Monday, June 19, 2006


Sometimes I'd get married just to make some stories simpler to tell... This is one of those times.

Shortly after we got back from Troy, NY in April, my sister-in-law called and told us that her daughter, Scott's niece, was pregnant. It was good news, the family needed some good news after we lost Nova and then Randy, and the news of a new baby was just, well, good news. I got an email from my sister-in-law this morning with the worst sort of news... her daughter had a miscarriage on Saturday evening.

We've lived down here, together, for 14 years, and very rarely get to NY to visit, so I really don't know a lot of Scott's family. It makes it hard to know what to say or do right now. I don't know how she's taking it, whether I should call, or shouldn't call or... know what I mean? I don't know her well enough to know what the best thing for her would be. Her loss is weighing on my mind today. I've got a book I want to send her, specifically geared toward parents that have lost a baby to a miscarriage. I don't know whether it will be well received or not, but I feel like sending it is the right thing to do.

Then there's Montrachet.
I used to consider myself "an animal person." I used to verge on that "crazy cat lady" thing. I even went so far, even recently, to revive dead puppies and nurse newborn kittens to health with hand-feedings and intensive antibiotic treatments. When I was young, as all kids do, I cried over every pet who died, and I had lousy luck with pets, seriously. But when Alexis died, it sort of put things in perspective for me, and I haven't cried about a dead animal in many years, until last night, when I read that Belinda had to put Montrachet down. (background here and here) Last night I cried like a baby, not so much for Montrachet's death, because it was as painless and compassionate a way to go as one could ask for, but for Belinda's heartbrokenness. I have felt a real connection to Belinda ever since I read her post about her father. (Read that post, and the replies especially, and you'll understand the connection.) So last night, I sat here a cried wholeheartedly for her loss. You're still in my thoughts Belinda.

I've also been following the story of a boy named Corbin who has been in the hospital following his Fontan (open heart surgery) on April 13th. I have been very concerned about him, because so many of his after surgery complications have sounded familiar, and realistically speaking, the longer the hospital stay, the more difficult things tend to become. He's had his ups and downs, but last week he seemed to be doing very well. Yesterday the news was not so good, they're even discussing undoing what was done to repair his heart because his pressures are too high (I know that makes little sense to most of you, but it's bad news anyway) and to be honest, today I'm afraid for him. He has a carepage here, but you have to sign up to be able to read, it's free if you'd like to read his whole story. Anyway, all of your thoughts and prayers and well-wishes sure couldn't do any damage eh?

Mondays. Life. Too much damn death.


  1. This is one of those times where I don't have any words of wisdom, so I'm just going to offer a nice, simple big-breasted hug. Hang in there, girl.

  2. Erin, I think the reason I keep coming back here is that you have such a big heart and such a good spirit. (and you're a good writer, too!) I wish I had a magic wand...or something. A fairy godmother to share. But you, and they, have my well-wishes.

  3. PS I'm glad to see the thermometer climbing....vncbhnh

  4. Yes. Too much death. Which is, of course, what makes life so darned precious, but that doesn't relieve any pain when you get to the bottom line.

    I'm doing well with Montrachet...oh, I sobbed pretty much continually for a good day and a half, and I can still choke up, but it was, if there is such a thing, "a good death," and not unexpected. Better would be if somehow it never had to happen, but there you are. And tied up in my story of Montrachet, is, of course, another story of my father. Life is so intertwined and complicated, especially in our hearts.

    AND, you are so right...before my dad died, I would have been SICK mourning this horse. It would have gone on for who knows how long. After almost 3 years, I am STILL just a heartbeat, a sensory memory, a turn of phrase away from sick, sick grief over losing Dad. We wound up having to hire painters to paint the house we're selling, because as I began the job, the sensory memory of the first time I did it overwhelmed me--it was a time that was too much wrapped around my wonderful father, and I had to detatch from that for the time being.

    Erin, you are an empath of extraordinary capacity, and I think that is a large part of what gives you your gifts, your talent.

    The day we meet in person, I am hugging your guts out. And probably crying. Cuz that's what I do, the crying.

  5. Thanks E2, Cushy :)

    Pepek, I'd love a magic wand, unfortunately, I'd end up screwing something up lol... thanks *hug*

    Belinda, Hug my guts out all you want should we ever meet in person and I'll probably cry too, assuming I can breathe while you hug my guts out...

    You're right, about things being so intertwined in our hearts. Things that would make no sense to an outsider make me cry...