Stay tuned! Book will be published again in 2018 so copies will be available in the spring via FB: Journaling Away Mommy's Grief and on line from Centering Corporation (

October 2016: National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month

Friends, I have no new wisdom to share-only that I am happy this month recognizes both baby loss and pregnancy loss. I have experienced both. Miscarriages are so sad, lonely and exhausting, and in some situations, are absolutely devastating. I know many people who have experienced a miscarriage and hide it in their hearts.  Here is a secret from my heart that I have never shared: I named my miscarriage baby “May” because she was due May 4th. Years later I observed this lovely name belong to someone while reading The Secret Life of Bees in the form of the character, May.   I often thought about the fact that “my May” could have shared a May 8th birthday with me. This month I decided that though my book and blog focus on stillbirth and infant loss, I would like to honor those who have had a miscarriage by re-printing my first ever publication; a journal entry about my miscarriage. It was published in a beautiful anthology of essays and poems titled: Our Stories of Miscarriage. I am thinking of all of your losses and all of your babies and all of you on your grieving journeys as you honor those losses this month. Don’t forget to light candles and join together in our wave of light on October 15th: .  XO

Putting Together My baby Album: Journal Entry: 1993: excerpted from Our Stories of Miscarriage: Healing with Words, Fairview Press, edited by Rachel Faldet and Karen Fitton.

 I go to the store to buy photo albums to put my dusty pictures in. I am trying to be neater now so this is necessary. It’s $5.97 for the big blue albums, $2.97 for baby picture albums. Why am I looking at these baby albums? I don’t have a baby. My arm reaches out and I take hold of the small, white album with a curly-haired cherub riding a light blue rocking horse on the cover. I must have it. My hands caress the album, lifting each plastic picture cover-fifty of them.  Each time I tenderly turn, I see a snapshot of what our baby would have looked like.

 My hands move down to my stomach, so flat, so skinny.  Everyone is jealous of my thin body, my energy, my youthfulness,
“You’re so young and you have your whole life ahead of you.”
“I think it is much more difficult for older women to go through.”
“You two have plenty of time. Just wait three months and try again.”
“Oh well, it happens to everybody. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

I would have been almost five months pregnant by now. As my hand circling, rubs my stomach, I wonder what it would have felt like to have a voluptuous, purposeful body with a small life growing inside of me.
In my right arm I hold the baby album naturally like a new mother holding her newborn for the first time. In my left I hold a three pack of soap. We are out of soap.

 At home I pick out all the pictures of babies. They are not my babies, but babies I love: my brother’s two children, my four girlfriends’ children, my youngest four cousins, and my husband’s cousin’s daughter.

 After organizing the angels in my album, I look through it again and again. Twenty blank pages are left waiting, like my blank stomach, like my empty heart.