An Rud A Lionas An Tsuil Lionann Se An Croi

As soon as the doctor walked through the door I knew I was in for bad news. He made that face, the aggressive teeth-showing frown that people usually wear when witnessing something revolting. The face that is generally followed by the sound of breath being sharply inhaled through the bared teeth. Then, the final nail in the coffin, the slow head shake. "Is it bad, doc?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. My palms were sweating like crazy, my fingers twisted together like they did when I was a kid and I was trying to work out how my uncle did that thing where it looked like he had one, long continuous finger wriggling through the palms of his hands. "Yeah," the doctor finally exhaled, his eyes lowered towards the chart resting on top of his tablet. I tried to sneak a look at it, but the numbers and acronyms, the results of my blood test, meant nothing to me. "It's ok," I assured him. "Just tell me." He nodded very slowly for se

My husband & a couple others dug the hole. Not the standard six feet. Only three or so. Wide & long enough for the small coffin, with plenty of room to spare.  Before our priest came I stood & looked down at the grave, at the stone we had placed at its head. It sits under a tree that was sent to us from Oklahoma by the father of a dear friend of ours. He passed away only a few months after we received the tree. We weren't sure how it would fare in our climate, but it's so far survived two New England winters. It seemed like an appropriate spot for our little one, the child that will never grow under the tree that grows against the odds. As I stared into the hole I felt suddenly self-conscious. Silly, even. All of this for a child who was only the size of a raspberry. But it didn't matter, not to me, how big or little she had been. Or if she had even been a she. I had carried her for more than 12 weeks; the first eight weeks alive, the next several for as

I never thought I'd be sad to put my maternity clothes away. Usually, by the time I do, I'm so sick of wearing them that I don't want to even see them for at least another year or so. Usually when I put them away there's a newborn baby keeping me company. Not this time. After three babies my body & muscles just knew what to do; they softened & gave way to my expanding uterus, making room for the tiny life growing inside. The bump appeared much sooner than it had before that I wondered if I might be carrying twins, & hoped that wasn't the case. Just thinking of having two babies gave me anxiety - thinking of how that would stretch my body, what it would mean if I tried to breastfeed both of them, thinking of having to buy another car seat & crib. But that wasn't the case. By the time I had my first appointment to go over my medical history, get weighed, have my urine checked the baby, the single baby, was already gone, unbeknownst to me. Par

I have this newspaper from college that I've held on to for the last 12 years. Though I haven't looked at it in a long time I know it's there, in a box of mementos from my four years of college. The paper was printed shortly after the Virginia Tech shootings. It wasn't that particular event that made me keep the paper, but the article that it contained, about all of the tragedies my generation had grown up with. At the time the article was written the emphasis was on the most recent tragedy, the shooting at Virginia Tech that resulted in 33 deaths; September 11th; & Columbine. I was ten, almost eleven, when Columbine happened. Before that there were a few events I remember seeing on the news or hearing about while catching snippets of adult conversation. The LA riots, the OJ Simpson case, the invasion of Kuwait. I was so young when these things happened that of course, at the time, I didn't understand them, but I do remember the images - the car chase, the bro

Is there a song that, no matter how many times you hear it, always gives you goosebumps? For me that song is "The Bells of Notre Dame" from Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Yes, I'm serious. Earlier this week, on Palm Sunday, my family & I were taking a drive. Our car is an '08 & doesn't have an AUX port, but does have a disc changer so we often resort to listening to a variety of CDs while driving. And, naturally, there is always at least one Disney CD in the mix. That song came on & by the end of it my legs were visibly covered in goosebumps. It made me wonder why that happens: why do we get goosebumps when we hear certain pieces of music? The thought occupied my mind for a bit, but I never came to any conclusions & I resisted the urge to Google it & fall into a Wikipedia blackhole of information on biological reactions to external stimuli. And then I saw the news yesterday about THE Notre Dame. It broke my heart to see those

Whilst scrolling mindlessly through my Instagram feed yesterday I came across an advertisement for a neat gadget: the Astrohaus Freewrite . It reminded me, at first glance, of those little toy "computers" that were all the rage when I was growing up. Laptops for kids, with a teeny-tiny screen, a keyboard, & access to so-called educational games. In one promo video for the Freewrite a couple of the creators are featured, talking about their invention. It doesn't seem coincidental to me that these men, who looked to be in their 30s, probably grew up with those same Vtech laptops. Though the design is pretty sleek & basic and boasts a keyboard that is far more familiar to those of us that grew up learning how to type on desktops instead of laptops, what caught my eye was the advertised purpose of the device: to provide writers with a "distraction free" writing tool. It can connect to WiFi so that projects are uploaded to the cloud, but aside from that the

Hey, Thyroid. We've been through a lot together, you & me. For some twenty-five years things were pretty good. You formed when I was about 12 weeks old gestationally & did what you needed to do - helped me breathe once I was born, kept my heart at a steady rate, helped my body maintain a comfortable temperature, kept my weight where it needed to be, & eventually kept my periods regular (which was super awesome, by the way). But then...you changed, Thyroid. I don't know if you were jealous of my new appreciation for the other parts of my body after having a baby. Maybe you felt neglected, like I all of a sudden was more awed by my reproductive organs than I was by you & the rest of the endocrine gals. But, if I'm being totally honest, I had never given you any thought before. I took you granted, Thyroid, & for that I am truly sorry. But the way you behaved after my oldest was born was pretty extreme. I guess I just got sick & tired of being, w

I used to work in a toy store in my hometown. It was an awesome job, a job I really loved, & due to the nature of it I interacted with many, many people. Some customers came in regularly enough that I was able to get to know them past the usual pleasantries. One customer that I had a real affection for was a woman named Kate. Kate is the mother of someone I went to high school with, always had a great big smile on her face, & had a distinct & cheerful way of speaking. She is also blind. Helping her always took a little bit more time than the usual amount I would spend with the average customer, but I never minded. She was so kind & appreciative that she often made me feel as though I was performing some Herculean task by helping her pick out a toy. But, and as corny as it sounds, she was providing me with a greater service - allowing me time to appreciate all the fun things we sold the way she was able to, with my hands. I'd describe toys to her as she felt them

It has been a trying winter. Sickness after sickness has plagued our household - stomach bugs, colds, everlasting coughs, pneumonia. With all of this has come sleepless nights, & with that has come two tired parents. It's not a great combination: overtired parents & sick kids. Or, really, overtired parents & kids, period. Suffice it to say, we're running low on patience these days.  Yesterday we managed to make it to Mass only ten minutes late, which means we didn't miss any of the readings (#winning). While we were settling in at the very back of the church with our coughing, sniffling brood we tried our best to be as non-disruptive as possible. In hindsight we did pretty well, considering how miserable everyone was, & got through the first two readings without incident. As we stood up to hear the Gospel, my oldest accidentally knocked over one of the missalettes, sending it down to the floor with an audible thud. My husband shot him a look & op