• death,  Grief,  hope,  Poetry

    Reconstruction

    I am going home, you said, I relish every word you left, bereft Of every one you didn’t yet And every one I didn’t coax out of you when I could. Those are the ones that might be wood. But it’s only straw instead. Home is it? and you insist, But when your heart stopped cold I missed The home at the part where your last breathe kissed This end of eternal sowing, sighed Into the harvest of your life There is not room for this. Where is home without you here It may sounds trite, but feels too clear To rise above cliches and fear That what fell down…

  • Birth,  Cancer,  death,  Grief,  Homebirth,  hope,  Life,  Pregnancy

    Ice Packs

    We took Bradley classes during my first pregnancy (highly recommend, they’re great) because regardless of whether or not your pregnancy is bliss or burden you are aware of something truly horrible: this baby is coming out.  I imagine for most women there is an initial euphoria with which a deep and primal dread sidles up beside and waits. Through bump photos and Target registries and baby showers and baby kicks, mild terror makes herself quite comfortable. The basic idea behind Bradley is that labor is natural, pain is part of the process to be embraced, and you are capable. In other words, “It’s gonna hurt like hell, kid, you can…