Yesterday I read a blog post written ’bout one of the five stages of grief,
I placed a like on the post, refrained from comment as I sat and reflected
on my own life’s hardships.
The question: ‘How many children do you have?’ asked in person, answer
required on resumes and employment applications, questionnaires, etc.
I’ve always found a bit baffling with response.
I wanted to know the correct reply, so this morn was off to Google search.
In record time I found:
A stillbirth doesn’t count as there is no birth certificate. Although I
was pregnant four times and delivered four children, I should answer the
question asked above with the number ‘three’. I understand the
concept only to actually respond void of one seems like an insult to
On a positive note, I discovered I gave birth to three different categories
The descriptive adjectives all revolve around the brother who never
breathed outside the womb.
1. My daughter, forever 28, is considered a ‘sunshine’ baby, a child born
before the loss.
2. My son, born on the exact same date as his brother near exact to the
minute, two years later is referred to a as a ‘rainbow’ baby, the symbol
of renewal and hope.
3. Last is the ‘angel’ baby, the stillbirth – stillborn.
Child number four born late in life I’ve always made reference to as
my ‘surprise package’.
I’m perturbed as no idea how my text turned red without my hitting the
I think I’ll chuckle, hit the publish button and see what happens. 😊🤣
It’s time for me to pick a fictitious name in order to tell
my story, hopefully in an untraceable manner void of
outside interference with end result cathartic finally.
I rarely write explicitly with regard to personal life. I have
placed content within poems – no actual reveals. This allows
readers vast room for thoughts.
If I can help even one person who has experienced same
or similar I feel I’ll have accomplished what I originally set
out to do before I became sidetracked, questioning myself
Why should I ~ Why shouldn’t I . . . It’s 100 percent truth.
Yesterday early morn when the internet was still available I
started deleting photos (a process in progress) to free up
And then I came across a ‘shortcut’ only to find numerous
photos and documents relocated when technology decided
to take over.
Lovely, I thought to myself as I proceeded to access each
and decide if to keep or place in recycle bin.
Then I found a poem I’d written in 2018 and thought I’d
repost it after my errands were completed for the day.
Surprise, surprise ‘no internet connection’ which lasted for
Today I searched the year I posted the poem on here and
with 12 months to the calendar year of course the last one
I accessed showed the poem.
In shock I looked at the format and wondered why the
words followed one another rather than in a poem’s format.
Anyway, I’ll repost the poem I wrote.
“The Empty Hole”
Exterior thankful whole
Interior broken heart holds
Grief assimilates tides ebbs and flows
Five stages conclusion sudden undertow
Sadness empty gape forever unpaved
Thankful ‘Lord’ concrete faith to me gave
No prelude exhaustive process loss
Survivors bear unfathomable cross
Acceptance unchosen future alone alas
Society’s behaviors liken senseless crass.
I read this and to myself thought how
little my thoughts and feelings changed
during the past three plus years following
penning this poem.
Imprisoned by emotions:
I came to speak to those who seem to think that Moms
are just Moms.
Well baby, let me let you in on who we really are:
We’re alarm clocks.
We’re bathroom attendants.
We’re personal stylists.
And that’s all before we get ourselves together in the morning.
We’re physicians with no PhD, but we can heal wounds.
We’re lawyers with no degree, but we can mediate between siblings
that can’t seem to get along and sometimes adults who act like kids
We are chefs that can pull together a meal scratch from the refrigerator.
We’re accountants that can make money stretch.
We are strong women who can hide our stress.
We are all the things you don’t even see at night.
We are the strong weapons who God ordained for this position.
We ain’t just a mother and you better not let that come out of your
Let me tell you who we are, “We are a Superwoman!“
Imagine all those words and more in 60 seconds or less.
Memory Lane takes me back to my younger years when I held
the position of Financial Typist at Dun & Bradstreet.
I’m definitely out of practice at WPMs and transcribing dictation.
The former perfectionist would have continued to finish rather
than head to the kitchen for lunch.
It’s likely any reader who is a mother can relate. It’s called Reality Talk.
That’s all Folks!
Whenever you experience bad vibes, tis best to walk away.
There’s no need to explain your choice of what you feel tis
best for you.
For the past several days the above words (uncertain if
written verbatim) via way of scenic reels watched I kept
A message heaven sent??
Sad to admit the realization ‘being honest doesn’t always
I’ll remain blogging in a limited capacity participating
in select few prompts.
To attain my own personal goal(s), it’s imperative I begin
to journey where my heart leads me.
Much thanks to the faithful bloggers who always left me
December 2021 – personal self-care journey
I admit reading plus journalizing exercises with 100%
honesty was actually beneficial.
January 2022 – participation several 30-day challenges
One assignment was to minimalize clutter on all social
I admit I was a little wary of this newfound idea and its’
This too proved beneficial.
I now prioritize and budget rather than waste time ’bout
so much. Rarely do I allow myself to download photos.
This morn I made an exception and decided to share a
stored memory from this day 2017.
All credit for the following Tibetan proverb goes to:
‘Power of Positivity’.
“The secret of living well and longer is to eat half,
walk double, laugh triple and love without measure.”
When I posted above, I was in a state of newfound bliss.
Sadly, my happiness would be short-lived; however, I
still believe in the basic truth of this parable.
Type A – classification = perfection
Self-care journey taught me better
Choice Type B – smell the roses attitude
Result stress reduction all aspects of life
Thankful for another day indulge in whatever
Blizzards, ice and windstorms soon bygone
Follows warm weather, distance close birds’ chirp
Flowers blossom, grass turns beautiful shade green
Suggested self-care idea (personal) – carry a journal
Capture special moments experienced in world of ‘Nature’
Gloomy day lack sunshine
Positives versus negatives
Awful attitude today think
Like me_hate me
Laugh with me_laugh at me
Your opinion doesn’t matter to me.
Don’t care – won’t care – refuse to care
Stay – walk away – doesn’t matter either way
How you treat me in real life, app life, blog life
Determining factor with regard to continuance friendship
Reading printed thoughts on paper appear be in self-argument
Truth is I’m past tired of being that nice individual screwed over.
Inspirational quotes about who is responsible for your happiness – ‘you’.
I certainly hope Testy Tuesday is less aggravating than Motivational Monday.
Awake 2:22 a.m.
Twice month February
Next occurrence TUEsday 2-22-22
Laptop, chair cup tea
Lack of inspiration thee
Let someone down, me
Instead stare screen semi-trance
Insult dawn last straw
Each day new burden
Every choice uncertain
Eh, no gain force writes
Above penned in combo ‘ABC’ and ‘Tanka’ poetry styles.
The word spelled out is ‘lie’.
I often wonder if blogging is therapeutic or waste of precious time.
Although fairly intelligent, a person with common-sense, until the
Lord calls me home it’s doubtful I’ll ever understand certain behavioral
patterns of humans.