much in my entire life the way i love now.
yes, i have my three beautiful children that uplift me and keep me going,
my husband is the one who gets me.
he is the one that somehow makes life a little more tolerable and keeps me wanting to live.
i owe my life to him.
my mom has been a solid rock for me, which i am so sorry that she even has to go through this too.
i mean, our parents lost a grandchild, that is no light task to take care of the falling apart souls all the while theirs are tearing too.
they ache each day also.
all the support from our family, friends, community,….
outstanding and has shown us the hearts of many, for which we are eternally grateful. thank you.
please don’t forget us.
please let others know that may not be online so that when we do decide to step out in public functions we don’t get people coming up to us asking where our baby is.
because she is ….
i hate life so much right now. i know its “normal.”
but that doesn’t make it any better.
i hate that my beautiful friends are bringing beautiful babies into this world, and mine did not make it.
i hate that i hate that.
i hate that i cannot find joy in their joy, but still i love them all so much.
i hate that my husband has to go to work and somehow be a normal functioning human while shit gets thrown in his face that make his heart ache. i hate that i am so sad and broken that it hurts his heart too. i hate is such a strong declaration, and something we teach our kids not to say or utilize in expression –
but they have been given a free pass to hate.
i cry everyday.
sometimes little bursts. sometimes an hour at a time. sometimes i just sit around in a stupor and ponder what i am even doing. i am beyond angry everyday.
i try to keep it contained and in perspective, but i am angry.
angry. angry. angry. angry. angry. angry. fucking angry.
i could not bear the idea of seeing a little baby casket being lowered into the ground. honestly, caskets of dead people decaying creep me out.
we decided to return her to ash and dust. but now when i think of it i wonder how that even made sense to me. when i think about the process of how it happens, i am mortified. either way was a lose lose situation.
but i couldn’t….
can’t she just be suspended in heavenly form and her body just become ethereal? have you ever had to pick out an urn?
for a baby?
yeah that is some fucked up shit. standing in this little cave of hatred and disgust, disbelief, and the whole time just saying – what the fuck?- picking out something that is going to be in your home to constantly remind you of the nightmare. yet you cannot dare to not have her close. have you ever had to sign a death certificate the same week you signed a birth certificate? yeah that is messed up. how the fuck is any of this actually real and happening?
my new normal is a fucked up version of me.
a version where right now i cannot do anything but think about it all the time. i cannot yet do much physically to help my mind be busy because it causes me too much physical pain the next day.
another reminder.
my body, ripped apart from the head to my uterus.
torn apart from surgery and angst. physiologically fucked up as i get milk coming in that should be going to my beautiful baby girl and is not. so i await it to go away. i had considered donating it, but the emotional pain was too much to continue. after all, we already gave away her organs. why do i need to give her milk away too. close to 7pm on sunday september 4th our daughter Archaea saved a life. her life was already given away, why do i need to give my milk too? i don’t.
i will maybe forever feel foreign in my own body, soul, heart.
she will be home with us soon.
i got the call.
i thought maybe i was doing better today, until i got the call. i remember now that this nightmare is not over. maybe never will be. the anger resurfaced (as if it was going away) and my sadness consumes me. i cried for a long while and could only apologize to Archaea that I failed her. yes that is the ultimate feeling i have.
i failed her, and there is nothing that can be done about it.
my job as a mother, and i couldn’t do it. – these things happen – that’s right, “it wasnt my fault” but you will never convince me of that.
Archaea Elore –
the Archeia is the female divinity of the Archangels. Elore is from my grandmother’s name Hannelore. A strong purposeful name, that evidently meant she was going to heaven to do her work there.
too awesome to be here on the earth. literally an angel with a purpose that i will never understand.
literally an angel. our butterfly baby. i love you

our wind

i prayed with the wind today.
i lit some sage and prayed in each direction to our earth and our people in our compass of the winds.
i offered connection to each direction of our hearts and that we are able to see that we are all on this space, together.
i walked with the wind today.
i stepped over and through the lichen and sage.
stepped over the homes of those that dwell underfoot.
i stopped ever so often just observing the surroundings that the earth so selflessly has provided its body to us to habitat.
i cried with the wind today.
i asked it so desperately if i am ultimately alone, is my daughter with me, is god with me. my tears dripped as readily as the needles fell off the pines, dropping onto the wet ground previously showered by the earth and now me.
i searched the trees and the grass with the wind today.
my eyes shifted for avenues of life, light, and a path to take, just as the wind shifts with each pocket of air. it takes flight in its own direction, yet still has a course to move through, in and out.
i realized i was the wind today.
all over and yet in one space. touching all that has come before me and all that will surpass me. weaving in and out of time and reaching across the lands, in a search, to create a movement. to feel, to be the feeling.
i held my soul with the wind today.
i was carried away and remained grounded. i saw that the complexity is only the perspective we allow it to be. the simplicity and impact of the wind indicating that we are all instinctually animals and intuitively operate to survive on the grounds that we are all a part of.
i gave myself to the wind today.
it flew and danced and twirled in front, behind, to each side and through me. i let it spin me and guide my minds eye to seek, finding that i may not need to seek, as it is all within me, within us. the only guide needed is love and like the wind, it can go anywhere


the sandman waits patiently, watches while i weep
not the sand but the salt water puts me to sleep.
my husband gently whispers,
“i’m sorry there is nothing i can do
to take the pain away from you.”
each breath i draw brings piercing in the chest
icy cold, followed by pangs of remembrance
my heart, it gently whispers,
“all of the things, wishing what could have been
now have to be done all within.”
the sandman weeps with me along side my bed
putting away his satchel and catching my tears instead.
the sandman, he gently whispers,
“i’ll collect this outpouring of love you drip
and steer your heart into her drift.”


12 hours from now it’ll be one week.
One week since the worst day of my life.
One week since I literally lost a piece of me.
One week since my old world stopped and the messed up version of my world started. One week since my heart died.
One week since I began thinking God doesn’t care.
One week since I’ve started hating everything I don’t have.
One week of pure torture within my soul.
One week that has included comments from random people that rip me apart.
One week that is revisited minute by minute by visions of horror over and again, reliving it over and again.
One week since I felt the warmth of her precious belly.
One week since I could put her little hand in mine.
One week since I could smell her, kiss her, hold her.
One week since I gave up on miracles.
One week since prayer might not matter.
One week since I could apologize to her.
One week of searching for her.
One week of desperately wanting to go back in time.
One week of hell. One week of wanting to disappear.
One week of anger.
One week of sadness.
One week of loving my husband more than I knew I could.
One week of anguish.
One week.