Saturday, November 22, 2008


I spent most of last week trying not to fall into a crevice. You know, those little cracks that can suck you up and swallow you whole. Funny how you can go for months never noticing them but then all of a sudden, they seem to be everywhere when you find yourself feeling rather small. Like the tiny green baby shoe that someone had dropped in the middle of the sidewalk. Or at the doctor's waiting room where I found myself surrounded by pregnant ladies in chirpy excitement over their due dates. Or in my backyard where I found my blood colored camellia dead surrounded by thriving giant weeds sucking up whatever energy the sun had to emit. I don't want to ponder the meaning of life or death or its cruel irony. Not this week. I don't want to get stuck in these little moments that can swirl into a giant vortex of meaning.

I want to tread lightly over the tricky letters in the word miscarriage, especially the concave c with its wide open mouth and the slippery g that winds around itself like a little maze. I want to fly over the loopy s's in loss even as I find myself curled up like one giant s on my bed with my legs bent at the knees and my head curled into my chest. And avoid slipping down the diagonal of the y in baby and getting stuck at the bottom with no way to climb back up. I want to bounce off of these letters so that I can find my way to the next word and then the next, past the punctuations and the spaces, and eventually onto the next sentence and then the next paragraph.

This is my life unfolding, page by page. And I tell myself not to get stuck here. I need to refocus my lens, gain some distance, so that I can see past these few words, these few sentences. I have to find my way onto the next page, the next chapter. I want to end up ensconced in the warm embrace of o in love, buoyed by the peppy p's in happiness, and resigned to the decisive t in fate.


  1. I am speakign for myself, but I think the biggest challenge is figuring out how to get beyond the point of only thinking about pregnancy achieving, etc. When that is something that you want more than anything else, it is difficult to focus on other things. But I am learning to at least try to let go, adn to let nature take it's course. Wishing you strength and optimism as well. You are going to be a great Mom.

  2. 8:49 - I am totally with you. Now it seems amazing that I went through the first 7 years of my 30s not obsessing about this. It helps so much to read your attitude. Similarly wishing you strength and optimism.

  3. I have friends that have gone through similar things - and can only imagine how it must feel. Take good care of yourself, and please follow up on the check-ups. One of my girlfriends had two miscarriges, switched to a new doctor who ran through a slew of tests and took good care of her, and she now has a one-year-old. Best wishes to you.

  4. While grieving the death of a loved one, I rented a little beach house off the coast of Virginia. I was beyond consolation.

    I spent days, sitting in the sun, staring at the waves, trying to will the world to undue what I was going through.

    I had a friend tell me that stop, arguing that I would never win a staring contest with the ocean.

    But I kept staring at waves, which consistently arrived on a pace driven by the moon. I sat in the sun, searching for a picture of clarity. I stared and waited until I was ready to stand again. There was, quite simply, no timetable on coming to grips with tragedy.

    I hope you find the strength to stand again and find hope in this moment.Keep searching. Sometimes it takes time, but it's in there, somewhere.

    Good Luck.

  5. I think everyone has said the 'right words'.

    Good luck Shinyung.
    I think you are a strong woman - and a special writer.