by | Dec 6, 2011 | 2 comments

You were born on the seventeenth of December.

We married on the seventeenth of July.

Our daughter conceived on a seventeen.

Today you have been dead for seventeen months.  Inconceivable to me.

This morning on our little wooden block perpetual calendar in the kitchen, I skip the day- turning to seven rather than six.

My intentions were for a natural childbirth…but after two cab rides from Brooklyn to the hospital in Manhattan, only to find I’d have to labor on a gurney between two curtains in triage because there was no open room for me in L&D, the nurse told me I should consider getting an IV.  “It’ll give you the energy you need to keep laboring- perk you up.”  Laboring for over fifteen hours already- mostly on my hands and knees- in our apartment, on the concrete sidewalk while we waited for the cab, in the cab, and on the gurney between the little curtains, something to perk me up sounded appealing.  I got the IV.

Strange as it may seem, since I’ve made it this far, for the first time in seventeen months, I feel things coming undone.  I sit on the kitchen floor in the late afternoon trying to summon the energy to make dinner.  I think to myself yesterday while sitting there, what I need right now is an IV.  Something to go directly into my veins.  Something to help me keep laboring…


December 6, 2011


  1. Anonymous

    You always seem able to put into words my life. I have sent your blog to my family and a few friends so that they might catch a glimpse of what my world looks like. The unfortunate part is that it seems when everyone around me seems to move on and seems to hope I am "getting better" is when I was just beginning the most exhausting time period. My husband died on the 17th of December. Almost 2 years ago. And some days I'm still shocked that he is dead. Wishing you strength and sleep and good people around to help you.

  2. Anonymous

    When you are on the kitchen floor, he sees you. He is with you. He can't tell you or show you but he is. Try to think of how he'd want you to live today. He would want nothing but for you to smile because that's the kind of guy he was. Always wanted everyone to smile.

    Try to smile for him. he'd want it that


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