Parents of lost babies and potential of all kinds: come here to share the technicolour, the vividness, the despair, the heart-broken-open, the compassion we learn for others, having been through this mess — and see it reflected back at you, acknowledged and understood.
Thanks to photographer Xin Li and to artist Stephanie Sicore for their respective illustrations and photos.
I've sat at this fire for nine whole years. I've cried, I've cried, been angry. I've been drunk, miserable, useless. I've been hopeful, happy, at peace, then numb. I’ve moved and swayed like the tide, then stilled myself likevan oal tree, unmoving, observing. Nine years. She'd be nine. I don’t miss her any less. Happy Birthday Zia.
I've sat at this fire for nine whole years. I've cried, I've cried, been angry. I've been drunk, miserable, useless. I've been hopeful, happy, at peace, then numb. I’ve moved and swayed like the tide, then stilled myself like an oak tree, unmoving, observing. Nine years. She'd be nine. I don’t miss her any less. Happy Birthday Zia.
Happy birthday to Zia. Nine is a long time. Nine is what we call big-small in our family. Wishing you knew who big-small Zia would be. Abiding with you. Jen
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Beautifully written, Jo-Anne.
Sending Love to you and yours.