Miscarriage

It’s not a word that I ever thought would become part of me. There are lots of other words that I had readily accepted as part of my life: death, grief, cancer, failure, pain. Words that fill us with dread. But miscarriage isn’t one I saw becoming part of my landscape, part of my history. Part of me.

And it’s a part of me that is being lost. Right now. Waves of pain crash into an emptying void where, just three days ago, bright hopes lay. I cannot sleep and so I write this.

Utter hopelessness was my first reaction. I am a doer. When the doctor shook her head and said “Oh dear” I wanted there to be something I could do. But there wasn’t, and there isn’t and so I am losing this little life, living through this process as nature decides and my body responds.

I am OK with that decision. Nature has its reasons and I understand that it is for the best. But it is a decision of such sorrow. It is a decision where light and laughter and fun and wild times of a growing family are snatched away before you had the chance to see them properly. It is a decision which is an aggressive attack on me as a woman; a decision which rips out what it means to be female. I can no longer nurture or protect that little life as I should.  

And it is a decision I have no answers to. There can be no whys because there are no answers.

Just silence.

So we hold hands and we savour every drop of our beautiful young son, so full of life and love and curiosity and mayhem that being with him you can forget, just for a minute, the dark hole of loss happening right now. We are lucky to have him. We are grateful that he came first, before this, so that we know the possibilities when nature is on our side.

And we wait. We wait for the storm to pass and peace to descend. We know it will, eventually, after the swells of sadness. And then the sun will rise over tranquil waters and we will keep sailing forwards. Together.

Because that is all you can do.

I have had lots of love and support from friends and family for which I am extremely grateful. Also, reading the information here has helped tremendously:  http://www.miscarriageassociation.org.uk/

Flash fiction - Patience

This week over at Julia's Place we've got a prompt which we're not allowed to use in our writing, but our piece has to signify it. That word is HARVEST. I was inspired by the many fields around where I live. Surely I am going to see this perfectly yellow sweetcorn in the local shops soon? Please..?

Patience

The sun burnt everything at the edges, sharpening nature’s outline. September with its autumn promise was trying to dull the effect, coating silhouettes in its brown hues, bordering fields in softer yellows. This way, the villagers would know it was time for their last days in the field. They always enjoyed the last crop: sweeter, full of summer. 


Millan ran along the rows of corn; she couldn’t smell it yet. Her father was impatient, but he would have to wait. It would be worth it. Her bare arms brushed her family’s income as she ran shouting, “Not yet! Not yet!”

100 words

Check out more writing at the 100WCGU by clicking below

Flash fiction - Circles

This weekend's Trifextra challenge has taken a huge swing up The Happy, Hopeful Hill. Hoorah! 

The photo below is our inspiration and you can read my 33-word effort underneath. Click on the photo to read more entries and be sure to comment and vote - there's some wicked (as in brilliant) imaginations and writing over there. There's also a great 2-minute video showing the passing year. The photo is a compilation by Eirik Solheim of different days throughout the year, taken at the same location in Oslo, Norway. Enjoy!

Circles

Every moment before birth; trees smile, the sun winks, leaves cavort. They may rest, but they always return. Daily, monthly, yearly… Life is a rainbow. Open your eyes; you will be reborn, too. 

Flash fiction - Survival

Survival

Gripped by the terror encircling, he cried out one last time. The harrowing silence fell on pointed ears. He sat, limbs curled underneath him; frozen by history and the blinding winter. Old Grey smelt the end.

The cave provided time to think about his next move. He admired the pine trees, like statues ladled with snow. The birds had long gone. And they? Why had he stayed? Pride? His ancient love of living at the edge of life. Major had warned him. But then, Old Grey had always won. Until now.

The forest stretched out before him, his land of battles: for territory, for love, for his family, for his past and their future. The endless winters had broken into summers full of promise, but they now dwindled to nothing. Everything was on the move, and yet… they had remained.

But so had Red. Old Grey pictured those crimson eyes searching the forest’s dark purple corners.  He had to finish this before everything he had survived was lost forever. Red was stronger now, and quicker. Red’s time was soon.

But Old Grey knew parts Red didn’t. He knew holes and ravines and fallen branches that Red still had to find. He stood stiffly and sniffed the air. Trapped bugs, leaves hung with winter’s ice, and forgotten human footprints filled his senses. He closed his eyes.

Little Grey was safe. For now. But he would have to be moved before the next snowfall. Old Grey hated to use the word home, but this is what his horizon was. Major had wanted him to look further. He couldn’t grasp it then. He saw it now. Maj. Remembering her again swiped his breath from his lungs. He opened his eyes and looked out, barely able to face the journey ahead without her.

There was a twinkle in the distance, then two. He might have to say goodbye sooner than he wanted, but he could still save his last son.

He padded out gently into the woods.

The word we had to include was GRASP: its third meaning is to lay hold of within the mind, COMPREHEND.

There's more writing to enjoy; click on the Trifecta icon above. Comments welcome, reads appreciated! 

You don't know what you've got...

... until it's gone. Ah, the power of hindsight. Does it always lead to regret? I hope not.

My husband and I are not living where we would like to be right now. We're waiting - for that chance, a move, a decision that works in our favour, an opportunity to grab and run away with, a new place, a new start. We've been waiting for a while. It's hard. We are impatient to live our own lives, do our own things, make our own choices, and our own mistakes.

We are living in Norfolk, in the town I grew up. It was an idyllic childhood, full of playing on the beach and in fields; long bike rides, lots of sport, camping. I would sit on the cliff top with friends, eating chocolate and gossipping until it was time to go home. No one worried about us. We would always be home.

You only notice these things when you live away, in big, bad cities around the world. But then those bustling places have also shown you theatre, music, food, the buzz and spontaneity of the city. You've learnt to be free and anonymous and go where the night takes you; you've also learnt to keep an eye out.

But wherever I've lived, I've learnt to appreciate what it gives me: The warm people of Liverpool; the sea outside my flat in Hunstanton; the natural beauty of Iguazu Falls in Brazil, the endless incredible sunsets and sunrises on the road; the ' buena onda'* in Buenos Aires; the choice in London. That's not to say that Liverpool, Hunstanton, Brazil, the road, Buenos Aires and London don't all have their disadvantages - they do - but you have to see the positive; see the adventure.

That's why over the last couple of weeks, Martín and I have been capturing moments that we know we wouldn't be able to have were it not for the fact we are currently living here. Knowing that, it's going to make hindsight all the more sweeter. Here are a few I wanted to share:

Having time to play with my camera

Taking a walk on North Norfolk's most stunning beach

Birthday parties with the dog

Late spring walks in the woods 

Old friends, same place

Bike rides along the routes of my youth

Cooking competitions

Making my parents do random things like Eater Egg Hunts

* 'Buena Onda' is a phrase in Argentina that embodies positive energy, good vibes and fun.  

The bird and the golden egg: Yasuní ITT Initiative

I am a small, but incredibly beautiful hen, sitting in the middle of the world. In fact, I am a one-off. My feathers are all the shades of all the colours in the world. I sing like no other bird. If I leave, you will never get me back. I am the ancient past; I am the beautiful present and; still sitting here, I am the prosperous future. 

And I'm sitting on a golden egg. This golden egg can heat your food and move things around your world. It can get you from A to B and back again. It can keep you warm.

The trouble is, my golden egg isn't actually very good for your world. It makes it cough and splutter. It makes it less green. But people clamour for it and pay more and more for it. Someone's recently counted and there are less and less golden eggs in the world. Other, different birds, sit on those golden eggs: stubbornly they do so, but only because they, too, are unique. If we all left, your world would look very different. We are protecting it - protecting ourselves.

Yet people still want my golden egg. It's worth a awful lot to a huge amount of people. But others prefer me: they prefer beauty, nature, history and peace. These people are doing all they can to keep me in place, sitting on my golden egg. Let the golden egg be, they say. The bird, our bird, is so much more important. Without it, our world is less.

Less pure. Less pure for everyone, not just those who get to live, work and marvel at me all day. Those that live and work around me: some have been here for a very long time. Others are newcomers. They see me and coo at how different, full of wonder I am. Then they stay. They want to protect me and keep me shiny and my birdsong loud and clear. 

But there are other noises and others who dirty me to get to my golden egg. They push under my belly and into my feathers. I sit tight, I squeeze down. The helpers tie ropes to me to keep me in place. Without them, already I might not still exist.

But they too need help. Having a golden egg is a Catch-22. They don't want to use it, but... it's a golden egg. It's worth a lot. And around me there are people with nothing. The golden egg could provide more, so much more.

What's more important? Everyone must decide for themselves. As the bird, I say keep me. You will never get me back. Your children and your grandchildren and your great grandchildren will never know me as I am today - mostly in tact. But if I stay, if all us birds can stay put on top of our golden eggs, we will give you a future: a green future full of birdsong, whale cries and the sounds of all animals, from polar bears to tapirs.

And yourselves included.


For more information on Yasuní National Park and the Yasuní ITT Initiative or to donate visit:

http://yasuni-itt.gob.ec/inicio.aspx
http://newswatch.nationalgeographic.com/2012/12/26/science-in-yasuni-sheds-light-on-impacts-of-oil-development-in-amazon/
http://mptf.undp.org/yasuni