Some things.

We are slowly getting settled into our new place in Wisconsin. It's cold up here already, and it will still be another 2 weeks before our household goods shipment arrives from WA. Gotta love those government movers.

I have a lot on my heart lately, but not nearly enough time to write it out. So for now, a couple things I wanted to share.


I got certified to teach childbirth classes, and I finally have my website up and running. I'm trying to find a good balance in supporting all mothers and their babies, regardless of whether they lived or died. You can check out the website if you're interested. Or find me on facebook. Even if you aren't looking to have childbirth classes, I just like talking to people. I'm on facebook much more than here. (And I miss talking to yall!)


I also wrote a piece for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, and it was featured at Modern Alternative Pregnancy. One of their regular contributors asked me to write in her place this month because she felt she couldn't do the subject justice. You can read it here if you'd like.


I need sleep. More coming soon.

Stuck.

In August, I packed up all my worldly belongings and moved away from WA.

In September, I was officially separated from the Navy.

In October, we will eventually move out of the in-laws' spare bedroom to live in Wisconsin.


So many changes.

I'm not dealing well, to be honest.

I feel like I'm stuck.


Almost everything I own is locked up in storage on the other side of the country. I don't care about things. Not usually. But their things are locked up out there. Everything that I have that belonged to them. That had anything to do with them.

It's on that side, and I'm stuck over here on this side.

I feel silly. They're just things! Just pictures and paintings and blankets!

But I want them here with me. With us. In our own house. In our own space.

Space.


I need space.

I need things to do.


I need to stop being stuck.

A walk with Andy.

Life has been overwhelming lately. I needed to clear my head, so I drove out to the landing and parked at the top of the hill. I needed to walk it off, whatever it was that was wearing me down so heavily.  

There was a long dirt road leading to the water. It was dry and cracking from a summer with little rain. It was well-traveled, with grooves worn deep from the passing tractors. Dusty blackberry bushes lined one side; rows of beets and turnips stretched out along the other. 

The salt air drifted gently over the fields. I glanced down as a small white butterfly danced around my feet, around one and then around the other. I smiled, following its cheerful choreography with my eyes. 

Would you look at that sky?!

There was a familiar thickness to his accent; a heaviness as his hand grasped mine. 

Days like this are my favorite, ya know? 

He smiled at me, and he gently squeezed my hand. 

It had been six years since I last saw that smile. 

My mind started racing with all the things that have happened in those six years, all the things I wanted so badly to tell him about. Joining the Navy. Adventures at sea. Mountain climbing. Marriage. Divorce. Babies. Relationships. Leaving the Navy. 

Relationships and babies. That was why I was there that day, on that dusty road. A fragile relationship that's one more stupid argument from being over, and a baby that is turning one. A baby that is the reason behind leaving my job, leaving this state, leaving my comfort and stability for something more. A baby that is the lone survivor of three, a baby with a dead brother and a dead sister. 

My head started spinning. I couldn't breathe. I was shaking. I wanted so badly to talk to him, to tell him, but I couldn't find the words. I started to cry. 

He put his arm around me and laughed. Silly girl, just let it go. Just for today. Just walk with me. 

He smiled at me again. I never could say no to that smile.

And so we walked, his hand in mine, along that dusty road through the turnips and the beets. 

As we walked, all those things started melting away. It was like the last six year never happened. It was just my friend and me, together again, without a care in the world.

When we reached the end of the field, I stopped at the bench to take in the view and take some pictures of the flowers. I watched as another small white butterfly danced around my head for a couple seconds and then fluttered off into the blue sky. When I looked back, I was alone. 

Happy Birthday, Andy. Thanks for the walk.