In May of this year, Eirian was due to be born. It is hard to wrap my brain and heart around the fact that my eldest should be a month old and in my arms right now. But she isn’t. Her heart stopped beating for unknown reasons and I never got meet her. Aaron never got to meet her.

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Trapped by Grief

Posted: March 10, 2020 in Musings
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Broken seashells next to a rock

I don’t know that I will ever be able to look at pregnancy the same way again. 

I remember when I looked forward to getting pregnant, having a family. It isn’t that I don’t want any of those things anymore, but now… now I am afraid.

I am afraid. 

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Metal tube wind chimes with wooden pedant that says Eirian Avia 2019

Chimes tinkle outside of my patio door. Every time the wind makes them chime, tears come to my eyes. Tears of grief. Tears of longing. Tears of love. Tears of memory.

I have been attempting to write something for, to, about Eirian Avia since October. I have started and stopped, started again and failed. Each time I sit down to write about Eirian, tears flow freely, obscuring my vision. I just want to curl up in a ball and wail.

But it is important that I write. That I tell the world about Eirian before the year is done. That I start talking about this important person, because the conversation will be continuing for the rest of my life.

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Photos do not tell the entire story. Videos do not tell an entire story. Eye witnesses ALSO don’t tell an entire story. They. Just. CAN’T. You know why?

Because a photo catches a moment in time that is open to interpretation, depending on a person’s background and knowledge. Oh, and can be edited. And guess what? Captions also colour the viewer’s perception.

A video catches a longer moment in time, but it also has a limited view, and cannot capture the entire story either. A video can also be interpreted differently depending on a person’s background. Don’t forget editing. And the caption thing is still relevant.

Eye witnesses see things differently from each other. Literally. They have different physical point of views. They have different memory retention, different things they focused on during an incident. Or game. Or show. And guess what? Their life events can colour how they perceive what they see. Oh, and the editing is actually still a thing. And lying… or even simply mistaking something. Know what else can? Captions in the form of people yelling: “MOOSE!” “RAPE!” “SALE!!” “POLICE BRUTALITY!” “HUGH JACKMAN!” “THIEF!” “KITTY!” “FIRE!” You hear those words, you EXPECT to see what has been yelled out. You look for it.

A video has recently hit social media. The guy videoing it claimed was local police brutality. I watched the video. Read the rest of this entry »

My Addiction

Posted: February 12, 2017 in Musings
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I pulled my car into the parking lot and parked in the first open space I spotted. I turned off my car and took a moment to gather myself. With a sigh, I grabbed my satchel and climbed out of my car. As I strode away,  I armed my car alarm and worked on arming myself. I consciously adjusted my posture; shoulders back, head high, stride long and confident. It was time to engage in battle.

I walked through the two sets of glass double doors and entered a large room filled with shelves containing thousands of books. The books came from all over the land and covered innumberable topics. I kept my gaze focused forward with an effort. I was on a mission.

I had made it halfway through the room, when I found myself coming to a stumbling halt. I could feel myself being pulled in multiple directions, silent voices calling out to me; teasing, taunting, begging, pleading. Read the rest of this entry »

It was a suckerpunch to my gut. I couldn’t breath. Tears streamed down my face as I fought to get air into my lungs. Just as I felt like I could stand up straight again, I was hit in the face. Twice. Not hard hits, just slaps, but they were hard enough to make my eyes blur. I ducked and covered my face, waiting for more hits. 

Just as I raised my head, two more hits were sent my way; jab, uppercut. They connected solidly, sending me to the ground. I curled up as kicks started to hit my back and legs. I couldn’t do anything except to try to protect myself and cry in pain. The kicking stopped, but I stayed curled up in a tight ball, afraid they would start up again.

A little time went by, and no more strikes were delivered. I slowly started to uncurl and stuggle to a standing position. Just as I had reached my hands and knees, a blow out of nowhere hit me in the kidney, felling me back to the ground. I screamed out in pain and shock. This one hurt almost worse than all the other hits combined. 

I was left alone after that. I could hear the retreating footsteps of my last attacker as she walked away. When I could move and breathe, I slowly levered myself up into a painful sitting position, tears continuing to stream down my face. I rested my head against the wall behind me and started to sob. 

I fought to supress the tears. I fought to gain mastery of the pain. I fought for control. I slowly managed to pull myself into a standing position, leaning heavily against the rough wall behind me. My head hung low, filled with noise and static. I took a tentative step forward, only to fall back against the wall. I tried again and again, with the same results. Breathing heavily, I held myself propped up against the wall with one hand.

Suddenly, I was filled with a potent mix of anger and abject despair. Without truly realizing what I was doing, I found myself hitting my fists against the wall and yelling. Screaming wordless cries of pain, sorrow, and anger. I cried for help. I had tried so hard, but I had been beaten up, broken down. The pain in my fists started to filter through; what little strength I had left gave, and I collapsed into a sobbing heap.

I froze when a hand rested on my head. I held myself still, unwilling to even breath. A soft voice started to speak. It told me what it had seen, not only in the past events, but what it had seen of me and my strength. It wasn’t a voice that gave empty platitudes or even efforts of comfort, but told the truth as it saw it. I still cried, but slowly the tears changed from tears of pain to tears of release; of letting go. 

Peace started to settle over me, a healing balm over my broken soul and body. This voice believed in me and saw me as an example for others. While I was broken now, I was seen as a strong fighter. It told me that I would get up and continue. That I would cover for the blows that were still yet to come, but I would be prepared for them and able to block, able to discern where they were aimed and the strength behind them.  I felt an arm go around me and help me stand to my feet. Once I was sure to stay upright, the arm retreated, but a hand stayed on my back- a gentle encouragement forward and to stand tall. 

I took a step forward, hesitant. But I took a step forward. Slowly, I started moving again; one foot at a time. I had been beaten up and broken down, but I wasn’t finished. I still had some strenth in me, some fight. I would heal from the wounds dealt me, I would learn lessons from the strikes delivered. The pain would disapate, while a greater strength would result.

The solid thunk of fist hitting bag was satisfying. I force myself to throw my punches much slower and with less force than I really want to. One, two. One, two. I can hear Aaron in my head: Breathe. Keep hands up. One, two. One, two. Aaron keeps chiming in: Breathe. Stay on the balls of your feet! Center and lower your weight! One, two. Focus on technique, not force.

I really should have done more than just wrapped my hands. At least the grappling gloves, to protect my knuckles. I just have an easier time pacing myself if I have to be more aware of potentially hurting myself. At least I made myself wrap my hands. I was impatient to get to the bag. Read the rest of this entry »

Title: The Quiet Man
Writer: Frank S. Nugent
Director: John Ford
Actors: John Wayne, Maureen O’Hara, Barry Fitzgerald, Ward Bond, and Victor McLaglen
Year: 1952

Story: An American boxer moves back to Ireland, the land of his birth, where he falls in love with a fiery, redheaded lass. Read the rest of this entry »

Title: Wait Until Dark
Writer: Robert Carrington and Jane-Howard Carrington
Director: Terence Young
Actors: Audrey Hepburn, Alan Arkin, Richard Crenna, Jack Weston, Efrem Zimbalist Jr., and Julia Herrod
Year: 1967

Story: A blind woman is terrorized by three criminals as they search for a drug-filled doll. Read the rest of this entry »

Title: Anatomy of a Murder
Writer: Wendell Mayes
Director: Otto Preminger
Actors: James Stewart, Lee Remick, Ben Gazzara, Arthur O’Connell, Eve Areden, Kathryn Grant, and George C. Scott
Year: 1959

Story: A small-town lawyer is called on to defend an army lieutenant who shot his wife’s rapist. Read the rest of this entry »