• Charlie,  Group B Strep,  Sad Stuff,  Writer

    Thirteen. 13. A Teen.

    Thirteen. It feels as awkward rolling off my tongue as it actually is to be thirteen. It’s hard to fathom, really, the possibility of Charlie being here and being thirteen. Waking up with scruffy hair on his head and a hint of facial hair. He would surely talk back to me with a cracking voice and when he might smile, the little boy in him would likely peek through every so often. He would have an attitude like he’s either king of the world or the most sullen teen who ever lived. Lived. If only he’d lived. Damn, there are so many things I would have — WE would have — done. All…

  • Charlie,  Group B Strep,  Writer

    Twelve. 12. XII.

    It’s been a dozen years since you stubbornly and dramatically took your first breath. Counting that many years without you is more than I can fathom, really. If someone asked me right now, I would say that it felt like just yesterday they placed you in my arms, all pink and mad. But if another person came up right behind them, I may say I could barely remember the smell of your skin or how your lip curled just a little at the corner. While there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t think about you, there are long stretches of hours when the hole in my heart feels plugged up and…

  • Charlie,  Group B Strep,  Sad Stuff,  Writer

    Dreams of a Tiny Casket

    Originally published at Still Standing Magazine, July 5, 2013 Yes, you read the title right. When I was pregnant with Charlie, I dreamed of a tiny casket. I dreamed about  weeping over a flower-covered, mahogany casket that was the size of a baby. I have nightmares even ten years later about foreseeing the death of my son. I must’ve been about 7 months pregnant when it happened the first time. I remember waking up in a cold sweat with a wet face, probably from crying in my sleep. At the time, I didn’t think much about it. And I didn’t tell a soul about it. And then I dreamed it…

  • Charlie,  Group B Strep,  Sad Stuff,  Writer

    What Happens Next?

    On May 23, Lucy posted a comment on Charlie’s Story. It moved me and prompted me to respond however I could. I am crying for you. Devastated for you. Life is so beautiful, so heartbreaking. I don’t understand why these things happen. Perhaps you have a better idea than I? I want to know more about your journey. What happens next? How did you survive? Lucy, there are no answers. And yet? There are a million answers. Now I’ll speak of my story specifically. This is mine. Not Jason’s and not anyone else who has lost a child. Because grief is like that. You can’t speak for others. There’s no…

  • Charlie,  Dramatic Nonsense,  Group B Strep

    Enough is Enough

    Seriously. I’m tired of it. Enough is enough. Babies have to stop dying. Parents need to stop having to choose tiny caskets that can be picked up by one person. Have you ever seen one? Just the casket itself will give you nightmares. I’m pissed. I can’t believe it’s 2014 and there are still as many people burying their babies as there are. I know, if we were in the 1800’s or even 50 years ago, it would be more. But damn. It’s not fair. Yeah, something good will come from it. A lot of people do great things in the wake of devastating and bring-you-to-your-knees situations, but WHY DO…