I have a cousin.  She has a daughter, making her daughter my second-cousin, it’s simply semantics really, I have always looked at Elli like a sister.  I was able to watch her grow up, blossom into a smart, caring, and beautiful girl, then pissy teenager, and now brave woman.

A few months ago she told me she was expecting.  I was a bit shocked because she is so young to me (is it bad that 19 years old seems so young when you are only 27 years old), there was school, there was a career she loved, there was marriage, and then the baby in the baby carriage…

It took me some time until I quickly realized I was doing the same thing to her that I hate when others do to me.  Those pesky expectations.  We all have em, and we impose them on those we love the most because we want the best for them.  I cried when I moved away to college, feeling like I was leaving her behind, I cried at her high school graduation, and I cried when I found out she was pregnant.

On May 15th her water broke, she was just about 19 weeks.  I cried then too, a lot.  I still do.  Her daughter, Chevelle, still had a heartbeat and we waited.  I won’t go into the details because it isn’t my story to tell (I do have permission to write this post however), but I am so proud of Elli for making choices based on her beliefs and what was best for her and her daughter.  On May 16th Elli delivered a beautiful little girl.  She was a special little girl because she was born with wings and was already in heaven.

I cried and cried.

The pain of those days and the lingering pain that follows continues to ripple through our family.

I wanted to spoil Chevelle, I wanted to watch her grow as I did with her mother.  I wanted to be there for her to tell all of her secrets to, I wanted to be her safe place as Elli’s mother Julie (my cousin) was for me when I was weathering those hormone fueled teenage years (and thought my own mother was stupid – I am so sorry, I love you mom!).

Whether Elli has more children is her choice and I respect no matter what decision she makes for herself and her family.  All I can say is she is one brave woman.  And if does decide to have more children I will spoil them just as rotten as I would have Chevelle.

I love you Ellen!


The reason I write…

I have always enjoyed writing.  It’s always been an escape.  A way to be authentic with myself.  A way to speak my truth.

My intentions for writing were never to hurt anyone.

I spend a fair amount of my time apologizing, for things I can’t do, for things I have done incorrectly, for doing or not doing things I should or could have done.  I never want to apologize for what I write here.

This is my space to figure some things out.  As I have said before, I have a difficult time articulating exactly how I am feeling, but for some reason, when I sit down here I am able to articulate my feelings.  Sometimes those feelings may be dark, depressing, cynical, even cruel.  But they are my feelings… it’s so hard to apologize for them.

I come here to better understand myself.  My intent is never to hurt anyone.


To hoping…

Maturity to hand you

More than your illness

Owning your story

Screws us up

Thinking is difficult

We are injured and hurt emotionally,
not so much by other people
or what they say and don’t say,
but by our own attitude and our own response.
– Maxwell Maltz

Love means not ever having to say you’re sorry.
– Erich Segal

Most truths are so naked
that people feel sorry for them
and cover them up,
at least a little bit.
– Edward R. Murrow