Oh Nancy, I'm so very, very sorry for the babies you lost, and the futures you planned for them. I was not able to have children, but the children I tried for live on in my heart too, and my grief for them ages as they do; whereas it was once babies, then toddlers, then adolescents that tugged at my soul, now sometimes it's the thirty year old adult children of friends. My grief is a part of me now, the only thing left I have of my children and the kernel of that grief will always remain, even if the life I've lived without them has been a different adventure, and the life I'm living now a good and happy one. Sending HUGE love xxxx
Jody! I cannot express properly how much your words mean to me and the fact you took the time to read this. What you say about missing the adults they'd have become really rings true right now as I would be a mother now to a 25 year old and a 20 year old as well as two 14 year old twins. That boggles the mind. I feel very lucky to have my teen, the gift of my kid a bit later in my life than anticipated but it's meant a lot of healing from those other losses. We so often think about those other lives (not just the lives of ones we've lost but the other life we might have lived had this not happened or that not happened or if we made other decisions or if decisions hadn't been removed as options from us, too. I have wonderful friends who never had a child, primarily by choice which I support completely. I send you a special hug today and am so grateful for your thoughts and words and your own writing and what you share. Truly. Thank you.
I liked this post yesterday, but knew I needed time to absorb it and come back to comment, Nancy. Your evocation of time and space is so vivid, which I think might be because you are also a photographer. I am seeing this piece as a series of stills and I wonder whether this resonates with how you use words rather than pictures to communicate?
I was also so struck by the description of long-term grief and the shape it takes. How it's like a scab, which to me makes me think it can be picked at, worried and possibly swiped off unintentionally. I wrote about grief a while back though the piece isn't finished. In it I communicate that I see grief as a circle. Different sizes of circle, both solid and ephemeral. I want to go back to that piece now I've read yours and get it done. Thank you for this prompt, and I can't wait to take time over more of your work.
Thanks, @Lindsay, for taking the time. I know the sorrow of it makes this a piece that’s not been shared really, which is why it means so much that you’ve given it your attention and am honoured to have prompted you to revisit an unfinished piece that you began on grief which I look forward to reading. I’d like to discuss more your idea of the piece as a series of stills. That’s intriguing feedback. Again, thank you so kindly for taking the time (not only to read, but to comment and the thoughtfulness of your words.) 🥰🙏🏻
I definitely want to make time for that discussion, Nancy. I also had a look at your photography, specifically the pieces that form your exhibition, Fallow. They are haunting and beautiful, hinting at a cohesive body of work that I wonder whether you'll be exploring in March?! Anyway, discussion for another time and place!x
I'm very excited to be attending Memoir in a Month in March! Fallow will be given attention again at some point -- though not directly related, it did plant a seed in my head, to expand the metaphor. The writing I aim to work is related to research on fertility rituals and mythologies, and the infertility/fertility of environment (not just humans)...
I began a documentary project in 2017 called Womb (https://womb.blog) which I aim to return to on the documentary photography side of things. Having struggled through infertility, the ideas tied to fertile soil and fertile wombs - fertility/infertility of environment and humans - has inspired the idea for the memoir I wish to write which has one distinct hopeful theme/thread that ties all of these things (Earth/photography/me and my health - past, present and future) together.
SUPER excited to grant myself more focus, research and ultimately the writing of the memoir I have mapped out and really dig deep into the work of it- no doubt Memoir in a Month will help clear my initial footpath towards seeing its ultimate fruition.
It's great having this intel in advance which before Substack was far more 'curated' rather than a conversation that really helps to paint a picture of where you are at in the process before we begin. What a rich opportunity we have here, Nancy!🥰
This was so moving to read and I’m full of admiration for the courage it must have taken to write it. Wonderful writing skills too, particularly in the imagery. I love the mood of place in ‘snow lies like crisp Irish linen’ (wish I’d thought of that!) and ‘snow makes eyes at the night’. And then there are the stunning, visceral descriptions of pain like in ‘ I bleed and bellow, snot and tears baptizing my arms as I lean my head against the cross rail’. Bloody hell.
Thank you so kindly, Laurence for taking the time and also that you liked the writing. Sometimes it’s a challenge when describing things you know will be uncomfortable to read (because the are uncomfortable to write) how to convey them. How much to share, what to hold back. I hope I’ve not overstepped the mark and made it too visceral. But I know, too, that so many people can relate to pregnancy loss or the grief and heartache of other losses they experience. I appreciate your generous reply.
Thanks for sharing this, Nancy. Such hard, hard experiences. My daughter went through similar grief and loss. Life can be so tough. Your writing here is exceptional and I’m sure it was very difficult. Virtual hugs from afar.
Lorne, how can I thank you properly for taking the time to read what I’ve shared? It means the world and thank you for the feedback about my writing, too. I am still so new here and have felt like perhaps I’m not connecting in the right ways. I hope to connect more with everyone on here. It’s the first social media place I’ve felt comfortable engaging in for so long. Instagram has changed so much and Twitter has felt in free fall since a certain someone took over. I am so grateful for your kind message which “filled my bucket” as my kid would say. 🙏🏻
Thanks Nancy. I have gravitated here very recently as a reader. (Not sure if I’ll find the energy to also post.) I’m enjoying much of what I find and hope that I can find ways to curate my feed so I don’t get swamped. I too have largely left Twitter, after many years of good conversations with hundreds of good people - - it’s become a cesspool. Instagram is too full of “influencers,” though I use it to share images with family and friends. Substack seems to have attracted many excellent writers, who are posting more thoughtful and well crafted pieces. I’m glad my comment was meaningful to you, and wish you a healthy growth in readership and interactions.
Oh Nancy, I'm so very, very sorry for the babies you lost, and the futures you planned for them. I was not able to have children, but the children I tried for live on in my heart too, and my grief for them ages as they do; whereas it was once babies, then toddlers, then adolescents that tugged at my soul, now sometimes it's the thirty year old adult children of friends. My grief is a part of me now, the only thing left I have of my children and the kernel of that grief will always remain, even if the life I've lived without them has been a different adventure, and the life I'm living now a good and happy one. Sending HUGE love xxxx
Jody! I cannot express properly how much your words mean to me and the fact you took the time to read this. What you say about missing the adults they'd have become really rings true right now as I would be a mother now to a 25 year old and a 20 year old as well as two 14 year old twins. That boggles the mind. I feel very lucky to have my teen, the gift of my kid a bit later in my life than anticipated but it's meant a lot of healing from those other losses. We so often think about those other lives (not just the lives of ones we've lost but the other life we might have lived had this not happened or that not happened or if we made other decisions or if decisions hadn't been removed as options from us, too. I have wonderful friends who never had a child, primarily by choice which I support completely. I send you a special hug today and am so grateful for your thoughts and words and your own writing and what you share. Truly. Thank you.
I liked this post yesterday, but knew I needed time to absorb it and come back to comment, Nancy. Your evocation of time and space is so vivid, which I think might be because you are also a photographer. I am seeing this piece as a series of stills and I wonder whether this resonates with how you use words rather than pictures to communicate?
I was also so struck by the description of long-term grief and the shape it takes. How it's like a scab, which to me makes me think it can be picked at, worried and possibly swiped off unintentionally. I wrote about grief a while back though the piece isn't finished. In it I communicate that I see grief as a circle. Different sizes of circle, both solid and ephemeral. I want to go back to that piece now I've read yours and get it done. Thank you for this prompt, and I can't wait to take time over more of your work.
Thanks, @Lindsay, for taking the time. I know the sorrow of it makes this a piece that’s not been shared really, which is why it means so much that you’ve given it your attention and am honoured to have prompted you to revisit an unfinished piece that you began on grief which I look forward to reading. I’d like to discuss more your idea of the piece as a series of stills. That’s intriguing feedback. Again, thank you so kindly for taking the time (not only to read, but to comment and the thoughtfulness of your words.) 🥰🙏🏻
I definitely want to make time for that discussion, Nancy. I also had a look at your photography, specifically the pieces that form your exhibition, Fallow. They are haunting and beautiful, hinting at a cohesive body of work that I wonder whether you'll be exploring in March?! Anyway, discussion for another time and place!x
I'm very excited to be attending Memoir in a Month in March! Fallow will be given attention again at some point -- though not directly related, it did plant a seed in my head, to expand the metaphor. The writing I aim to work is related to research on fertility rituals and mythologies, and the infertility/fertility of environment (not just humans)...
I began a documentary project in 2017 called Womb (https://womb.blog) which I aim to return to on the documentary photography side of things. Having struggled through infertility, the ideas tied to fertile soil and fertile wombs - fertility/infertility of environment and humans - has inspired the idea for the memoir I wish to write which has one distinct hopeful theme/thread that ties all of these things (Earth/photography/me and my health - past, present and future) together.
SUPER excited to grant myself more focus, research and ultimately the writing of the memoir I have mapped out and really dig deep into the work of it- no doubt Memoir in a Month will help clear my initial footpath towards seeing its ultimate fruition.
It's great having this intel in advance which before Substack was far more 'curated' rather than a conversation that really helps to paint a picture of where you are at in the process before we begin. What a rich opportunity we have here, Nancy!🥰
Can’t wait! 😊 (also: thanks for the kind words about my photography and for digging deeper and checking out Fallow. You rock, Lindsay.)
So do you!X
This was so moving to read and I’m full of admiration for the courage it must have taken to write it. Wonderful writing skills too, particularly in the imagery. I love the mood of place in ‘snow lies like crisp Irish linen’ (wish I’d thought of that!) and ‘snow makes eyes at the night’. And then there are the stunning, visceral descriptions of pain like in ‘ I bleed and bellow, snot and tears baptizing my arms as I lean my head against the cross rail’. Bloody hell.
Great writing, thanks for sharing it.
Thank you so kindly, Laurence for taking the time and also that you liked the writing. Sometimes it’s a challenge when describing things you know will be uncomfortable to read (because the are uncomfortable to write) how to convey them. How much to share, what to hold back. I hope I’ve not overstepped the mark and made it too visceral. But I know, too, that so many people can relate to pregnancy loss or the grief and heartache of other losses they experience. I appreciate your generous reply.
Thanks for sharing this, Nancy. Such hard, hard experiences. My daughter went through similar grief and loss. Life can be so tough. Your writing here is exceptional and I’m sure it was very difficult. Virtual hugs from afar.
Lorne, how can I thank you properly for taking the time to read what I’ve shared? It means the world and thank you for the feedback about my writing, too. I am still so new here and have felt like perhaps I’m not connecting in the right ways. I hope to connect more with everyone on here. It’s the first social media place I’ve felt comfortable engaging in for so long. Instagram has changed so much and Twitter has felt in free fall since a certain someone took over. I am so grateful for your kind message which “filled my bucket” as my kid would say. 🙏🏻
Thanks Nancy. I have gravitated here very recently as a reader. (Not sure if I’ll find the energy to also post.) I’m enjoying much of what I find and hope that I can find ways to curate my feed so I don’t get swamped. I too have largely left Twitter, after many years of good conversations with hundreds of good people - - it’s become a cesspool. Instagram is too full of “influencers,” though I use it to share images with family and friends. Substack seems to have attracted many excellent writers, who are posting more thoughtful and well crafted pieces. I’m glad my comment was meaningful to you, and wish you a healthy growth in readership and interactions.