2020 Blogging Year in Review

(A hat tip to Mali, whose post "2016: Looking back on the blog" has inspired me to do the same for the past several years. Also to Mel, whose Crème de la Crème lists from 2007 to 2012 prompted me & other bloggers to review our posts from the year past & pick out our favourites to share.  (There was a list in 2006 too, but that was before I started my blog.)  If the Crème de la Crème list still existed, one of these posts would probably be the one I would have submitted. :) ) 

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2020 has been my BEST blogging year ever, in terms of numbers of posts! -- 196 (197, including this one)!  -- just under 200 posts!!  :) That's an average of about 16 posts per month -- or a post every 1-2 days.  My least-chatty month was February, when I posted 9 times;  my most verbose was August, with 21 posts. Not bad, after 13 years of blogging!  (By comparison, my next-most prolific blogging year was 12 years ago in 2008 -- my first full year of blogging -- when I logged 172 posts.) 

In addition to posts about or related to childless/free issues or other adoption/loss/infertility issues, I tried to do a "Right now" or "The Current" post at the beginning of each month, and participated in 48 #MicroblogMondays.  I reviewed all 43 books that I read in 2020, and wrote about news items (usually ALI-related) that piqued my interest. I also wrote a lot about other things going on in my life, including aging, (peri)menopause, retirement and condo living. 

And, needless to say, the global COVID-19 pandemic provided PLENTY of fodder for blogging this year!! In fact, I daresay that COVID-19 made the difference for me, in terms of posting! (one good thing to come out of this crazy year?!). 

Here are a few of my favourite/noteworthy posts from 2020, in more or less chronological order (from oldest/earliest in 2020 to most recent):

• "The Cycle Continues..." -- Sometimes it's worth investigating and getting the full story before you get your shorts in a knot...!  ;) 
• #MicroblogMondays: Sick :(  -- Spoiler alert: I wasn't. At least, it wasn't COVID-19, as I feared. (I think. I didn't get tested.) But this post offers a slice-of-life look at the early days of the pandemic in Canada (complete with photo of empty supermarket shelves). 
• "Quarantined without kids, how is it?" (Seriously??!) -- A silly pronatalist meme from social media raises my childless/free hackles...! 
• A not-so-fond farewell :) -- ..to Aunt Flo (i.e., the onset of official menopause!!). 
• Things I'm missing -- (And this was written just a month into the pandemic!). 
• Things I’ve learned (so far) while self-isolating
• Is it over yet? -- Reminders (that I didn't need) of That Day in May That Shall Not Be Named. 
• Pronatalism and D&I messaging -- Yet another example of how childless/free employees are overlooked by their companies' HR diversity & inclusion policies and messages -- particularly during this pandemic. 
• Reflections on my COVID-19 experience (so far) 
• Watching, listening & learning -- Reflections on racism, post-George Floyd. 
• Move over, moms -- bring on the Auntifa ;) -- The childless/free response to Portland's "Wall of Moms." 
• "A sainthood not extended... virtue (not) bestowed" -- More on Portland's "Wall of Moms" and what it says about America's attitudes towards motherhood -- and those of us who aren't mothers. 
• "Coming out" as childless/free -- What does it mean? 
• The ties that bind (or not) -- It's not possible (or always desirable) to maintain close relationships with people from our past. 
• Yes, we can! -- Don't let parents & families monopolize all the fun. ;)  

2019 Blogging Year in Review

(A hat tip to Mali, whose post "2016: Looking back on the blog" has inspired me to do the same for the past three years. Also to Mel, whose Crème de la Crème lists from 2007 to 2012 prompted me & other bloggers to review our posts from the year past & pick out our favourites to share.  (There was a list in 2006 too, but that was before I started my blog.)  If the Crème de la Crème list still existed, one of these posts would probably be the one I would have submitted. :) )

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As I mentioned in my 2019 year in review post, I published 164 posts this past/last year (165, including this one) -- my second-best blogging year ever, in terms of number of posts, second only to 2008, which was my first full year of blogging. :)  That's an average of about 14 posts per month. There was not a month in 2019 where I posted under 10 times, and there were two months that had 19 posts each.  :)  

In addition to posts about childless/free issues, I tried to do a "Right now" or "The Current" post at the beginning of each month, and participated in 47 #MicroblogMondays.  I reviewed (or will be reviewing) all of the 50 books I read in 2019, and wrote about news items (usually ALI-related) that piqued my interest. I also wrote a lot about what was going on my life, some of which touched on aspects of ALI/childless/free living -- many about Older Nephew & Niece-in-Law's pregnancy and the arrival of our first great-nephew -- and some that didn't, including aging, (peri)menopause, retirement and condo living. 

Here are a few of my favourite/noteworthy posts from 2019, in more or less chronological order (from oldest/earliest in 2019 to most recent):

• 58 -- Thoughts on my 58th birthday. 
• End of an era -- The demise of the pregnancy loss/subsequent pregnancy email list, after almost 25 years in existence, that brought me so much comfort after the loss of my daughter.  
• So why aren't there more of us? (part 2) -- Why do so few people openly embrace a non-parent identity after infertility? 
• "The Right Way to Follow Your Passion"-- Thoughts on an article I read. 
• Great expectations :) -- Older Nephew & his wife announce they're expecting their first child! -- with a due date one day off from my own, 21 years earlier (!).
• They went there... -- My disappointment over the series finale of "The Big Bang Theory" TV show. 
• Happy retirement, Dr. Ob-gyn -- Saying goodbye to my obstetrician/gynecologist (and his wonderful staff) of the past 21 years.
• The universe is screwing with me, big time -- Pregnant Niece-in-law's first ob/gyn visit is August 7th -- the day I delivered my stillborn daughter, 21 years earlier. 
• Social media minefields -- Navigating social media minefields. 
• 21 -- Reflections on Katie's day, 21 years later. 
• First day of school -- I create my own "first day of school" post for social media. ;)  
• #MicroblogMondays: Getting ready -- Viewing our great-nephew's nursery brings on all the feels. 
• #MicroblogMondays: "Diversify your identity" -- Thoughts on an article about diversifying our identity in the same way we diversify our investments. 
• "If you don't want to have kids, you don't have to want a career instead" -- An article gets me thinking. 
• #MicroblogMondays: Introducing... -- Our great-nephew is here!!  :) 
• Not the grandma -- Finding a balance between helpfulness & intrusion in my new role as great-aunt. 
• This is what it's like -- Being a great-aunt is wonderful -- but it's also a reminder of everything we've missed out on. 
• #MicroblogMondays: The stocking at the bottom of the box -- A Christmas stocking at the bottom of the box invokes memories. 

Blogging year in review

(A hat tip to Mali, whose post "2016: Looking back on the blog" has inspired me to do the same for the past two years. Also to Mel, whose Crème de la Crème lists from 2007 to 2012 prompted me & other bloggers to review our posts from the year past & pick out our favourites to share.  (There was a list in 2006 too, but that was before I started my blog.)  If the Crème de la Crème list still existed, one of these posts would probably be the one I would have submitted. :) )

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As I mentioned in my 2018 year in review post, I published 158 posts last year. In addition to posts about childless/free issues, I tried to do a "Right now" or "The Current" post every month or so, and participated in 47 #MicroblogMondays.  I reviewed 25 of the 27 books I read in 2018 (the other two reviews are coming up...!), and wrote about news items (usually ALI-related) that piqued my interest.  I also wrote a lot about what was going on my life, some of which touched on aspects of ALI/childless/free living and some that didn't, including aging, (peri)menopause (and Aunt Flo's refusal to JUST GO AWAY ALREADY...!), retirement and life in a condo.

Here are a few of my favourite/noteworthy posts from 2018, in more or less chronological order:

• A life worth living -- A childless life IS worth living. 
• Leaving home -- Younger Nephew & his fiancee move away from their parents & in together -- a few blocks away for him, into the basement for her. Their mothers are heartbroken. Aunt Loribeth is bemused. ;)  
• Toronto the heartbroken :(  -- My city is (sadly) not immune to mass violence. :( 
• Social capital, adult friendships and childlessness -- Making & keeping friends is more difficult as a childless adult. :( 
• This sucks :( -- FIL's declining health & memories of my pregnancy. 
• Deja vu -- Eerie echoes of summer 1998.  
• Bye bye, Alan... -- The death of a Bay City Roller. :( 
• Happy birthday, Louise Brown -- 40 years of IVF, and a video gathering of childless bloggers/infertility survivors to discuss it. 
• #MicroblogMondays: Visitors -- FIL sees dead people. 
• It was 20 years ago today... -- Marking 20 years since Katie's stillbirth. 
• Love you, Dad -- The death of my FIL. 
• #MicroblogMonday: Of coffee cups & caskets -- Saying goodbye to FIL. 
• A blast from the past -- An unearthed 25+-year-old note from my great-aunt brings a surge of emotions. 
• Memories of campus life -- Christine Blasey Ford's testimony before the Senate committee brings back memories of campus life in the early 1980s. 
• #MicroblogMondays: Yeah, I'm amazed... -- Seeing Paul McCartney in concert! 
• This blog goes to 11 :)  -- My 11th blogoversary! 
• Thinking about Christmas -- Thoughts about Christmas, with links to past Christmas-related posts. 

Blogging year in review & favourite posts of 2016

A hat tip to Mali, whose post "2016: Looking back on the blog" inspired this one. Also to Mel, whose Crème de la Crème lists from 2007 to 2012 prompted me & other bloggers to review our posts from the year past & pick out our favourites to share.  (There was a list in 2006 too, but that was before I started my blog.)  If the Crème de la Crème list still existed, one of these posts would probably be the one I would have submitted. :)

(I've gone back through the posts I submitted for Mel's lists and tagged them all as "Crème de la Crème picks" so that you (& I!) have an easy way to find them all. However -- in trying to tag my posts, I somehow seem to have deleted my 2012 list pick -- which was titled "I am childless, hear me roar" from May 2012 -- along with all the wonderful comments. :(  :(  :(  It was one of my all-time favourite posts.  And no, I have not backed up my blog. :(  (New Year's resolution for 2017!)  Any idea if/how I can get it back?? :(  ) (I know, not likely...!) :(

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As I mentioned in my year in review post, I published 133 posts in 2016.  In addition to posts about childless/free issues, I tried to do a "Right now" or "The Current" post every month or so, and participated in 43 out of 52 #MicroblogMondays (hmmm, I thought I did better than that...).  I reviewed 21 of the 24 of the books I read in 2016 (the last 3 will be coming shortly), and wrote about news items (usually ALI-related) that piqued my interest.  I also wrote a lot about what was going on my life, some of which touched on aspects of ALI/childless/free living and some that didn't, including aging, (peri)menopause (and Aunt Flo's continuing appearances!), official retirement, moving, downsizing and life in a condo.

Here are a few of my favourite 2016 posts (going back from newest to oldest):

• It came, just the same, about my not-quite-the-same-as-usual Christmas, and how Christmas can still be enjoyed even if it's not perfect or what you expected.
• Childless/Condo Halloween, reflecting on Halloweens past & present.
• Survivor?  Are those of us who have experienced pregnancy loss survivors?
• The power of awareness & education (i.e., about infertility & pregnancy loss).
• 31 -- using my wedding anniversary to look back on the highs and lows of a turbulent year.
• Fifteen years (!) on this road less travelled -- reflecting on both my personal journey and the growth of the childless/free community in the 15 years since I stopped infertility treatments.
• Parenting transitions -- a #MicroblogMondays post about being a parent to a dead child, and how that relationship has evolved over the years.
• Pregnancy loss = disability? -- Is pregnancy loss a disability? (An Ontario Human Rights Tribunal ruled yes!)
• Tick, tock... -- in which I pass along a family heirloom that I had hoped would go to my own child(ren).
• Condo conundrum, continued -- in which I wrestle with the decision to sell our house and move into a condo.

I am childless, hear me roar ; )

In the summer of 1972, I was 11 years old & spending a few weeks at my grandmother's in the States. It seemed like every other ad on TV was for a new and somewhat controversial movie about (gasp!) what was then called "the women's lib movement" -- called "Stand Up and Be Counted."

Unfortunately, I was too young to see this "adult" movie -- and I'm sorry that I was unable to find a video clip to share with you of that trailer.

"Stand Up and Be Counted" is largely forgotten today -- and probably with good reason. It only ranks 4.2 out of 10 on IMDb -- and the contemporary New York Times review said:

"As an examination of current revolution. "Stand Up and Be Counted" erratically skips between comedy and serious causes with somewhat less than impressive impact either way."

You don't often hear the movie's theme song these days either (and sometimes I think we need to hear it more than ever...) -- but for the young girls and women of my generation, it was an anthem, a clarion call to arms -- sung in a clear, determined voice by the Australian woman who co-wrote it, Helen Reddy.



I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much
to go back an' pretend
'cause I've heard it all before
And I've been down
there on the floor
No one's ever gonna keep me down again

CHORUS
Oh yes I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

You can bend but never break me
'cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
And I come back even stronger
Not a novice any longer
'cause you've deepened the conviction in my soul

CHORUS

I am woman watch me grow
See me standing toe to toe
As I spread my lovin' arms across the land
But I'm still an embryo
With a long long way to go
Until I make my brother understand

Oh yes I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to I can face anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

Oh, I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong
FADE
I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong
I am woman

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I've been singing "I am woman, hear me roar," in the shower and in my head a lot lately. Mind you, I am generally not the roaring type ; ) -- more like a purr, maybe, lol.

But, over the last few months, I've had this sense of increasing momentum -- that we, the childless/free women of the world, are (at long last) beginning to find our individual and collective voices, our tribe, and make our presence known.

Back in January, I asked the question, "So why aren't there more of us?" (blogging about life as childless/free women after infertility)  I posted my blogroll of childless/free bloggers... and since then, the list has continued to grow and grow (& needs an update!).

Here are a few things that have happened along the way:

• We experienced some upheaval in the ALI community, followed by Healing Salons where we explored the issues that had come to light. While the original controversy focused on how bloggers parenting after infertility were supported (or not) within the general community, several childless/free bloggers used the Healing Salons to give voice to our own concerns and feelings of marginalization -- even among the women who knew best what we had been through -- and ask "what about us?" These included Pamela -- always a highly articulate spokesperson for our segment of the community -- who hosted one of the salons on her Coming2Terms blog, and Mali, who blogs at A Separate Life and No Kidding in NZ. Thanks to their strong voices, I think that a greater awareness in the general ALI community was one of the most positive things that came out of this difficult situation.
• Shortly after the Healing Salons ended, Jjiraffe asked to profile me and my story as part of her "Faces of ALI" series -- only the third story she has featured to date. 
• Mali wrote a wonderful post arguing that we, the childless, may be the real infertility success stories, which I said (in a comment on Stirrup Queens) "has the ring of a manifesto about it." 
• Jody Day at Gateway Women actually did write what she calls "The Nomos (Non-Moms) Manifesto," asking "are childless women the new suffragettes?"  Sample statement: "We may not be Mothers but we’re here, we care, we count and we ROCK!" (Upon second reading, I see she also says, "We are the Nomos. Hear us ROAR!!" Which is probably what got me thinking about Helen Reddy's song and, ultimately, this post, lol -- thank you, Jody!)     
• During National Infertility Awareness Week, several bloggers, taking up the theme "Don't Ignore..." asked readers not to ignore those of us living childless/free after infertility, including Pamela & Lisa. 
• What's more -- to mark NIAW, The Huffington Post chose to feature -- not the stories of women who are now mothers after IVF, who adopted or who are still in treatement -- but  several fine posts (and not just one token) from our community of childless/free bloggers -- including Tracey, Nicole, Mali and Lisa. 
• Pamela's book, Silent Sorority, was quoted in an article in The Globe and Mail (known as "Canada's National Newspaper") which asked "Why are we so obsessed with pregnant celebrities?"
• Lisa at Life With Baby produced an inspirational one-hour webcast featuring interviews with three childless/free women addressing different aspects of their lives and how they got to this point. If you haven't already seen it, tune in!  
• And Pamela interviewed Dr. Marni Rosner about her recently published dissertation -- a groundbreaking study of women living without children after infertility. Even academia is starting to pay attention to us. : )  

As Dr. Rosner said on Pamela's blog: 

"I think, at this time, you, Lisa, and all the other bloggers and voices addressing this issue are in the process of forming what this means. We are what I would call "in the process" of developing the narrative for those living outside the pro-natal norm. We have the power to direct this a little, I think... the number of women, aged 40-44, without children has doubled to 20% since 1976 – this includes the voluntary childfree. That’s an enormous change in a relatively short time. So, again, we are in this moment contributing to and shaping the dialogue."

It's still early days -- but I sense a growing willingness among us to speak out -- to stand up and be counted. To say, "I am childless after infertility (and/or loss). I am a survivor.  And I have a good life -- even if it's not the life I originally wanted or planned." 

Hear us roar. : )

Right Where I Am: 12 years, 9 months

Angie, the brilliant creative mind behind the blog Still Life With Circles and other related blogs & projects, recently came up with the great idea to have bereaved moms (& dads) write about where they are now in their grief -- how far they've come (or not) & what life after loss is like for them at this point in time.

I have only read a fraction of the 40-odd posts linked to Angie's initial post for this project, but I suspect I am probably further along in my journey than most of the other writers: coming up to 13 years since August 1998.

I have written about this topic before, I think -- most notably on a guest post for Glow in the Woods two years ago. Most if not all of what I wrote there still applies.

Thirteen years later, Katie is still very much a part of our lives. I still miss her, and feel her absence, even though she was never really "here" in the conventional sense, & her prenatal existence less than 7 months.

We still visit the cemetery every weekend. Most times now, I don't cry, unless maybe it's Mother's Day or a special "anniversary" date or just a crappy day for whatever reason. Mostly I just feel sad & wistful about what might have been, & happy to be there, close to her for a little while. She is always with me, of course, but the cemetery is her special place, a quiet place where I can set aside all my other thoughts & obligations, and just be with her and focus on her and think about her for awhile, before resuming the regular rhythm of my life again.

But there is never a day that goes by that I'm not thinking about her in some way -- about my all-too-brief pregnancy and how it ended, about our struggles to conceive again, about how old she would be & what she would be doing now.

In that regard, of course, we have (Not So) Little Girl Next Door, six months younger than Katie would have been, to act as our constant yardstick. Last night, she and half dozen friends were whooping it up for several hours on the trampoline in the backyard, which I can see from my living room & bedroom windows. They were jumping and shrieking and giggling in youthful exuberance, well after dark, even after dh & I had settled into bed with books before going to sleep for the night. I wasn't sure whether to be sad, knowing that Katie would probably have been among them, had she been here, or secretly, smugly pleased, knowing that at least it wasn't MY daughter out there creating a ruckus in the neighbourhood ; ) and that's one thing I will never have to worry about.

Probably the biggest difference between my life 13 years ago and my life today, however, is that I am not a mother (to a living child). I wasn't then either, but I still hoped to be. I am almost 13 years older now -- 50 -- and I know now that the motherhood ship has sailed permanently, that I will never be a mother to Katie's brother or sister. I've had 12+ years to think about this, and write about it and adjust to this reality, but the truth is that I still sometimes feel like the odd woman out, even among other parents who have dealt with loss &/or infertility.

The vast majority of other bereaved parents who lose a child in pregnancy or infancy either already have a child, or go on to have another child, or maybe both. This doesn't minimize their loss in the least, of course (although outsiders to the world of grief might think it does, or should) -- but the fact is, they are still actively parenting and experiencing parenthood in all its joys & sorrows & frustrations (just not parenting the child they lost). The rhythm of their lives is very much the same as most people's -- but much different than mine and dh's. Their lives are full of bedtime stories and temper tantrums, soccer games and daycare arrangements. They will know, eventually, what it is to see a child celebrate a birthday, graduate from high school, leave home to go to college, maybe get married and have a child themselves some day. They will, more likely than not, have someone to worry about them and visit them in the nursing home and leave their most precious belongings to.

I will not.

Already, some of my peers -- my friends & cousins -- are becoming GRANDPARENTS, reminding me that not only did I completely miss the parenthood boat, there is another new, related phase of life that will not be mine to share with them. In many ways, my life (& my life with dh) has continued on exactly as it always has. Their lives have expanded and changed in ways that mine never has & never will.

At the same time, my life HAS changed -- just in more subtle ways, and in ways that parents who have never experienced loss will never know or understand. They may know the joys & pains of parenthood in a way that I never will. I have known grief, and I would never have welcomed it willingly into my life -- but it has brought unexpected gifts and richness to my life in ways I never could have imagined.

I have watched, sadly, as friends & relatives have become distant in the years since we lost Katie. At the same time, we have made wonderful new friends, both "in real life" and online, who have also struggled with infertility & childlessness and who have experienced the pain of perinatal loss, who understand us as perhaps no one else can. We've both developed much greater empathy and compassion for the pain & struggles of others, and not just in the sense of infertility and loss. We have given back to the support group that helped us so much, volunteering for more than 10 years, something that many of the parents who attended (who would also have made wonderful facilitators) just don't have time to do. We know that grief has the power to tear some marriages apart -- ours, thankfully, has survived and become stronger. We spend more time together than most couples we know. We appreciate the good things about our life together.

We have endured subtle and not-so-subtle digs over the years about how "it must be nice" to be able to sleep in late, to afford whatever new purchase someone is admiring, to be able to retire early, as we are planning with hope -- the unspoken implication being that we can have and do all of these things because we don't have children. They don't stop to consider -- will never know -- the awful price we paid to have the life we have now. (If they did, I don't think they would envy us quite so much.) We both know that there are much, much more important things in life than things, or money, or clawing our way up the corporate ladder. At the same time, though, I refuse to apologize for having some things that others don't (both material & non). I would give it all up gladly to have my daughter back, but since that isn't going to happen, I will gladly take whatever advantages & nice things life sends my way.

Almost 13 years later, my life IS better than it was, immediately post loss. I have survived.

But I still wish things were different. I still wish she was here.

25 years: Our silver lining

Twenty-five years ago today (eek!), on a blazing hot July afternoon, in a chapel on the university campus where we had met almost four years earlier, in front of about 120 friends & relatives (mostly mine) -- after three & a half years as a couple, and much of that time spent in a long-distance relationship -- pre-Internet, relying on snail mail, weekly long distance telephone calls (expensive at the time) & occasional visits by plane & train -- I married my best friend, my soulmate, my sweetheart. : )

When you are a starry-eyed 24-year-old bride, & promise you are going to love this man standing beside you "for better or for worse," you really have no idea what those words mean. (You feel like you've already endured "the worst" just surviving a long-distance relationship until the day you could finally be together.) You have a vague idea that there will be difficult days, of course, but you are supremely confident that together, you will conquer any obstacle that life throws in your path.

Thirteen years & a month later, cradling the small bundle of blankets that cocooned our much-longed-for stillborn daughter, we knew the awful meaning of "for worse."

We had been through job uncertainty. We had lost beloved relatives, including dh's 50-year-old uncle & grandparents on both sides of our family. We had been so broke (particularly that first year) that we had to ask dh's dad for money to pay the rent, & rolled the quarters we'd been saving to use for laundry to help buy groceries. We had had arguments (mostly money & clutter-related -- spender vs saver, pack rat vs minimalist)(guess who is which?) & struggled with the demons of anxiety.

None of this had prepared us to deal with infertility & stillbirth. The next few years were a nightmare, as we struggled -- and failed -- to create the family we had always dreamed about, before our bodies, finances and nerves gave out on us. We knew that not every couple survives this rollercoaster ride.

We were lucky. It has not been easy -- but we have held on to each other. For 25 years. (Longer, if you count the time before we were married.) As that immortal philosopher Jon Bon Jovi sings (lol), "We've got each other, and that's a lot." If there is one thing that has helped us as we made the transition to childless/free living, I think it's the certainty both of us felt, right from the beginning, that we could still have a good life together, just the two of us -- because we already did. And I think it's important to know that in your bones, to truly believe that, if you are considering a childless/free life, for whatever reason.

Children would have been wonderful, of course -- the icing on the cake, the cherry on top of the sundae. There's not a single day that goes by that I don't think about Katie, about the family I dreamed of having, about the way things could have been, should have been. Not necessarily a better life, but a good life, for sure -- a different life, a family life like the one we'd both had growing up. It does make me sad, still. I think we would have been good parents.

But it just didn't work out that way. And even before we started ttc, I believed that parents needed to provide a strong foundation for that family by focusing on their marriage & on each other. I've seen too many couples become so wrapped up in their children and their children's lives that they lose sight of who their partner is & why they got together in the first place. And sometimes, by the time the kids are grown & gone and they realize what's happened, they can't find their way back to each other.

Awhile back, I posted a vent about how I felt our anniversary was being lost in the shuffle -- particularly since my parents' 50th anniversary party is in less than three weeks. (To be fair, I imagine they were thinking the same thing about my wedding interfering with THEIR 25th, lol.) We've already celebrated a wedding & our nephew's high school graduation within the past six weeks or so, and I'm going through a lot of changes at work right now. Besides Mom & Dad's party, there's a big family reunion coming up. Our summer schedule is already crammed, & our work colleagues beat us to the punch in booking vacation time, making it impossible, sadly, to take any time off around this day.

So far (at the time I'm writing this, a day before this is scheduled to auto-publish), nobody has said a word indicating they recall the significance of this date -- although I expect I will get calls &/or e-mails from my parents & sister, and possibly SIL, who is usually pretty good about remembering these things.

But it's still our anniversary. Our 25th, our silver anniversary. And that's worth celebrating.

And we are, in our own way. A couple of weekends ago, dh & I went shopping and bought the diamond anniversary ring I'd been eyeing for years. We also ordered new flatware & looked at some new stoneware to replace the stuff we got as wedding gifts 25 years ago. We're still using it, but the flatware is stained & tarnished, and the dishes are scratched & chipped -- a little worn around the edges (just like us, lol).

We thought about going somewhere this past weekend, but knew it would have to be an over Saturday night thing. And, being a long weekend of sorts in both Canada (Canada Day, July 1st) & the U.S. (4th of July), we knew it would probably be busy & hard to book something in any of our favourite local haunts (Niagara on the Lake, Stratford...).

Instead, we decided to let the dust bunnies have free rein of the house for another week, abandoned the usual Saturday housecleaning, and went into the city for the day. We went to the Royal Ontario Museum to see their special exhibit on the Terracotta Warriors from China, visited the mummies & dinosaurs while we were there, & then strolled down Bloor Street (the Rodeo Drive of Canada) to a bookstore for an hour's browse. Headed back to the 'burbs & finished the evening with a steak dinner at our favourite local restaurant.

Tonight after work, we will be having dinner downtown at an Italian restaurant in an atmospheric heritage building, attending "Rock of Ages" (an '80s musical! -- how appropriate, lol!!) and then spending the night at one of the city's grand old hotels. Later this summer or early in the fall, we hope to get away for a week or two, just the two of us -- possibly to Nova Scotia or Prince Edward Island (maybe both). (Suggestions/recommendations for places to visit, stay, eat, etc., are welcomed.)

After we lost Katie, the Classic Pooh motif that was to have been her nursery theme became a huge source of comfort to me & dh. Ten years ago, in a little gift shop at the Forks in Winnipeg, we found (& immediately scooped up) a stained glass window ornament that now hangs on the big mirror in our bedroom. It's Pooh & Piglet, looking at each other, holding hands & skipping off together (down the road less travelled?). The caption, which has become a motto of sorts for us, reads: "It didn't matter where they went, as long as they went together."

I'm still not entirely sure where we'll wind up -- but I know that, as long as we go there together, we will be fine. : )

24th anniversary (July 6, 2009)

23rd anniversary (July 6, 2008)

The world beyond my front door

Talk about cocooning. I think dh & I could be the poster children for it. Most nights, we come home from work (perhaps stopping at the supermarket en route to pick up whatever we need for dinner that night), close the front door & don't open it again until the next morning. Especially at this time of the year, when the weather gets cold and dark.

Safe and snug inside our cozy cocoon, it's easy to shut out the rest of the world, to focus on each other, and on the good things we share in our life together.

Even if we don't have the children we once dreamed about.

One summer evening, a few years ago, we had to go out around 7:30 p.m. As we drove past several schools, we were somewhat amazed at what we saw. Streets lined with cars, spilling out of parking lots. Field after field, full of children in motion, wearing brightly covered jerseys, playing soccer or baseball. Throngs of parents standing or sitting along the sidelines, in canvas lawn chairs, clutching portable mugs of coffee and video cameras, cheering them on.

It really hit me then: there was a whole world out there that, until that point -- sheltered as we were in our cozy, childless cocoon -- we really weren't aware existed. (Dimly, perhaps, but not in a real, tangible way.) A world beyond our grasp, beyond our comprehension.

I was reminded of that day a few weeks ago, when we were on vacation. We decided to get up early (the vacation equivalent of early!) one day & take the train into the city. Normally, we head for the train around 6:30 a.m.; this day, it was two hours later. On the main road near our house, there are two high schools -- a Catholic high school to the north of us and a public high school to the south of us.

At 6:30 a.m., the sidewalks are mostly empty, aside from the occasional early morning jogger or dogwalker. At 8:30 a.m., the sidewalks were teaming with teenagers, travelling in both directions -- lugging backpacks, shivering in too-thin jackets, kilts hiked thigh-high (Catholic) and jeans slung low (public), sneaking cigarettes and trying to look cool (both)(some things never change in 30+ years….). Traffic, too, was much heavier, much to dh's amazement. Once again, we marvelled at this whole world that we were unaware of, coming to life while we were already at work in our cubicles in the city.

I had similar thoughts as I watched the excited trick or treaters outside my door on Saturday night, beaming parents bearing cameras hovering behind them. (Smile on my face. Tears occasionally stinging at my eyes.)

There's a whole world beyond my doorstep that I really know nothing about (just as they know very little about the life dh & I lead).

We might have ideas about what each other's lives are like. We can guess. We can speculate. But we don't really know.

I can watch. I can observe. I can hover around the edges. I suppose if I really wanted to, I could venture out with a friend or relative while they take their children trick or treating.

But it wouldn't be the same.

It's a world I cannot really enter, can't really take part in.

A world that briefly tantallized me, with all of its promises.

A world that isn't, and never will be, mine.

Holding it together, falling apart

One beautiful spring Sunday afternoon in the late 1970s, when I was in high school, my sister, two girlfriends & I were walking on a street near our home when some guys we knew pulled up in a car to talk. My sister & her friend P. sat on the trunk of the car. I'm not sure the driver was even aware they were there when he took off. Not fast, but fast enough that they were thrown to the pavement. (I can still see the stricken look on his face as he got out of the car.) My sister's girlfriend hit her head on the pavement & when she sat up, she was oozing blood from the forehead.

Our other girlfriend, E., normally never at a loss for words or confidence, was frozen. I was concerned, but felt oddly calm. I whipped a wad of Kleenex out of my purse & pressed it firmly to P's forehead. A neighbour -- who happened to be an off-duty nurse -- came out of her house & took charge. Someone drove us all to the hospital, where it was quickly determined that my sister was fine, just a little bruised & shaken up, & P would be fine too, but would require stitches to her forehead.

Somehow, I got elected to call P's parents from the payphone in the waiting room. I calmly explained there had been an accident & could they please come.

I hung up -- and promptly burst into tears. I headed for the washroom -- & walked into the men's washroom by mistake. This made me cry even harder. ; )

E. snapped out of her stupor & took over, putting her arm around me & speaking to me soothingly, guiding me into the women's washroom & helping me clean myself up before my own parents arrived. For years afterward, I marvelled at how I'd managed to stay so calm in a bad situation -- only to fall apart once it was all over & I knew everything was going to be OK.

I thought of that incident, some 30 years ago now (!), when I read this article in today's New York Times. The author writes about how she managed to hold it all together during both her daughters' serious illnesses -- but although they are both fine now, "grief averted," this "brush with the unimaginable" continues to haunt her. She suffers insomnia, palpitations and panic attacks -- post-traumatic stress disorder. Friends don't understand, and impatiently tell her to stop worrying -- after all, everything is fine now. She needs to move on.

I think it was the friends' impatient, "get over it" reaction, more than anything, that resonated with me, and got me thinking about the parallels to my personal situation, & that of people I know who have also suffered through pregnancy loss and infertility. Granted, both of her children survived. There is a part of me that, like her friends, is a little annoyed with her. She still has her two kids, for Pete's sake. She's only had a "BRUSH with the unimaginable." What about those of us for whom the unimaginable has become the reality we live with, day in and out?

Still, I can relate to her feelings of being misunderstood, of being forever scarred by a traumatic experience, even if it did turn out all right in the end. Katie was stillborn almost 10 years ago. The wounds are not raw & gaping anymore, but the scars are there, & from time to time, they'll still ache & ooze a little bit.

Over the past 10 years, both dh & I have had struggles with anxiety and panic attacks. We constantly ask each other, "Are you OK?" He can be extremely overprotective of me. It can get annoying at times (I probably have to check in with him when we're apart more than I did with my mother when I was a teenager…!), but I fully understand why he needs the reassurance. For dh, Katie's loss compounded by the loss of his mother to cancer in 1982 at the far-too-young age of 53, when dh was 25 -- followed by the cancer-related deaths of four of her siblings, three of whom died before reaching 60. I see how this has marked him.

I think about friends who have lost a child, but went on to have subsequent children, & how all their friends and family assume everything is fine now (it's not). I think of friends whose babies were born prematurely & spent weeks in the NICU. Yes, their babies are fine now, but the parents bear the scars of that time. I think about the bereaved parents we've met who were told to "get over it" and obligingly tried to suppress their grief -- only to have their feelings resurface, years later & in ways they could not have foreseen.

I've always felt slightly annoyed when people tell me, "Oh, I can't imagine what you've been through." I get the feeling they don't even want to try -- don't want to go NEAR there. I can't blame them for shying away, but in their words, I sense a certain smugness, the belief that such things will surely never happen to them.

No, they can't imagine, and I hope they never have to face my reality. This writer didn't experience the unimaginable -- but she stared at it in the face and was shaken by what she saw. In that way, I feel more kinship with her than with other people who seem more oblivious to the fragility of life. I am glad she wrote this story about her feelings.

In a tizzy about being busy

The other night, I went out for dinner with a group of girlfriends. We share a sisterhood of sorrow. We all met through our pregnancy loss support group several years back, and have remained friends, even though most of them no longer attend group meetings. Three years ago, we decided to start a monthly scrapbooking night. Some of us are more ardent scrapbookers than others, but it's an "excuse" to get out of the house and get together. (There's usually more socializing than scrapping going on!)

These are women who intimately know & share my life's deepest pain -- the loss of a baby. Some of them also have had infertility problems. I can say my daughter's name and talk about "when I was pregnant" freely with them and without fear of a negative reaction. I feel more comfortable with them than with many other people who have known me a lot longer. And overall, I had a really good time, being together, talking, laughing, celebrating the season and our friendship.

And yet -- there was, and is, a part of me that felt alone and outside the circle, and guarded in some respects about what I say and what I share with them. Because I'm the only one among them who does not have children. Some already had children before their loss, and decided not to try again. Some have adopted. Others have had subsequent babies that now preoccupy their days and their conversation.

As they talked about how busy they were, how tired they were, how they were juggling their kids' activities, their own activities, their jobs, their maternity leaves and their Christmas plans (plus, two of them are moving -- one of them across the ocean!) -- I had nothing to offer in the way of similar stories or advice -- about finicky eaters and toddler sleep problems and at what age it's appropriate to bring a toddler to his first movie. And I had to bite my tongue and resist the impulse to join in the conversation with my own laments about about how busy & tired I am these days (or at least, do so in a very careful way).

I AM busy and tired. It's year end at my office, and mid-November through Christmas is my peak season. I do a lot of work that crosses the desks of my company's top executives, and my days right now are very full and highly stressful. I don't work a lot of overtime, but my days are long, nevertheless. On a normal work day, I am up at 5 a.m., out of the house and commuting by 6:30, in the office from 7:45 until 4:30, and not home again until 5:30 at the earliest. We're usually in bed no later than 10 -- which doesn't give us a lot of free time in the evening after supper is made, eaten and cleaned up. This means our weekends are usually crammed with house cleaning, laundry, shopping, errands and seeing dh's family.

I had a bad cold a few weeks back & an apparently still-lingering throat infection -- still don't feel 100%. My dh has been stressed lately about a number of different things, and I've been stressed trying to deal with HIS stress. And, like everyone else, I'm trying to keep on top of Christmas preparations, get everything done that needs to get done -- for dh's family, in time for our nephew's birthday on Dec. 15th, and for mine before we leave to join them for the holidays on Dec. 22nd -- and trying to enjoy the spirit of the season, just a little. Our calendar is filling up with holiday-related events & activities, along with our usual classes, meetings and other obligations. Like many of you, I'm sure, I have a running to-do list that never seems to get any shorter.

But I couldn't share most of this with these women. Maybe I'm being overly sensitive, projecting my own insecurities here, but I'm sure some of them would think -- even subconsciously -- that I don't know what busy is -- because, of course, I don't have any kids. I thought I detected a fleeting expression crossing their faces when I've made such comments in the past. Even though they, better than anyone else, know how much we wanted children and what we'd give to have our daughter with us today, there is still this automatic, ingrained assumption (which I've obviously absorbed as much as anybody else) that people with kids are busier than people without kids -- that if you don't have kids, you have oodles of free time on your hands to kill -- and that somehow, their tales of busy-ness are more "legitimate" than any story I could tell to try to match them.

It's not a competition (although sometimes it seems that way). Everyone is busy these days -- it seems to be the nature of life in the 21st century. We all have the same number of hours in a day -- we just use them differently. Somehow, they always fill up, whether you have children or not, whether you have one child or five, whether you work inside or outside the home, whether you live in a rural, urban or suburban setting.

I often wonder how I would have managed children on top of everything else I cram into my life right now. I think the answer is, you just do. You just organize and prioritize your time in a different way. I think of my mother and a co-worker of mine, who both retired within the past few years. Both like to joke about how they wonder how they ever had time to work. They're both keeping very busy, just with other things now.

I'll admit that not having children gives me more in the way of personal time, and greater flexibility in how I use it. But who's to say that one person's activities inherently "count" more than another's? Or that I'm not entitled to my leisure time just as much as someone with children is?

In one of the online grief groups I belong to, we have a saying -- there is no "grief-o-meter." Pain is pain, grief is grief, regardless of whether you lost your child via ectopic pregnancy, miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal death or medical termination.

And busy is busy, and tired is tired, no matter how you got there.