Trite as though it may be, I have learned that mourning the death of a patient is much like allowing yourself to be still while a tide washes over you.

Sometimes I’ll come home, sore and worn with a heart that is so heavy I swear I can feel it in my chest, and I cry and cry until all the grief has been poured out of me like a spilled drink.

Other times I will be driving and a song comes on, or I will see someone or hear, read, or see something and a memory will overcome me suddenly, leaving me gasping for air.

  Two parenting events have really stood out in my mind as completely changing the entirety of who I am. One of them was breastfeeding, may it rest in peace, and the other happened this week. Potty training. (to be read in a spooky Halloween voice) I would be lying to you if I toldRead more

Because here’s what I realized about breastmilk. It’s amazing, it’s perfectly formulated for a baby and miraculously produced by a woman’s body, but it’s not the answer to every question. It’s not the solution to every problem.

I used to hear this reading and find Martha underappreciated. I saw myself in her, as the misunderstood person who was just trying to keep everyone afloat, who had every right to be stressed. Through my anxiety lens, taking on more than you can handle is normal Holding others to the same impossible standard you give yourself is expected. Festering bitterness is justified.

And then after a time, you give up on the pew altogether. You shuffle in late, straight for the cry room, embarrassed that you can’t make it on time with your ONE child, while the Abraham family managed to be on time with their 7 well-behaved kids. Show-offs.

Deep breath. Cold water washes over my lap-swimming bathing suit as I plunge into the pool gym. This bathing suit used to fit well, but two pregnancy’s in and it’s starting to pull and tug in ways I don’t love. I’m at the stage of pregnancy when it still looks like I drink too muchRead more

I love a year and a half. I love the enthusiasm that comes with the development of language, I love the strengthening of our bond because he can decide between oranges and blueberries, and confidence it gives him when I understand him. I never want to forget how he emphatically says “YEAH!” to every questionRead more

The old things to me are the ways that, for this moment, hour, or day, I am not trying to become a new, better, healthier, more interesting me. I’m just filling up my cup with the simple comforts that needn’t be appreciated by anyone but myself. 

Perhaps today is a day to observe the world, to sit and not be of any use to anybody, adding nothing to the world around me except as a quiet presence.

There are always a couple of old men who are way too fit for their age, so their body is just a confusion of muscles and wrinkles and it’s slightly terrifying. They always seem to be standing around talking and joking about topics I can only guess at. Probably tuna sandwiches and The War (which one doesn’t matter). The nurse in me wants to approach the group and gently help them sit down, asking if I can take their blood pressure and do they need some Asprin.