I can remember the first time I said it.
It was just days after we brought him home from the hospital.
I was standing at the makeshift changing table finishing up a diaper change.
And he was crying.
I picked him up and snuggled him close into my heart.
And, to my deepest surprise, I said it.
The words I never thought I’d say.
From some very well meaning place, engrained deep inside my unconscious, the words bubbled up without me even thinking.
“Oh Baba, don’t cry.”
And, in that moment I experienced for the first time, the dreaded mom-guilt.
Holy, $h!t. I can’t believe I just said that.
ERASE. ERASE!
“I’m so sorry, sweet boy. Mama didn’t mean that.”
“Let it out sweet boy. I hear you and I’m here for you - no matter what”

And, that moment, I made 2 vows.

One to him.

And, one to me.

To him, I vowed, I would do my best to never, ever say that again.
I mean, I wrote the book on this stuff.
Crying is a perfectly...

There have been a couple times in my life when sleep was an issue:

• Now (but I blame that on baby).  ;)
• And, the times when I was grieving.

When Benito died, I can remember laying in bed for nights on end - not knowing when the last time I actually slept was. 

I can remember laying there in a tight little ball crying in the dark stillness of the night - feeling all alone and like the pain was never ever going to end.

When my mom died, 13 months later, I can remember crying myself to sleep for hours thinking of him - and feeling guilty that I wasn’t thinking of her...

My point is, when your grieving, sleep can be really, really hard.

Here’s a simple tool, that will make it easier: 

• Roll your tongue - inhale through the rolled tongue.
• If this is genetically impossible for you, purse your lips as though your breathing through a straw - inhale through the pursed lips.
• Exhale through your nose.
• Repeat for 1-3 minutes. Or until you fall asleep.

...

remember my first Valentine’s Day after he died.
I was living with my dad - cause that’s what you do when you become a widow at 24 and you’ve used up all your money (and then some) on living expenses when he was sick.
I tried not to think about it all day and stayed home in my pj’s - in my bedroom.
But when my dad came home from work he brought me a single red rose.
He gave it to me in the kitchen - when I came out of hiding for a glass of water.
A sweet gesture of fatherly love.
And, I lost it. I mean completely lost it.
I fell into my daddy’s arms and sobbed uncontrollably.
Poor guy - a natural stoic with a sensitive heart - probably didn’t know what hit him.
He held me. And, he didn’t say anything.
At the time, I kinda wished he did because I wanted out of my pain.
I wanted someone to change the subject.
To make a joke.
Something.
But he just stood there holding me while I cried uncontrollably into his shoulder.
Even though this is an...

Since having my baby, I've been living with Postpartum Anxiety which I believe has been exacerbated by my past experience with loss.

It's bad enough that find myself dreaming up all the ways that my baby might die. It's even worse that I have the past experience (and client experience) to tell me that it's actually a real possibility.

It has been perhaps the most challenging time of my life - and that's saying a lot! ;)

On the bright side -as my husband always says, I have the tools to manage my symptoms when they come up and the wisdom to know that just because I have anxiety doesn't mean I can't also have inner peace as it is the dark and the light that make the whole.

Here is one of my favourite tools for managing anxiety:

• I move into Child's Pose (or the Fetal Position). These postures are known to calm the nervous system as long as they feel good in the body. If it doesn’t feel good physically, I adjust until it does.
• I take deep and even breaths in and out through my...

When my mom died, she was missing for several days.
The waiting game became more and more agonizing with each passing moment.
The past 2 days in Santa Barbara, I’ve been transported back there.
Grief is like that.
A spiral that continues to reveal itself even as the years go by.
Each time a search helicopter flies overhead (which has been non-stop)...
I feel it.
How it feels to wait.
Wanting so badly for the phone to ring.
Willing it to ring.
But when the phone actually does ring, wishing it wasn’t ringing.
Terrified of what might be revealed.
I feel my fingers shaking and my halted deep breaths as I answer.
And my disappointment - when it’s someone else.
And also my deep relief - when it’s someone else - because I’m not ready to know.

And, I think of you.
Those who are waiting.
And, those who have received the call.
And with each helicopter that flies overhead (which has been non-stop)...
I say a prayer.
I send love and light from that place deep inside...