Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Week 36 - Waiting

We are now just waiting.  Waiting for Zoe to come greet the world this Thursday ALIVE and HEALTHY!  Oh how we hope this happens.  Here is my last post for Pregnancy and Newborn Magazine as their Knocked Up Blogger before we hopefully have a beautiful birth story to share with you. Click here to read about our wait in the last few days.

The hospital bag is packed, frozen meals are made, all doctors’ appointments have been attended, and the nursery is as complete as it will be until baby arrives. There is nothing left to do but wait.
And the “waiting place” is one of the most useless places, according to the great philosopher Dr. Seuss:
“You see in this place,
you can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…
…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.” (From Oh, the Places You’ll Go!)
Or in our case, we are now just waiting for a baby.
Nick and I have been in this ‘waiting place’ once before. I didn’t like it then, when I was expecting a healthy baby to bring home but didn’t, and I really despise this place now because every moment I wait, I get more nervous, more anxious, and more fearful about making it to this Thursday at 9:30 a.m.
The day of great expectations and high hopes to be filled.
The day of redemption.
The day of hopeful healing and new life to bloom forth into this world.
The day we all lovingly refer to as the birthday.
Oh God, how I pray there is birth that results in life this time.
This day, delivery day, birthday, whatever you want to call it. THIS day Nick and I have been waiting for for over two years.
I hope it’s as I envision. A day filled with tears of joy instead of grief, screams of new life instead of cries of sorrow, and love taking shape in the form of a new family created with a wiggly baby nestled in her mother’s arms, as a giggly father gleefully smiles while looking at his beautiful family. That is what I envision. That is what I hope for.
But as I write this I have three sleeps before my vision hopefully becomes my reality. So what to do while I’m in this waiting place. What to do?
Well, as Nick and I have unfortunately been stopped in the waiting place since last Friday, we have filled our days with a few activities so that the last few days before birth don’t seem like Dr. Seuss’s mundane ‘waiting place’.
The day date: Nick and I took last Friday off and played hooky! We had a date day in the middle of the week. It was so fun and gave us something to look forward to all last week. We went to the local conservatory, visited a book store, had breakfast and lunch out at some of our favorite places and then spent the evening watching a movie marathon. It was wonderful and it helped me forget about waiting for baby to come and focus on my fantastic husband that helped me create the baby we are expecting this week.
Cleaning time: Maybe it’s not for everyone, but cleaning soothes my soul. It gives me a sense of accomplishment when I complete it and while I’m in the act of dusting of the shelves it seems to also clear the clutter from my mind. I cleaned the whole house on Saturday and the time passed quickly and with a sense of fulfillment at the end with the bonus of being ready for baby too.
Scheduled fun: My responsibilities have gotten lighter as the days approach before baby’s birth. So to fill in some time I have scheduled something enjoyable each day to look forward too. On Saturday I scheduled and finally got that massage I was talking about, Sunday I went shopping, Monday I finished things at work and said goodbye, and Tuesday I plan on hanging out with my sister and going out to lunch. Filling my time with fun has helped me stay in the present moment and not worry too much about D-day or feeling drained from being in the ‘waiting place’ before we get there.
That’s been what has kept me sane and helps me stay away from the fear. Allowing me to instead focusing on my heart filled with hope during the long but few days in the ‘waiting place’ before the planned birth of baby No. 2.
If you have followed our journey, be so kind to send positive thoughts our way this Thursday as we try to make it through the ‘waiting place’ and into the place of birth and joy we so much have been hoping for. I wish to bring you good news in the weeks to come.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Dear Nora...I hear your voice

March 24, 2014

Dear Nora,

I hear your voice.  You whisper words of comfort to me in my mind.  I know you are there, at least in the sense that you are still inside a part of me if it, whether it be my brain, my body, or my soul.  Somewhere you are present and I carry you and you carry me through the dark.  

I hear your voice.  “You will get to keep this one, mom. It is going to happen.”  Your reassuring words reverberate through my ears and settle into my heart as a momentary warmth of calm settles in my soul.  Your statement brings me peace for the time being.  Until I hear my voice responded with, “But it’s not fair, I didn’t get to keep you.”

I hear your voice. “I know. I love you, mom.  You will get to take this one home.”  And as you murmur these words to me from a place unknown to my soul and body I begin to cry, because your simple words are true.  There is no going back, there is no changing things there is only moving forward and without saying it, you said it, looking back is not an option, moving forward and enjoying the present is all we have now.  This we both have learned.  This is the reality of life; we only have the guarantee of now. 
I hear your voice.  It’s a silent voice with no words this time, but I hear it just the same.  Your singing speaks to me through the light, airy, and freshly fallen snow as it gently lands on my long golden blonde hair as I walked into work this morning.  I am sitting here now, watching it out my window, sensing your soul as each snowflake makes its way from cloud to earth.  A journey I wish you could have made, but your feet never touched the soil of this world.  

I hear your voice.  In the gentle snowfall I remember the last time you were there, two nights before you slipped silently out of my womb without entering this world but moving onto another.  I remember the piles of snow crunching beneath my boots as your dad, George our little doggy and I hiked through the wooded trail down by the river bluffs.  Me holding you in my belly every slow step of the way and watching the snowfall gently and leisurely, almost magically on the birch trees that towered above us on both sides.  It was then that something inside me told me to stop and take in the majesty of nature surrounding us.  I paused, as Nick and George walked ahead up a steep hill on the white covered trail.  As I looked back over my shoulder there was a moment, like today when I heard a voice.  At that time I didn’t know it was yours.

I heard your voice say, “Your life will never be the same.” And when I heard those words I smiled, thinking I would be changed for good and forever by holding you.  I guess the feeling was right, I was changed for good, and forever, just not in the way I had planned. So when I heard your voice in the snowfall of today that reminded me of the snowfall fifteen months ago I have to admit, I got scared. “Was this a sign that this baby will be taken too?” 

I heard your voice.  It was comforting.  You said, “No mom.  This is just a sign that I am still here.  I am present and with you on this journey of bringing my little sister into this world.  This is a sign that everything will be okay. I love you.” And, I cried. 

I hear your voice today.  I hear your voice every day.  I sometimes ask, “Is this what I am supposed to be doing? Am I living a life you would be proud of and I won’t regret?”  And I hear your voice say, “Yes.  Just keep doing what you are doing.”  And in those words I find comfort, even though it’s hard to keep doing this as I am scared.

I hear your voice.  “Don’t be scared. I am with you.” And fear lifts and floats away.

When I hear your voice.

Love Always & Forever, 


Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Week 35 - Emotions

My emotions have been getting the best of me lately.  As the delivery date nears a jumble of feelings rumble inside of me and an emotional explosion of anxiety attacks and crying spells have been spilling out of me this week.  You can read more about it in this weeks Knocked Up Blogger post for Pregnancy and Newborn Magazine by clicking here.

“Lindsey, you talk a lot about fear, but today I hear sadness in your voice too. Is there sadness there?” Tears flow from my eyes like water from an overflowing well as my therapist asked this question yesterday in session. I can’t swallow the pain from the last pregnancy and the stress from this one any longer.
“Yes. Sadness is there and so is fear, anxiety, anger, worry, guilt, shame, powerlessness, hope, and the possibility of joy. It’s all so confusing. I don’t understand what is happening to me.” The words wobble out of my mouth as my lip quivers and my voice cracks.
Then I take a deep breath and answer my therapist’s question. “And yes, more than anything, sadness is there. I’m sad because I didn’t get to bring home my other daughter.  I’m sad and guilty because I might be able to bring home this one and not my first child. I’m fearful that I won’t get to have this child either. I’m angry that I have had to be pregnant for 18 months just to hopefully have one living child and I’m scared that that might not even happen. You see, my version of the pregnancy story doesn’t start at birth.  It stops. As the days get closer and closer I think a part of me fears that when we go into that delivery room that the journey of being a parent will be all over again.”
A loud exhale escapes from my lungs and out my lips as the tears still stream over my cheeks. I wipe away the water from my eyes as I notice the makeup staining the tissue in my hand. A moment of relief due to expressing all my fears settles over me as my body finds a place of calm after putting my thoughts into words in my therapist’s office.
Moments of peace and calm are hard to come by during this pregnancy after loss. They don’t last long, but right now being 9 days away from my C-section date, I will take whatever few seconds of pause from the storm of emotions that has roared inside of me these past 8-and-a-half months that I can get.
My therapist intrudes upon my stillness, “How do you plan on getting through the next week and a half?”
My response was, as always in my character, blunt, factual, and accurate: “I have no idea.”
I really do have no idea. As I write this none of the emotions have changed since yesterday. They are all still there. I don’t know what to do to get through the final stages of this pregnancy and I’m not even sure how I have made it this far. I have reached out to other loss moms who have made it through this heart wrenching journey of pregnancy after loss, but right now their responses seem overwhelming to me. I believe this to be because at this moment in time I am like a deer in headlights on a desolate highway, paralyzed by fear. I’m not sure if I should jump out of the way of the oncoming car, run towards it head on, or just wait for it to hopefully safely pass me by.
The only thing that resonates with me in this moment is what a friend said to me during my blessing way. She came late to the party and sat down in the blessing circle already started with her 3 month old baby girl in her arms who was born after the loss of her son during her previous pregnancy. She didn’t miss a beat and jumped right into sharing her blessing for me for the birth of this baby. All she said is, “I have to believe. I just have to believe for you and for me and for baby Zoe that this baby will come into this world alive and healthy. All I have to hold on to is that that I just have to believe.”
To be honest, I was bestowed with loving blessings that afternoon from many women I love, but what my friend with her beautiful baby in her ams after a loss said that day has been ringing in my ears every moment I have struggled to find the strength to go on since. I cling to her words as I would a rope dangling off the edge of a cliff.
“I just have to believe.”
Her words resonate in my mind, and that is what gets me through.

Friday, March 14, 2014

Week 34: Having Hope

It gets harder and harder to grasp onto hope as we near the end of this pregnancy.  I know it might seem that the closer we get the more excited we should be, but because our loss of Nora was within the last final hours of a normal healthy pregnancy, each day gets a little more scary.  Click here to read this week's Knocked Up Blogger Post for Pregnancy and Newborn Magazine about how Nick and I are feeling and what we are doing as we approach the birth date in less than two weeks.

“Do you think this time it will be different?” I asked in a soft fragile tone to my husband as we sat in the car waiting for the light to turn from red to green.
Nick let out a deep audible exhale and moved his right hand off the steering wheel and over to my hand, “I hope so,” came tenderly out of his mouth.
“I hope so too.” I replied.
I was looking out the passenger window and watched the houses blur while the car moved forward down the road. I asked Nick without taking my eyes off the melting snow, “Do you know what my therapist said the other day?”
“Hmm,” Nick responded while squeezing my hand.
“She asked me if I had thought about what it would be like if everything turns out to be OK with this baby. She is curious if I have prepared myself for bring the baby home.  And you know what? I don’t think I have. I mean I feel really unprepared for what it might be like to bring home a LIVING, BREATHING child this time.”
There, I had said it out loud. I thought to myself as I took a deep breath and courageously continued, “I know that this baby, a healthy baby is what we have wanted for the past two years, but it still scares me to think that we will be new parents in a different way. It makes me nervous that we haven’t really done anything yet to prepare for this baby. Is that strange?”
“No,” my husband, a man of few words when it comes to feelings, responds. “What can you do to prepare then?” That answer was more in line with my always analytical problem-solving military husband’s demeanor of trying to ease my emotional turmoil with logical solutions.
I decided it was time to share my fears with him again. “I’m scared to think about preparing for the baby. When I think about it, it just reminds me of how our first baby never came home. We were so ready, in every way. And to have to think about putting all the diapers never to be used back in storage or taking the Pack ‘N’ Play down again makes me sick to my stomach.”
“I know you haven’t wanted to do it, honey, but maybe we should start,” he responded.
And since that conversation last week in the car, Nick and I have been hesitantly preparing for baby No. 2’s arrival. This past Sunday, we indifferently packed the hospital bag, mindlessly washed the baby’s coming home outfits and reluctantly brought the baby furniture out of storage. I have also occupied my time by cooking freezer meals along with sporadically putting the finishing touches on the nursery. As we did all these things, I was reminded of how we have done all these things before, but last time with more joy and anticipation and this time with much trepidation with a hint of cautiously optimistic excitement.
Many parts of this pregnancy have been difficult. It has been an emotional push and pull of wanting to connect to the possibility of this baby and be excited for her, while at the same time being fearful of last pregnancy’s devastating ending in loss happening again. This has been the biggest burden to bear these last eight months. I think the conversation Nick and I had in the nursery last night sums up the emotional confusion that pregnancy after loss can have on parents expecting again.
As we stood in the nursery, looking over our first baby’s clothes never worn that now were to be baby No. 2’s clothes and struggled to pick out matching booties and hats for baby No. 2’s coming home outfit, Nick turned to me with a lack of excitement and more a tone of unease and said, “It seems real now.”
“Hmm.” This time I was the one with few words.
Nick continued, “It just seems like pregnancy is the main event. It’s hard to imagine bringing home a baby this time.”
“I know. I hope it happens,” I replied with a whisper.
Nick reached for my hand again and said, “I hope so, too.”

Friday, March 7, 2014

Week 33: Pampering Pregnancy

This is the first article I ever wrote that did not directly address grief and loss in some way.  It just kind of happened.  This made me realize that even though us bereaved mother's talk a lot about grief and loss and the struggles with pregnancy again after a loss, we still experience everyday struggles that other moms and pregnant ladies experience too.

I write about this in this weeks Pregnancy and Newborn Magazine's Knocked Up Blogger post as I share the physical discomforts of pregnancy and how to pamper yourself on this journey.  Click here if you would like to read it.

“Oh, you look so much bigger than last week,” a coworker said this to me on a Monday morning after not seeing me over the weekend.
“What every pregnant lady wants to hear,” I responded in a playful, yet sarcastic tone.
My coworker laughed with me and we went on about our day but, her observation is true. It seems like each day I am getting a little larger and about to pop.  With the belly beginning to bulge into a burstable bubble, the well-known and uncomfortable pregnancy side effects increase. It’s as if overnight I went from basking in the pregnancy glow of the second trimester to not being able to walk through the grocery store this past weekend without feeling as if I was going to pee myself because baby was kicking my bladder.
And that’s not the only third trimester pregnancy symptom that has settled into my growing body and uterus. I can no longer see my feet, I waddle when I walk, yawning occurs on a regular basis and at the most inappropriate times, my moods swing from happy as a clam to being angry as a bear without warning, while my swollen body aches as I try to sleep at night with this bowling ball of a baby between me and ability to find a comfy position in bed. Oh, I forgot to mention that slumber also eludes me because I now get up to pee about five times a night. I mean, what is a pregnant girl to do?
So, I decided I would gather a list of ideas on how to pamper my pregnancy from here on out.
  1. Get a Massage—If it’s professional or from a partner, a little touch can go a long way on those oh so stressed muscles and swollen joints.  I know that I felt so much better after my prenatal massage a few weeks ago that I think I should get another.  This time it might need to be on a nightly basis from my husband as pregnancy massages aren’t cheap.
  2. Take More Naps—Or go to bed early, sleep in late, and maybe even include an afternoon snooze.  Each day I get more and more exhausted from carrying around this extra weight and all my added worries, that rest is a great re-energizer for me.  I also covet sleep now because I have heard a rumor that babies bring sleepless nights and tiresome days.
  3. Lighten the Load—By working less around the house and on the job.  That’s my plan.  I have begun by cutting out chores and caring less about getting the laundry folded and more about prioritizing preparations for the baby.  I also take my time at work and try to lighten the unrealistic expectations I put on my own work load and be more reasonable with what I can accomplish in the upcoming weeks as I notice my body and mind slowdown in preparation for birth.
  4. Get a Pedicure—I can no longer see my feet, so someone else might need to paint my pretty toe nails in preparation for birth.  The added bonus is that with a pedicure you also get a nice relaxing foot and leg massage.  I think I will put this on my calendar for the upcoming weekend.
  5. Laugh a Lot—Believe it or not laughter has been the best medicine for my emotional and physical stress caused by pregnancy.  My husband and I have spent the last few weeks watching silly YouTube videos of talking cats, funny movies with fart humor, and even going out to professional comedy clubs to get a few good laugh-until-you-cry chuckles in.  A night of giggles always helps everything feel better.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Envy of Other People's Pregnancies

I'm writing over at Still Standing today.  Click here to read about my envy of other people's pregnancies. 

Monday, March 3, 2014

To the babyloss mother without a Rainbow...

To the babyloss mother without a Rainbow,

You are the strongest person I know. You have survived the unimaginable – the death of your beautiful little baby – and you are still going. That alone makes you amazing. You have found within yourself the power  to keep on living and the strength to face each day. Despite every reason in the world not to, you found the hope and courage to take another leap of faith and add to your family. You are brave beyond imagination. 

When that leap turned into massive hurdles, even still, you kept going. Despite the grief, despite the addition of monthly disappointments, despite the pain of seeing everyone you know walk away with their prize, you kept on trying. Because you have so much love to give. Because you deserve the same renewed happiness that so many others have. Because you know the pain will be worth it when you hold your living breathing baby in your arms. You are amazing. Your mothers heart beats stronger than any I know. Look at all you’re willing to do for the chance to share that love with a child to keep. I’m in awe of you.

I know there are times when it seems like giving up is the only way to end the war with your body. I know it can seem like you have no say in the size of your family. I know it seems life has given more than your share of heartache. It’s true. You don’t deserve one second of what’s happened to you. I know it seems pregnancy will never happen. My heart aches that same ache.

I know how hearing pregnancy announcements is like a hot knife cutting right to the core of your being. I know that jealousy and confusion, the sadness and hurt. I know you wish you could escape to a baby-free community for a while, just for some relief. But I also know that what you want more than anything is to be that person giving the announcement. I know. I feel the same way.

Always remember, sweet mama, that you are incredible. You are beautiful. You are a mother. Nothing you did has caused this. Sometimes, even when you do everything right, you get a negative outcome. That’s the injustice in life. No one deserves a precious little baby to keep more than you.

When you feel like your heart can’t take one more loss… When it seems like you’ll never find joy again... When you hate your body for failing you and hate that you have no control… always remember to give yourself a break. Be gentle with yourself. Find support from people who understand. You are not alone in this.

Take each day as it comes. One moment at a time, if you need to. The stress and pressure will end you if you don’t give yourself some grace. Don’t listen to the lies people like to tell: “It’ll happen, just wait and see”,  “When the time is right, you’ll get pregnant”, or worse yet, “Just relax”. All of those are untrue and not the least bit helpful. Instead, remember the truth. No one knows what tomorrow holds. It may never happen. But also, it may! Don’t lose heart.  

If you need a break from trying, take it. That doesn’t mean you’ve given up. It means you know your limits and are being gentle with yourself. You’ll try again when and if you’re ready. If you need extra support, find it. There is no need to walk this path alone. You are not the only one without a baby to love and keep. There are a lot of us. If you’re not getting the help you need from medical professionals, healers, etc, find someone new. If your heart can’t take another pregnancy announcement, take more control over the people you allow in your life. This is not about anyone else but you. Do what you need for yourself.

Most of all, remember you are a mother. No, it’s not the way you had planned. No, it’s not how it should be. But you are still a mother. You carried life in your body and did your best for your little one. Your heart beats for your baby. You would do anything to change the outcome. You are everything a mother should be. Remember the words of Franchesca Cox, “A mother is not defined by the number of children you can see, but by the love she holds in her heart.”

You, sweet mama, are beautiful. You are strong. You are brave. You are enough. You are loved.

Even if it never happens – and, oh my goodness, I hope it does! – you are still amazing.

Love you to, brave and beautiful mama, 


RaeAnne Fredrickson is married and lives in Minnesota. She is the mama to Samuel Evan, who was lovingly carried to birth with a fatal condition called PUV. She writes at The Love We Carry, Still Standing Magazine and All That Love Can Do. She created All That Love Can Do to support other families who make the decision to continue pregnancy after a fatal diagnosis. She also created Empty Arms to support babyloss mothers without a Rainbow Baby. 

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Dear Sweet Mama… Your Courage Roars

Dear Sweet Mama… Your Courage Roars,

Sarah Hrduka Photography

Courage, n. 

It doesn't mean you're not afraid.  It means boldly staring fear in the face and declaring, fear will not win. 

Not this time. 

You're doing this.  No matter what.  And I know you know how many panic-attack-inducing-pee-your-pants-break-your-heart scenarios can trade places with what. 

But you're doing this anyway.  Again.   

Despite your fear, despite your second guessing.  Despite your broken heart.  Despite that you're not "healed" from last time and never will be.  Despite the flashbacks and panic attacks drenched in sweat that still wake you up in the middle of the night from your empty arms still searching, pleading, begging, aching to be filled with the only child who can gild the cracks of your broken heart.  Despite that you're not sure you trust your body anymore.  Despite that the God you used to believe in still feels like a cruel stranger.  Despite the fact that it could happen all over again.  Despite that you have no control over the outcome.  Despite that all you can do is hope beyond hope that the stats will stack in your favor by filling your arms with a miraculous crying baby at the end of these long nine months. 

You are beautifully, beautifully brave. 

How I wish I could tell you-- you are guaranteed this.  You should be-- but you and I both know there are no guarantees.  There is only now.  

And you've got this now.  This, I know. 

In your broken places is where your true strength lies.  Where you've cracked open is where you're ever strong.  It's where the light shines through.  It's why you shine.  It's where your fearless mama courage roars even when it's only whispering or barely breathing in-between choking sobs.  It's the birthplace of your sacred strength.

You glow pregnant with new life, but also pregnant with love, with bravery, and with the fierce determination of a soul that knows suffering yet refuses to roll over and surrender. 

Fear will not win.  Not now, not ever. 

Even in the whispers of the night, from the trenches of your tear soaked pillow, your courage roars.  Even when you feel like you'll never make it another step forward, your courage roars.  Even when the panic of sheer fear is overtaking your body, your courage roars.  Even when you can barely speak your truth because terror has clasped your mouth shut again-- your courage roars.  You roar like a lioness pacing her den, keeping careful watch over her cubs.  You roar with the fiercely tender love that is quintessentially mother. 

Despite the risks, you've chosen love again.  Despite the odds, you've chosen to breathe life-- again.  And for some, this isn't the first time.  You've chosen it again and again and again.  That's courage.  Choosing to let your heart beat to the drum of hope and love even though the clanging of fear often rings louder and truer.

 Sarah Hrduka Photography

You deserve this. 

All of it. 

The pregnancy glow, the joy of feeling your baby move within you, the burgeoning hopes and dreams, the new beginnings, the sacredness of carrying new life, the birthing of more love.  More hope.  More healing. 

You deserve this widening of your family circle and the widening of your broken, mending heart.  You deserve the blessings that are raining down on you now.  Let them soak you through.     

This baby was sent to offer you a gift.  Take it.  It's meant especially for you.

Swim wholeheartedly in the sacred sea of life.  Allow hope to buoy you up like a lifeboat.  When the waves of grief threaten to drown you, tread water and keep breathing like it's your job.  Let the anxiety, fear, and sorrow flow right through you.  Cry.  It's as healing as healing is.  And remember to make room for the beauty of this very moment.  And the next.  And every one that follows. 

The time is now, sweet mama.  It's the only guarantee.  The secret is simply to be.  Right here, right now-- with your baby. 

You can do this.  You already are. 

Alchemize this pregnancy into a never-before-written love story between you and your precious baby.  Say yes to what is beautifully healing, say no to what is not.  Make room for gorgeous new memories to bloom alongside the old.  Fill this time with as much hope as you can muster, infuse it with anything and everything that makes your grieving heart smile and massages your baby with laughter and joy.  Joy is not a betrayal, it's your birthright, and it's your baby's too.  Once you allow yourself to fully taste it again I promise it will be sweeter than it ever has been.

You deserve the blessings that are raining down on you now.  All of them.  Let them soak you through. 

The time is now is now is now is now. 

Courage, n.  It doesn't mean you're not afraid.  It means boldly staring fear straight in the face and roaring, fear will not win.  Not now, not ever. 

Love will.  And love never dies.   
 photo by Angela Miller

Roar on, courageous mama.  Roar on.

~ Angela Miller 

Angela Miller is a writer of truth and healer of hearts.  Angela is the founder and facilitator of Bereaved Mamas, a writer for Still Standing Magazine, a proud mama of three and a devoted kickboxer.  She writes candidly about child loss and grief at A Bed For My Heart and elsewhere.  Her first book, You Are the Mother of All Mothers will be published in May 2014 by WiseInk Publishing. 

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