I've Got Friends in Low Places...

...where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away... and I'll be okay...

This whole blogging world is funny. I've come in contact with people who blog near and far that I have so much in common with. It doesn't surprise me much since most people who blog like myself are a. women, and b. Type-A. Since we won't ever shut-up, it's logical that we'll divulge enough of our guts that we'll find something in common with one another. But I didn't think I'd find people who lived in my hometown growing up or the city I met my husband just a few miles down the road... and someone who lives about 5 miles from me in the 'burbs!

I have recently received some emails from blog friends that I've never met. Some thank me for writing about my innermost thoughts (though some are omitted still as I feel my thoughts aren't always world-wide appropriate) and how they also either know what I am facing or just wanted to thank me for being so open that they might understand my brain better. The BLM brain is something pretty funky and messed up, but something I have no choice but to embrace.

I have a few friends I've become pen pals with, but one in particular. I've met a pretty awesome Canadian chick that has become a pretty regular pen pal. She lost her little man, Jack, in early January. We're the same age and have a pretty similar spunk. We don't filter our emails. They're loaded with TMI and it causes our husbands to give us funny looks. Andrew and Jack have probably enough spunk from their mothers that they've found one another in heaven and are causing all kinds of baby chaos.

I just can't help but think that people who aren't even conceived yet may eventually go down this same road. Little girls not even to puberty. Women who are currently pregnant. Women who give birth today to their lifeless babes. It's no-doubt an isolating world to live in amongst the expectations of society to produce perfect little ones; one boy, one girl, and the whole white picket fence {and the irony is that my parents have one boy man, one girl woman, and that actual white picket fence}. Does that skip a generation? Who knows.

As I write, though, I'm really letting out an incredible blast of emotions that well up inside of me all day. To me, reading and writing is my therapy. I like to think of it as a self-led grief therapy group available to me at any time of day/night. It's not a scheduled event that occurs for one hour, once a month. It's when I need it most. It's crucial that I am able to release by writing and see how others are living lives despite their grief. When Andrew died, so many of these strong women were behind their computers, writing. I'm so thankful they did, because it encourages me everyday. And for those women who have yet to experience this terrible feeling of loss, the writing is there for them, too.

I can't imagine a life of baby loss grief without the world-wide-web. I know I'd still be writing unpublished, but I wouldn't be connecting with such great women in the blogosphere who inspire me daily. It's baffling to think about how women handled losing their babies without that release 30 years ago. They were suppressed and hushed. Their babies were not to be spoken about, let alone written about for all the world to read. Maybe we're finally breaking through and celebrating their lives right here as we blog. <3

My friend posted this on her blog and I LOVED it. Had to re-post as an ending thought.

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