heart of gold

heart of gold

In 1991, I was a twitching gaggle of nervous energy. My skin was made of sandpaper, it chafed that much to be inside it. I clung like a limpet to anyone that struck me as confident. I studied them, mystified. How do we ever find ourselves? I don't know. But we do. Right around the time that fate begins to settle itself upon us and our peers like a sucker punch. I needed to be sucker-punched.

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on the benefits of a lego neptune sub and other matters of life and death

on the benefits of a lego neptune sub and other matters of life and death

He was only two. The NICU had nothing to offer for tasmanian devils and steam engines. And so we always said 'When he's ready' which is parental code for 'I don't know how to go there yet.' And so it was randomly, through bedtime gloom, Ben already purring softly in sleep, when Evan proposed the Atlantis route, and when we settled on our answer.

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birthday/unbirthday

birthday/unbirthday

He wandered around all day today with his pants undone. I snapped them together ten times. He'd retreat to a corner to unsnap so that he could walk around with his belly lolling out. It was one of those sights, vertigo-inducing. The crayola, the crumbs, the chub that clings to his fingers. It's altogether too much, when love is sparked from a place like May of 2007. I wonder if I'll ever just see an undone button. For his sake, I hope so. For Liam's sake, I hope not. 

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tangle

tangle

They lived for four days, the beginnings of down and feathers taking root. After, mama bird dropped their bodies out of the nest, meticulous. We buried them. That was disturbing. I cried in the porch. Why did I need them to live? It's all so expected I almost can't bear to write about it for how contrived and trite it must seem. That I'm compelled to say this is not a device leads me to believe you'll think it is anyway. I can't find the shape of what it meant. Since then I've been transplanting grief.

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three years ago, twelve days left

three years ago, twelve days left

Evan is a blur, running wild, he and his posse hunting and chasing and begging for berries. Ben sits neatly on a boulder with a chocolate cupcake, and we stand in a circle of parents who are our friends. There are fiddles and hot morning drinks and a man yells solicitously about smoked ham on baguette. They smile and laugh, arms full of green and goodness, and suddenly I can feel it stirring, that mean wind that would chill you from bone to skin.

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see the shadows as they creep like vines

see the shadows as they creep like vines

I'm sorry. I feel like a terrible fraud for all this, for the writing here. It's not that it was contrived. I felt all these words, but tonight they make me cringe. They're saccharine and slippery and unfamiliar. I am insufferable and embarrassed. I might have made you think I have some faith, or convictions, or certainty. Or at least an ability to drum up enough colour to self-generate. I don't.

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fielding love: the walk to remember

fielding love: the walk to remember

I pity myself for having had to go through that, for having to bear the memory of what happened to him. I pity my son for having been in pain. For never getting to taste chocolate chip cookies or sail on the ocean or get sand between his toes or fly in a plane across the world or read a book. He is gone, but I still want him. I made him. Just as he was, just as he is. I am Liam’s mother. What an honour.

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