Weekend odds & ends

• After a four-day outage, two weekends ago (Saturday, Sunday, Monday & Tuesday,  April 9-12), Bloglovin was back in business over Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday (April 13-16)... but went AWOL (again!!) between last Sunday and Wednesday (i.e., four full days, April 17-20). :p   This time, the message read "We'll be back shortly. Our servers are over capacity and certain pages may be temporarily unavailable. We're incredibly sorry for the inconvenience." (Not the first time that's come up, either.) Service resumed on Thursday morning (and -- knocking wood! -- so far, so good...), but needless to say, I am not impressed... 
• Today marks the start of National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW), as well as Canadian Infertility Awareness Week. I have to admit, I don't give NIAW much thought these days (if I ever did). While infertility is and always will be very much part of my story, and while my heart goes out to those currently struggling with infertility and going through treatment, it's mostly part of my past now -- certainly not my present or my future. As a 61-year-old post-menopausal woman whose one naturally conceived pregnancy ended in stillbirth and whose last infertility treatment was almost 21 years ago -- one of approximately 70% of women for whom infertility treatments are not/were not successful -- I'm obviously no longer part of the target audience. 
• I'm also lukewarm on the fact that the event is heavily sponsored by the profit-driven fertility industry -- pharmaceutical companies, fertility clinics, etc. -- who, despite their marketing pitches, don't always have their patients' best interests at heart. 
• Some of my previous NIAW-related posts here. 
• In social media posts about NIAW, Stephanie Phillips of World Childless Week said, "It was very clear that it was focused on helping people achieve parenthood and there was no mention of support for anyone who remained childless not by choice, like me.  The feeling of being excluded and overlooked was the initial spark that several years later led to me creating World Childless Week."  
• World Childless Week this year will be Sept. 12th through 18th. :) (Past WCW-related posts here.) 
• I was horrified to read, in an article from FactCheck.org, that opponents of a California bill that would do away with mandatory investigations of stillbirths are claiming that it would “legalize infanticide.” (!!)  (The article says "The bill would prevent prosecution in cases of “perinatal death due to a pregnancy-related cause.” But authorities would investigate if there were evidence of foul play leading to an infant’s death.)  I Googled some stats and learned that about 2,400 babies are stillborn in California every year. Do these idiots have any idea how hurtful this must be to those already-suffering parents?? 
• Just now seeing this New York Times Well article from a few weeks ago about post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Among the examples cited are women who have had stillbirths and ectopic pregnancies. 
• Back in 2014, I wrote a post that (in part) expressed my annoyance at the phrase "I can't imagine..." when someone was confronted by my grief: 

"I could never imagine" is one of those phrases that people reach for when they don't now what else to say. It's a crutch. It's one of my pet peeves as a bereaved mother. I'll admit, I've probably used those words myself in the past. But, having heard them far too often for my liking over the past 16 years, I bite my tongue more often these days & search for something more meaningful and less clichéd to say. 

Because when you say "I can't imagine" (even if you really can't), what I'm hearing is "I don't WANT to imagine. Not going there. Nope. Sorry, kid, you're on your own in this scary, scary place you've found yourself in."

So you can imagine (ha!) that I was very happy to find this article in TIME by Rebecca Soffer, founder of Modern Loss: "Don't Say You 'Can't Imagine' the Grief of Those Who Have Lost Loved Ones. Ask Them to Tell You Their Stories," is the (lengthy, but bang-on) headline. Sample passage: 

“I can’t imagine.” Families and individuals who have lost children, siblings, partners, and friends hear it all the time, this confession of an inability to imagine the worst, the unspeakable, the most feared event. I understand why people offer the phrase—as an earnest gesture of solace or a filler in lieu of anything else—but it rarely brings comfort. More often, the recipients are left feeling even more isolated at a time when grief has already banished them to a cold, dark place.

The truth is, it’s not that we can’t imagine the experience. It’s that we don’t want to. In saying that the deep loss someone is feeling is too unbearable to picture, what we’re really doing is drawing a line: not mine, not ours, only yours. Perhaps we think we might prevent this pain, this chaos, this fear and uncertainty, from reaching our own lives. But if this global pandemic has taught us anything, it’s that grief doesn’t work that way. Grief belongs or will belong to everybody, if not today then someday.

Worth reading! -- the rest of the article is here.