EE

I have another gmail account, a personal one that I've started using regularly, and so I stay signed into gmail all the time. To post here (or to comment), I have to re-sign in with my Which Box account, which is why I haven't done any posting or commenting, though I am still reading and thinking of the friends of Which Box.

I've found myself in near tears several times yesterday and today, and it's because of the passing of Elizabeth Edwards. She was many things to many people, and certainly by all acounts a very special woman. My kinship with her was of course over surviving infidelity. I have hated those political commentators who reduced it all to simple terms - why didn't she-? why did she-? When did she know and what did she know and how did she know and why didn't she know and this and that and blather blather blather. The simple truth is this: No one outside of the two people in a relationship can profess to know the details of that relationship. And even then, all too often the two people don't have the same understanding, either.

I have been trying to think of what I might write, and I saw Tash had a post up and went there first, and once again I am reduced to tears. Please read it, if you haven't already. I was a very active blogger in 2007, so I don't know how I missed the original post, and I am sorry I did.

Elizabeth Edwards was a remarkable human being. The world is poorer for this loss.

oh.....hello

Well. It's been a while. Don't mind me, just puttering around here, doing a little tidying, picking up. When you leave unexpectedly, there's always a lot left undone.

I didn't intend to be gone so long. But when you go away, and stay away, it gets harder and harder to come back. I read everyone regularly for a long while, but then that slowed. Now I make the rounds every two weeks or so, leaving no comments. So I've missed a lot, and I'm sorry I haven't commented. I have grieved, and rejoiced, with you all. I have. The blogsphere has continued without me - marriages, pregnancies, babies, losses. New blogs, goodbyes. It all continues.

Me? Thanks for asking. I've had my ups and downs.

I was feeling a little sad and unsettled earlier this week and couldn't figure out why. My anniversary is Saturday, but upon reflection, that wasn't bothering me. I was surprised, though, that I had to remember that today, August 5, is a Date. A Milestone. Don't misunderstand me - I have the most perfect 20 month old son, and I a grateful for him every day. I love him with all my heart and he is a joy. And he would not be here if his older brother had been born three years ago today, or more likely a few days later. And I rarely think of him, or the pregnancy, and he's never talked about. And that is, for the most part, ok. But that doesn't mean that I don't miss him, or what might have been in another lifetime or parallel universe. That is not my universe, and that is mostly ok. Not entirely ok, but given all I have today, it.....well. It is what it is. It's my past, and even though it is not my present, or my future, it is there. So unsettled, this week, should not surprise me, but yet it managed to sneak up on me.

I don't know if I am back. But I needed, today, to open the windows and let some air in and get the musty smell out. I'll close it back up, slightly more carefully this time, and consider what happens to this space.

Take care.

a different sort of loss

So, shaken from my blahs by a bit of bad news. My daughter's best friend lives a few houses down. She is adopted, with two father (a gay couple).

I know that about 18 months ago, this couple tried to adopt another baby, but it fell through. No specifics. We haven't been too close with this family. We each have nannies, and the nannies are great friends, so our children play together. And we've been friendly with the other parents, but we each have our own lives and friends and it's only been in the past year or so - as weekend playdates and dance class and birthday parties and things have developed - that we've gotten to know them.

They have been excitedly preparing to adopt another baby for the past few months. It all seemed on track. The single mother had another child, became pregnant, and decided the adoption route because she wanted to go back to school and move on with her life. She is older, nearly 30, and seemed very set and mature in her decision, with a supportive family. There was lots of communication with my neighbors, the intended adoptive parents. It seemed good.

The neighbors had been kept in the loop as the due date drew near. The neighbors, including their 4 year old daughter, flew out for the birth on Sunday. They - including again the 4 year old - spent two days in the hospital with the baby and the birth mother and all was fine.

And today, they went to pick up the baby as everyone was discharged from the hospital. This is the separation point. The birth mother goes home, the adoptive parents take the baby to the hotel, a few more days of paperwork processing and they were heading home on the weekend.

The birth mother decided to keep the baby. She refused to meet with the intended adoptive parents. And that's it. That's all there is. A sucker punch to the gut.

Just got an e-mail from one of the dads, who asked that we explain this to our daughter before they get home tomorrow. He forwarded the explanatory e-mail the other dad wrote, which had a few details and asked everyone for understanding as they worked through this tough time.

I quickly wrote back how sorry I was, that I had no words, that we hoped they had safe and easy travels home.

And now what?

I don't think this will have much impact on our daughter. The family across the street just adopted a toddler from overseas, so we have been talking adoption - both the new friend and the new baby to be - but it's been a pretty abstract concept. My daughter, just this weekend, asked about another friend with two dads (this is urban living) and why there was no mommy.

One reason why we haven't made much connection with our neighbors is that they definitely socialize primarily with other gay couples, just as we mostly socialize with other hetero couples. (like with like kind of thing, we have no issues with them, and they have no issues with us).

I feel like I am navigating the shoals of infertility and baby loss from a completely different angle. This is baby loss - they knew this baby as their child for two days. I bet they named this baby. They have a car seat and a nursery set up at home. They expected to bring home a baby. They've lost another adoption. They are biologically infertile as a couple.

They are us, the collective us.

Any thoughts on what you would do for them, say to them, interact with them? I'd imagine they'd like to lay low for a bit. I don't want to gloss over, nor do I want to presume a closer relationship than we have. I don't want ot make it about me, but I keep thinking about writing them a note that says how hard it can be to make a family, that we get that. Do I bring them over a cake, banaa bread, a bottle of wine? Invite them to dinner? Offer to have their daughter over more to give them some time together? Send a card? Write a note? I don't want to say anything stupid - anyone done the gay equivalent of what not to say to someone who's just experienced baby loss? Nor do I want to pretend it never happened. I'd never, for example, hug either of them - we aren't that close. But I do see them so often. I think some sort of gift and a note that says we're so sorry for their loss and are thinking of them. Any thoughts?

Blah

Blah, blahblah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah. blah blah blah blah blah. blahblahblah blah. blahblah blah blah! blahblahblahblah blah blah blah blah blah blahblahblah? blahblah blahblah blahblahblah blahblahblah! blahblahblah blahblahblah, blahblah blah, blahblahblah blahblahblah blahblahblah blahblahblah blah.

blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blahblah blah blah blah blah blah.

Yeah. That's all I got. Don't know why, actually have ideas for writing, but a bad case of the blahs has got me sort of reading, some of the time, but not really. Not stopping blogging, I don't think, but I need a break.

Also! I must e-mail Dora, but I have been carrying the (to me, at least) creepy ten plagues puppets around in my bag, and I WILL get them in the mail this weekend to make Passover. But that's about the only promise I'll make.

What's new in your world? How do you shake the blahs?

from the what the hell files

So the other day I was wandering through Bed Bath and Buy More Stuff when my eye hit upon...finger puppets? For Passover? Depicting the plagues? What the -?

Do people want their children to play with depictions of the plagues? Boils? Locusts? Darkness? Blood? And yes, the death of the first born?

Is this weird and creepy, or am I really ignorant of other's cultural practices? Who buys this?

ETA: Ok, wow. Who knew? Sadly, BB&BMS does not sell them online. My store must be lucky. You can buy them at the Jewish Store for $14, OyToys (great name) for $17.99, or, heck, a bunch of places for prices ranging from $14-$20. You can also buy a box set of toys for each of the plagues from Amazon, though why the first born plague is a nine piece puzzle is not clear. I, uh, had no idea. Although my catholic lenten sacrifice was to stop buying stuff, I have an idea for a giveaway. I'll happily mail one set of puppets to the first person who e-mails me (address at right). A better contest (from someone who receives more comments than I do) would be tell me what plagues you, or something along those lines, but I'll tell you, ever since I was a child, as a first born, the first-born thing - the whole reason for "pass-over" - has really, really scared me. I stay away from plagues.

thawing

First, thanks for sticking with me in my fits and starts. I have about 50 million posts in my head (ok 4 definite ones all thought out) and just no umph to get them out.

Second, NO, my recent bout of minor stomach virus resulted in NO weight loss. Must hope for more vriulent strain next time, I suppose.

So relations with my in-laws continue to thaw. My husband calls there once every ten days or so, and his mother reaches out to him, too, calling or e-mailing or texting about the same.

For Valentine's Day, she sent a huge gift box. My daughter got a goody bag of candy, two fancy spring dresses from Laura Ashley, and an outfit from Gymboree. My son got the same goody bag, two play outfits from Carters, and an outfit from Gymboree.

My mom sent cards to both, with stickers and a $5 bill.

My parents are very thrifty, very frugal, and enjoying their retirement on their own terms. I never worry about their future. His parents are spendthrifts, have declared bankruptcy, have a full mortgaged house, regularly spend more than they take in, vacation in the Caribbean, bought a timeshare, rely upon a pension, eat out frequently, and purchase lavish gifts. Who will take care of them once the money eventually runs out?

So I grew up living within my means, only buying what I could afford (which meant after money was put away for rainy days and future desires). And these gifts kill me. I love shiny new things are much as anyone. I love the dresses and outfits for my daughter. I used to enjoy receiving gifts from them myself. But I know the true costs of those gifts. Not what they cost today, but what they'll cost in the future, either in terms of expectations or family fights once they run out of money and require their children to take care of them. I don't want to pay either price. I don't want my kids to eyeroll at my parent's frugality and prefer big boxes from their other grandparents. I want them to understand value, not cost. I want them not to be swayed by shiny and new.

I think I just have to trust that values will win out. I also have to accept that they will develop their own relationships with each set of grandparents, and that's a good thing.

Just wondering

Is it wrong of me to hope a recent bout of a very minor (thank the lord) stomach virus has left me a few pounds lighter? Been snowed in, cold and stomach virus going through the household, and saw a mouse in the kitchen yesterday. Awesome.

I'll be back. Eventually.

a definite double standard

I realized something after I hit publish on the last post. I dismiss those media accounts of Elizabeth Edwards possibly not being a very nice person. I do pause when I think of her defending him when she knew of the affair but he was still running for President, though I think that charade was also part of her denial/fear/worry/dread/victimhood (still lied to by Edwards)/anger of discovering the affair and not wanting it to be true, wanting to minimize its impact, to save what was her dream, too, of a happy marriage and high public office. In short, she gets a pass. I respect her and empathize to a certain extent with some of her pain, and know I've never experienced the extent of pain she has. And I think the accounts of her behavior are exaggerated, mostly reported anonymously, and written through a prism of politics, not real life.

But the other woman? Those exact same media accounts that call EE a shrew and harpy (namely the Game Change book as well as the one by the repellent aid of Edwards) describe the other woman as pretty much a kook. And I have totally accepted that as obvious fact. Clearly she's a kook, a hanger-on, brazen, shameless, a desperate Other Woman.

I suppose the good news is we'll never know, will we? (Until, god help us, she writes her own book and sits down for her tell all with whomever. Now that I think about it, the fact that she hasn't sought publicity probably means something - still getting paid off? hopeful of reuniting with Edwards?)

I'm done with this story, I really am, but I was surprised to realize the logical gap in my interpretation of this situation.

So, yeah.

John Edwards. Ugh. I won't link anyplace because it's everyplace. And it just gets uglier and uglier. He's out of politics now (and forever, I don't think you come back from this), so this poking and prodding is just for gossip purposes now.

I was watching GMA this morning and Cokie made the point that painting Elizabeth as a harpy shrew was pretty damn unfair. What do we expect? She has cancer, for god's sake, and her husband is having this sordid affair. Hell yeah, lady, get angry. I know if I were her I would have been afraid, too (I know there are all these timing issues, what she knew when and how that coincided with cancer and recurrence). But overall - you're sick, you might die soon, you have young children - and your husband is off with some kook. I would have been hysterical, thinking about my kids caught up in this and what their future would hold. Ugh.

At least he's getting public judgement. There's one public figure I despise with a passion, and not (just) because of his politics (disclosure for new-er readers: pretty unabashed liberal here). Newt Gingrich divorced one of his wives while she was fighting breast cancer.

I used to, before 2007 and my husband's affair, be afraid I would get sick, really sick, and he would leave. That's how I saw it happening (poor naive me). There are some men, for whatever reasons of upbringing and temperament, who simply cannot deal with hard things - with not being the center of attention, with having to take care of someone else and not, therefore, being taken care of themselves. We have better tools now and a better understanding of ourselves, but I have no illusions.

Back to the bigger issue: People are people. Those with a national spotlight are no less human than anyone else. Should we be surprised at their humantity? Should we expect more from them? I think we should expect them to be flawed humans, but hopefully, as with all of us, doing the best they can.

two sides

I've always been fascinated how two people can view the exact same thing completely differently. Your world viewpoint comes from so much - your background, your life experiences, your place in the world.

The best example of this in my life is our house. We live in the middle of a city, in a historic rowhouse built in 1914. It's big enough - 20 feet wide by 40 feet deep, with big high ceilings, original woodwork, built in china cabinets with original glass work, gorgeous hardwood floors. And the downsides of a older house - original drafty windows, small closets, old wiring and plumbing. It has good lines, as they say, and a classic feel, though not as elaborate as some truly grand turn of the century places. Over time, we've slowly been restoring bits and pieces (like stripping one stinking coat of ugly paint from the beam and coffered dining room ceiling!) and built up the attic into an office and switched the layout on the second floor to build an extra bathroom. But there remains much work to be done, though we've hit a standstill these past couple of years with small children and no real extra money (the two may be linked somewhat).

My husband and I both like the feel of older houses, there's something stately and distinguished about the grandeur that's different from modern suburbs with their atrium foyers and huge exapanses. (Though how I would love a redone kitchen!)

But the two persepctives: I look around and I think, of all our friends, we have a grand house indeed. Many of our friends live in condos or smaller places, or the small houses in the close in suburbs. We also have friends who live in the giant new, shiny places in the true suburbs, but there's no appeal for me (though the space! the closets! the shiny-ness! OK, there's some appeal.). I look at our house, a work in progress, and I am proud of it and sometimes even feel slightly embarassed by all we have compared to others.

My husband was raised in the burbs, and with his family, status was everything. He looks at our house compared to his friends (mostly the ones in the burbs) and is slightly embarassed by how much it lacks and how much it needs, and how even if we did everything, it would still not quite measure up (no yard, not enough space).

Same house. Two people who have poured a lot of heart and soul and cash into it. Two perspectives.

Anything in your life that you see so differently?

contrasts

I've always considered myself a study in contrasts. A little of this, AND a little of this. X, but also Y. You might consider this, but then again on the other hand that.

And so it goes when it comes to beauty. I went to a traditional women's college, one that wasn't quite as feminist empowering as I've always imagined Smith, say, or Wellesley, maybe, to be. While there, I grew my fingernails long-ish and painted them regularly.

Then I was accepted, for graduate school, to a large state university in the deep south with a huge football program and plenty of greek life and very definite ideas on femininity and the door was literally but not figuratively always, always held open for me. But I was accepted into a science program, hardcore physics / math / chemistry / bio-geo-chemistry sort of work, male dominated, where you had to fight to be heard and taken seriously. I showed up the first day in my neat t-shirt tucked into clean pressed shorts (a look I thought said serious student), long hair, long fingernails, and my beloved Tretorns (remember those?) and my professor took one look at me and I swear sighed a little sigh. Everyone else (professors included) wore ripped cutoff shorts and ragged t-shirts and birkenstocks and the other women certainly didn't give a fig about hair or makeup. It was serious, fieldwork science, strap on your work boots and get out in the dirty field and collect and process samples and then go out and do it all over again. Who had time for painted fingernails? I kept doing it, for a while, because I found it relaxing and I liked the dichotomy of long hot pink nails and hard core field science, but eventually I stopped because I knew people didn't take me seriously, and sometimes image is everything and perception is reality.

And then I got an office job where we just looked at other people's science and thought about what it meant and I kept my fingernails bare because I wasn't really an office person I was a field scientists and hard core, dammit. But then I realized I wasn't ever going to be a scientist in the field ever again and it was kinda fun to paint nails, so went back to it on and off, but kept my nails short. And then I worked for a non profit advocacy environmental organization and you better believe there was no nail painting, but then I started pedicures because that could be something fun for me and no one else had to see it and I could still be taken seriously as an environmentalist and still have fun painting my toes (or, the ultimate luxury of having someone else paint my toes!).

Through all this, I've never worn much makeup, and almost none at all now since the goopy eye incident of 2008. (Which never really resolved, despite new makeup - since that day, makeup makes my eyes itchy. Who knows.)

I have a small stash of polish, which my 4 year old discovered and loves. Loves, loves loves. I painted one of her hands blue and the other pink last night, and she could not wait to get to school and show her friends, all of whom also had painted nails.

You wouldn't think a person could write so much about nail painting, would you? Except I saw a beauty story in a magazine and became fascinated with a color I saw and googled it and would you believe there are (a large number of) blogs devoted to nail polish? I had no idea. And that's only what came up on page one of google for one color. Who knew this? Seriously, over here we have the infertility community, and over there the food people, let's not forget the political blogs of all types, and the mommy bloggers and then there's the illness bloggers, and then fashion, and over there - the nail polish bloggers. The internet is a fabulous, fabulous place. What in the world did we ever do for info before the internet? I'll tell you we didn't type that much, that much I know, cause if my nails get more than a quarter of an inch past my fingers I suddenly can't type well at all.

I've always been mostly a deep rich ruby or pink or plummy kind of gal, though anything goes on the toes. But I've seen a lot of darker colors lately, especially on short nails. So today I stopped by a salon and picked up this dark green color and when I was on a conference call I put on a base coat and then two coats of color and though it's been a while didn't do too bad of a job, if I do say so myself.

I couldn't quite get the proper nail blog pose right, but had to show off. OPI Here Today Aragon Tomorrow, from their spanish line fall 2009.

It was fun to paint my nails. I'm considering doing it more regularly, though I still have these weird feelings that painting my nails says something about me that I don't want said. At least out loud. So my question of the day, do you paint (or have someone else paint) yours? Do you wonder if you have painted nails that you won't be taken as seriously? Or is this just something I worry about?

eta: I know the answer is do whatever makes you happy and why in the world did you write too many words about this? I know that, and I'll do that. I do wonder, though, if anyone else wonders about the image they project, and if being too, hmm, "feminine" for want of a better word, means they aren't taken seriously as professionals or intellectuals or whatever elite term you'd prefer to use. Would you wear polish (mod, dark polish? pale pink only?) to a job interview? Is there a benefit or a detriment to being feminine in a man's world? What do you think?

screaming inside

How many ways to beat a dead horse? I thought I was done bitching about the 'shower' aka present shakedown, but just received an e-mail from the to-be dad.

Hi everyone. It was great seeing all of you at our shower. Pictures will be forthcoming. Thank you to those who provided gifts for baby [last name]. For those that still might be sending gifts (other than gift cards), please be sure to send to N's work, not our home address. (Luckily I stayed home today so was able to receive a couple shipments.) Cheers, N&N

Seriously, the instructions continue. It's like a primer on all things completely unacceptable in a shower.

AND, I don't think I loaned my Maya wrap. I think it ended up being a total gift. Gaaahhh. I should have kept my mouth shut and sold it on the secondary market for $25!

I need to let it go. Given geography, won't see them for a long time. Back to regular programming tomorrow. I have to shake this so-called shower off!

it was cheaper than hosting

My mantra when thinking about this shower: it was cheaper than if we had hosted. Was it a $40 restaurant experience? Um, no. But they really are dear friends, so I decided I had to let go of the annoyance.

Even when the 'hostess' walked around and demanded, have you paid yet? Did I get cash from you?

Grrrr.

They came over the morning of the 'shower' to spend some one on one time with us. The husband blatantly asked for hand me downs. In a moment of sentimental weakness, I gave them my Maya wrap, which I never got the hang of using and bought cheaply off craigs list. What can I say, I'm a sucker and a softie, at times.

She's having another shower in their new city. I hope it's less of a mercenary transaction.

petty

Here is a gripe about a baby shower. I'm not emily post-esque, nor do baby showers thrill me or fill me with despair. But we're going to a shower this weekend and it's making me tense. Back story - one of our couple friends moved last year, a thousand miles away. The male half is very outgoing and constantly organizing dinners and parties and outings, so when they moved, we lost some connection to going out. Not that, now with two kids, we're all that social, but it's always nice to be invited places and on the nights we do decide to eat out, have friends we can call and say meet us at wherever, or come over and watch whatever sporting event. So they move and now the wife is pregnant. She is from Pakistan, but very secular. But she has no family in the US. The shower is for them. The guy is a pretty practical, pragmatic guy. So the baby shower is turning out to be a pragmatic way for them to get gifts and it is just grating on me.

The good thing is our friend wants to get together with the large group of friends he left behind. And the wife is pregnant, so a combined party/co-ed baby shower seems smart, right? But many of his friends are younger and the ones who volunteered to host don't have a large enough place, so at first the shower was going to be at someone parent's house. But the parents have a very nice place and don't like kids, so people couldn't bring kids, to a weekend afternoon party. Difficult. So now they've decided to move to a restaurant. And they are charging people to attend - not much, $15-20/adult.

Every other day there is some e-mail message with more details, all written by the husband, our friend. Since they're flying, don't bring big gifts to the shower. They didn't finish the registery, so you can buy things from whatever the store is and have it shipped to their home. They aren't finding out the sex, so please nothing pink or blue. Please don't forget gift receipts if you do bring a gift. Etc.

I scream a little scream with every e-mail. Logically, this all makes sense. They've moved a thousand miles away, we'll see them once a year at best, so this is a great way to see them both, and they get to see our kids. We love them and want to get them something for the baby. She doesn't have family or close friends here so a co-ed shower/party means we'll see them and a lot of other people. It's great we don't have to worry about babysitters. A restaurant is expensive, so everyone chipping in makes sense. But somehow it is just reduced to such a mercenary transaction, you know? I really just wish we had offered to host, honestly. But 40 people is a bit of a stretch for our very small place, and these other people had stepped forward and put these plans in motion before we ever even learned they were coming to town. So tell me, how petty am I, or would this bother you?

pop roundup

A few disparate threads from the world swirling around in my head.

So this new political book is being released today, Game Change, and it's caused a storm in the political blogosphere. Some Sarah Palin stuff on 60 Minutes, the Harry Reid explosion, and a lengthy (8,000 word) excerpt in NY Mag. The excerpt isn't what you'd expect - Palin or Biden or Clinton or Obama, even. It's the chapter on the implosion of John Edwards' campaign, called Saint Elizabeth and the Ego Monster. I liked John Edwards a lot, and of course adored Elizabeth. This excerpt isn't easy to read, and honestly partially makes me feel even more naive for believing in them. Although, who knows anymore, maybe I've bought too totally into the PR image, but I do think it's unfair to Elizabeth. It's too glib, painting her as a shrew and bitch and their marriage as completely dysfunctional before anything ever happened with his kook mistress. Real lives are more complicated than what staffers see, or reporters or analysts piece together in hindsight. What's clear is two real lives that are messy and extraordinarily complicated.
--
Desperate Housewives fans? I read someplace last year that Mark Cherry, the creator and head of the show, wanted to cover the loss of a child in one of the housewives' stories, and that's playing out now. I've always resisted the conventional wisdom thinking that Felicity Huffman was the best actress on the show, far above the others. Her character was too self-righteous, too strident, too something. This season, at 45, loving her career, 4 kids nearly raised, she found herself pregnant, with twins. And quite ambivalent about it. Ridiculous storyline of plane crashing into a street party found her, 6 months pregnant, diving to the ground to save the life of another child on the street. All seemed fine, until she clutched at her belly and was rushed to surgery, only to wake and learn one of the twins had died. The one people are talking about is the episode where she imagined what her life would be like if the twin survived surgery and was born with a host of unspecified issues. It was good. Last week's show, though, is the one that left me in tears. She's carrying on, seemingly fine, by burying her grief and looking forward. Her husband confronts her, says we never talk about it. And she says, what are we supposed to talk about? How we'll look at our one baby and always see the one that isn't here? It's powerful stuff, hard to watch. But so far, done very, very well, and mercifully, in short, small doses.
--
Anyone watch Good Morning America today? I saw a few promos for a story on another surrogacy-gone-wrong tale (not the one I've seen discussed yet), but decided most emphatically NOT to watch it. But pointing it out in case anyone else wants to go look it up. The thing that really caught my attention though? The promos said something like, 'millions of people rely upon surrogacy to build a family....' Really? Millions? What sort of sketchy math is going on over at ABC? I'm sure it's just a matter of time before this story makes its way over to Private Practice.

And speaking of my least favorite Private Practice, I've got the last three episodes on my DVR. Meh.

Anything capturing your attention these days?

grief and time

I've been on a bit of a bloggy break lately, which seems to be the norm for me, so not sure I can call it 'breaks' anymore. I actually have a ton of things bookmarked and ideas for various posts. So here's one catch up.

The day after Christmas, CLC posted a thoughtful musing about life and loss - and life long loss. And what defines you. I'm a categorizer. I used to keep lists of the worst things that happened to me, or the worst things one of my someday-to-be-blogged about exes said to me, and so on - on the positive side, too.

Here in blog-land, it's not the loss nor the infertility that defines me, it's the subsequent marriage collapse. In real life, neither define me to anyone, really. I used to think the most defining thing about me was my hometown, having been raised in a classic small town of less than 3000 people. And when my parents moved away when I was in college, away from lifelong friends and family, and I lost that permanence, that anchor, I thought that defined me. My mom's sister, who was extremely important to me, died from breast cancer in 1997, and that's marked me in many ways - including my daughter's name. Losing my life-defining job in 2004 was a shock, and it might sound odd but I still grieve. My marriage and its ups and downs makes the list. My pregnancy loss is my secret mark. Like CLC, I can't even type potential losses too terrible to contemplate.

Around the same time, I ran across this blog post about that lifetime accumulation of losses and summed it up:

One of the lies we always tell ourselves is that the pain will go away with time, that we'll get over it, that time heals all wounds, and it's not true. Every loss is forever raw, and we can feel it all again with just a thought or a reminder, like a Christmas phone call to the family. The older you get, the more of these moments of grief you accumulate, and they never leave you.

Does loss define you? In real life or in blog life? How many moments of grief have you accumulated?