At the kitchen table: introductions and an invitation

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At the kitchen table: introductions and an invitation

It’s our turn now to set the table, put the tea and coffee on, and invite you to pull up a chair. At this kitchen table, you can tell your story if you want, or just listen. Here, your grief is welcome, in all its variations, its beauty and ugliness, love and anger, hope and bitterness. Here, you’re not alone. We’re so glad you found us.

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The reins

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The reins

I founded Glow in the Woods in spring 2008, one year almost to the day after my son Liam died in the NICU after six weeks of love, longing, and agony. I spent the next ten years assembling many talented writers to build the community here at Glow, and writing Notes for the Everlost, which came out in Fall 2018. All these years later, emails like Christine’s — and all the writing here, all your stories — still make me cry. But not in a sad way, oddly. It’s just a repeated humbling, a circular sharing of love and company with other parents who understand.

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On recordkeeping

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On recordkeeping

This here is a record. A record in time. December 2, 2019. Two thousand eight hundred and eighty-one days after I stepped away from that blinking cursor and a soon-to-be past life, one hand on my belly, willing her to move. I cue up the interview recording again. A moment where we are both laughing raucously at something only a bereaved mother a certain distance out can laugh at. And then we are serious again. We say his name. We say her name. We’re creating a record, carrying it forward, together.

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Searching for my son

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Searching for my son

After Patrick’s death, my world collapsed. I went from seeing his care team every day, to not at all. They looked after The Living Babies, and I had now been transferred to the Dead Baby Department. As wonderful as these new people were, I felt like an appointment in a calendar. I had lost the day-to-day banter of the ward. A person was now required to contact me on a certain day to ask pre-prepared questions about my feelings. They had never met my child, yet the ones that had, were now lost to me. My life was now static. I’d lost my people. My house was empty. My baby was dead.

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