I produce commercials for a living, am a native to Los Angeles, live in Venice, California with my husband Craig, and am sober. I have been a writer for as long as I can remember, with countless short stories about life, a novella about a fictionalized version of a younger me, and an unfinished autobiographical novel about my foray into drug addiction – all gathering metaphorical dust on my computer for years.
I am launching this blog on what would have been the third birthday of my son Finley, who only lived 13-hours. It is with a tremendous amount of fear that I embark to share the intimate details of the most excruciating pain I have ever known, as a bereaved mother, as well as of a woman who has struggled with fertility prior to conceiving, and ever since.
If you have familiarity with fertility issues, you’ll recognize that I have chosen not to use the term ‘infertility’. Simply put, I can’t. In an effort to keep hope alive, to stay tenacious, to be focused on the dream that I KNOW is meant to come true – albeit a revised dream since I don’t get to be Finley’s mom in traditional terms – and because no science has told me otherwise, I will continue to chase this dream, until I am holding Finley’s healthy brother or sister – or as my husband likes to suggest, both.
But this blog is not just for people who’ve had fertility issues or who have suffered the indescribable pain of losing a child. It is for anyone who has experienced loss. Or who knows what it’s like to be someone one day, and then have something happen the next that changes who you are, forever – so much so that you don’t remember who you were before. It’s for me to not be ashamed of the fact that I could not protect my son from his death. It’s for me to not be embarrassed that I haven’t been able to do what so many women do so easily, and even by mistake. It’s for people who have searched for some of life’s answers, and without finding them, have still shown the courage to carry on.
I will approach this differently than a typical blog, in that my experiences will be shared via flashbacks, short stories, essays, while some of my continuing fertility efforts and my grieving will be shared in real time. I aim to post 1 – 2 times a week, but sometimes the post may be as little as a video link or song lyrics that are getting me through a hard moment. I hope that eventually I shall post essays of other people’s experiences on these topics, which might be cathartic for that person and inspirational for another. Please, email me if you would like to participate.
Blogs gain momentum based upon people’s interest, so PLEASE subscribe, like my page on Facebook, and if enough people choose to follow, then perhaps I will even tweet. The more of you that do this, the more likely it is that someone who really needs to find this story can, and will.
As a gift to my son, to my self, and to struggling and / or interested women, parents, and people out there, I have decided to wear my heart on my sleeve, and not hide behind the idea that “I’ll write the story about Finley and fertility one day”. Today is the day, and I start now.
My sincere thanks for your time and support.
lorraine
You are so right on target with everything you said. I don’t know what it feels like to lose a child. I do believe that it has to be the worst loss anyone can experience, and so senseless. It takes a lot of strength to grieve something like that effectively, and I think your attitude, you being an open book and sharing your experiences is such a great thing for you and anyone who comes across it is sure to be moved. I think, in some way, you’re allowing others to help carry some of grief for you.
My uncle Fred died unexpectedly, choking, when he was 42 yrs old. I can remember my grandmother saying when she got the call, that she screamed so loud, they could hear her all the way to the edge of town. Those words stung me hard. I swear that at that moment for a few seconds, she took me to the darkest place imaginable. For that moment I felt what she felt, and I knew that I never wanted to see that place ever, ever, EVER again.
Maybe I’m being naive saying this, but I think that when you experience that kind of empathy for a grieving friend, seeing it, and going through it vicariously, it paves the way for losses that you will inevitably experience in your life. I don’t think, however that anything prepares you for losing a child. It’s backwards.
I guess really the important thing I wanted to say, is going back to that empathy I had with my grandmother, you can’t help but notice how glaringly fortunate you are, and how many gifts we actually have and take for granted. Right now, as I type this, my 9 year old soulmate is next to me, using my butt as a pillow and watching Family Guy. I hear him yawn, and I can’t believe that I’ve been given the incredible gift of him passing through me. Its amazing that something so common, is the most magical thing we can experience.
Anyway, I feel for you, and I look forward to reading your blog.
Very heartfelt Lorraine. I can feel your pain through your words and can only imagine your hurt. I wish you all the best with each of your journeys and admire your strength and bravery. Keep on truckin’ sister – as you do!
you are an amazing writer and an amazing warrior. i can relate to you in so many ways and understand your fertility struggles. i know one day you will be holding finley’s brother or sister (or both) in your hands and that you will never give up until you do!
I am so moved by your story and your writing. I am sorry I didn’t start reading it sooner. I am so glad though, that I am able to support you by reading it now. There is no way for me to even try to measure the depth of loss you have felt for Finley. I would love to say I understand, but your experience is yours and I am only here to read about it. I appreciate you sharing it with us. Pain is maybe the hardest thing to write about, but you have done it so well and with beautiful emotional words. Your future, I feel is bright. With children and your husband and a family. I too, had problems conceiving and lost pregnancies and trips to the reproductive endocrinologists month after month. I am here to tell you, as the mother of two gorgeous children. Your story is far from over.
I am thinking of you, and Finley and his new brother or sister (s). I know they are coming. xxKim