The Rumbling

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The first book I read after Nelle died in September of 2015 was Rising Strong by Brene Brown.  It was exactly what I needed at that time.  Brown talks about three parts of the rising strong process:  the Reckoning, the Rumble, and the Revolution.  Of the rumble, she writes:  “The rumble begins with turning up our curiosity level and becoming aware of the story we’re telling ourselves about our hurt, anger, frustration, or pain.”  Continue reading

A Moment at the Theater

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The past few weeks have been emotionally tough.  The news has been a constant barrage of silencing, dismissing, berating, or blaming women who are trying to share their stories.  It is draining, on many levels.  While I have never experienced sexual assault that is at the center of the discourse, I can empathize with being told that my experience is not worthy or valid.  Feeling rejected.  Feeling that I have to hold my stories inside.  It is challenging to want to show support and listen to the stories, without simultaneously wanting to crawl into a hole and hide from the vicious, unfeeling attacks. Continue reading

Out With One Month, In With Another

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September always seems to be a hard month. It starts out brutal on the 3rd, the day that we found out that Nelle’s heart had stopped beating. Her birthday on the fourth. Replaying those early days over and over, each year passing and remembering those early days of grief. Then reaching Theo’s birthday and feeling the contradiction of celebrating another year of his life, while missing hers. Continue reading

The Early Days of Loss

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This time, three years ago, were the “early days.”  Sixteen days since we learned that Nelle had died.  Fifteen days since she had been born.  I had already been to see a therapist twice.  I don’t remember if I had started working again or not.  And Theo’s birthday loomed – a trip to a waterpark hotel, planned months in advance.  I was relieved that we were not hosting a party, and simultaneously felt so much pressure to make the weekend celebratory for him – that he could be blissfully aware of the searing pain I still felt every minute of every day. Continue reading