still life 365

winner

2011-12-21T06:40:00.001-05:00

And the winner is

Suzanne! Please email me with your address at stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com.

25 Days of Giveaways

2011-12-19T11:16:00.004-05:00

Hello, everyone, this is the nineteenth day of giveaways. Thank you very much to Tina for hosting all these amazing giveaways. If you are not familiar with 25 Days of Giveaways, check out Tina's blog Living without Sophia and Ellie for a more in-depth description. Today is still life 365's turn. I am sorry this is so late in the day, but no worries, I will be keeping this post live and active for twenty-four hours, so you can get your comments. This giveaway is for a mizuko jizo meditation painting. Not any one, this one in particular.

It is a 4"x6" watercolor on 140 lb cold pressed watercolor paper.

Leave a comment to win.

Bear's Heart, Claire

2011-11-04T00:00:00.001-04:00

This photo was taken the day after I returned home from the hospital after the loss of our second child this summer. I took a shower upon returning home, and the steam revealed the message I had written in soap from the last shower I had taken while still pregnant. I had written the would-be nickname of our son, and a single heart, which appeared on the glass shower wall. The image is now the background on my phone and is a daily reminder of my two lost loves. I've been working up the courage to submit it for months now.

about the artist:

I'm 29 years old, live in Northern Virginia and married my high school sweetheart. Our first son, Daniel, was stillborn after 32 weeks of pregnancy on September 10, 2010. The cause of his death is officially unknown, but is suspected to have been linked to preeclampsia. This summer we lost a second child, also a son, to a second trimester miscarriage after a "low-risk" procedure to rule out problems caused an infection. "A man often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it." This entry has been a long time coming. I'm beginning the journey to find myself again. -Claire

Calypso, Melissa

2011-11-02T00:00:00.000-04:00

North Shore, Oahu, Hawaii

Wreck Rock ~ Deep Water National Park ~ Australia

Waiheke Island, New Zealand

My daughter's life can be summed up in a few words. A short life that spanned the sea. Calypso Paikea Rhyder, her very name came from the sea. She was my ocean baby. Only three weeks and 2 days she spent with us, but her name has touched thousands of hearts and has rested on hundreds of seashores.

This entry isn't something 'I've' personally done. It's a project I put out into the world two years ago and that is still going on. Two years ago for Calypso's second birthday I asked some friends to write her name into the seaside at the ocean in the sand. I'm landlocked and couldn't do it. The photos started rolling in. Now in 2011, Calypso's named has touched over 250 shorelines and I've received over 300 photos. From South Africa, to the UK to the USA. Her name has touched the short.

I'm attaching a few of these photos. This year on April 15, 2011 my friend on Waiheke Island in New Zealand put my daughter's ashes into the sea for her final journey. I've not been able to go down to the sea myself, but someday.... I will. In the meantime I pray Calypso's name continues to touch on different shores and land on different hearts.

E kore te aroha
e maroke i te rā,
Mākūkū tonu i
aku roimata e.

From one of the lullabys I sang to her while she lived

My love will never
be dried by the sun,
It will be forever moistened
by my tears.

Thank you for allowing me to share my girl. and my project

About the artist

Melissa lives in Indiana with her husband and 2 older children. Calypso was their last child. Born at 29 weeks 5 days, she lived for three weeks two days. She died of Renal Failure as a complication of an infection called NEC. Melissa runs a charity in her daughter's name called Calypso's Ocean

In November she will be moving to Ohio and then they will only be 8 hours from the Ocean. She hopes to get out there early February and finally see the Ocean for the first time since her daughter was laid to rest. You can read her blog at Scars in my Yarn

Laura's Spot, Louise

2011-11-01T00:00:00.001-04:00

There is a place we visit in the south west of Ireland that, for various reasons, holds particular meaning for us and Laura. She is there in the landscape, in the sea, in the wind, blowing around us, whenever we visit. We have given her a walk in that place and on that walk a special spot. This summer we spent a fortnight there and invited various friends and family members to join us.

This photo, a ramshackle of kids and cousins, was taken in Laura's spot. We were out for the day walking and the kids all had a list of treasures they had to find on their way - blue flowers, heart shaped stones, Laura's spot, etc. etc. It was the closest all the cousins have ever been to all four of my children. When I asked them to stop for the picture, Astro Boy (who had been collecting wood as he walked) held up his wood to form an "L", holding Laura there proudly for all of us to see. I love this photo.

This past month here at Still Life 365 has been a pleasure and a privilege. Your photographs have been moving and poignant and beautiful. It has been an honour to hear your stories, to see your children's absent presence and to give others the opportunity to see that too. Photos are still coming in and so Angie and I have decided to continue with the theme for another while.

If you want to participate, but haven't attached your photo and emailed it in yet, now is your chance. There is still time and submissions will be welcomed as long as they land in the inbox. Just send them in to stilllife365DAYS(at)gmail(dot)com.

Thank you again for all your time and contributions.

Louise

about the artist.
Louise is a mother, a part-time educator, artist and writer from the south of Ireland. Laura was her fourth child, a wonderful gift she had hardly dared hope for. She was born in May 2009, her time on earth already passed. Louise is married to Kieran. Together they are very busy parenting their three living children as they try and come to terms with life without Laura. Louise has been guest editing on Still Life 365 for the month of October. She blogs at Radar of Chance.

Family Photo, Sally

2011-10-31T00:00:00.001-04:00

This is a photo of a new photo that hangs on our wall of our perfectly imperfect little family. It only arrived this week and it captures my husband and I, our almost two year old son Angus and our brand new baby daughter Juliet Lily. Looks pretty good on the surface and we're all so happy, but someone is missing. Someone will always be missing.

Sally

tuesdayshope

Isabelle's Room, Nollaig

2011-10-27T00:00:00.000-04:00

The picture with the moses basket was taken July 2010. I had spent weeks planning and preparing Isabelle's room. I did bring her home after she was born and she did spend some time in that moses basket. I read to her and played soft music. It took me some time to remove the moses basket.

The second picture is Isabelle's room as it is today, 19th Oct 2011. It is full of pictures of Isabelle, candles, butterflies, other Isabelle related things and many books on grief. For the most part, spending time in the room brings me great comfort but sometimes my heart can't cope with the memories the room holds, and sometimes Isabelle's absence makes the room cold and uninviting. Sometimes I stand in the spot where I was when I was getting ready to say my final goodbye, the spot where I savoured one last cuddle before I put her into her coffin and my heart breaks all over again.

The third picture is of a painting that hangs on the wall in Isabelle's room. Back in January a dear friend told me she had a dream about Isabelle and described it to me in detail, she said the thing that stood out the most was Isabelle's "beautiful shiney brown hair." A few months later she gave me that picture, she said she saw it and felt compelled to buy it and and when she gave it to me she said "that's her."

I wish Isabelle's room was full of an active 15 month old Isabelle. I wish I was concerned about child proofing it and not taking a picture of it.

Nollaig

Mantle, Amy

2011-10-26T00:00:00.000-04:00

In the first month of grief my husband and I went to a store and I saw this stone statue of a family. I had to have it. As we were purchasing this item the cashier said something about family or baby ... it's been 4 years and the grief fog blocks her words ... but I do remember my eyes filling with tears. The woman sensed this statues importance and said something kind. Again, her words escape my memory.

The feathers have been found and given to us and are from the bird we find represents Liam's spirit.

The red stone heart was a gift chosen by me for Liam's 3rd birthday.

All three things sit on top of our mantle, in our living room, next to Liam's photo. They are a part of our daily lives, something we see each day.

about the artist.
Amy lives in North Carolina with her husband and two greyhounds. Amy describes her journey, "Our only child Liam was born alive and apparently healthy on September 25, 2007, and was the joy of our lives. Our son Liam died soon after birth due to unexplained/unknown causes, shattering our world and our hearts. Art is an expression and release of my grief, and a way to honor the memory of our little man who is missed beyond words." Amy maintains a blog showcasing her Creative Everyday Challenge at Surviving the Day Every Day.

Jumping Rope, Angie

2011-10-25T00:00:00.000-04:00

I really love photography, though I am a terrible photographer, so please excuse the terrible framing of this one. But the other day, as my children were playing outside in the autumn crisp air, Beatrice grabbed the jump rope, tied it to the railing and began twirling. Her imaginary friend was jumping rope with her. As the children stood there watching the imaginary friend, it hit me all at once. If Lucy lived, Beatrice would be jumping with Lucy, and Thor would be watching. There is this space, right there in this picture, where she was just cut out of our lives. In this photograph, there is a little girl shadow in the exact place where she would have been. I don't always see that in my life. This was simply an ordinary moment that made me feel the enormity of what we lost when Lucia died.

about the contributor.

Angie is the editor of still life 365. Her second daughter Lucia was stillborn after 38 weeks of pregnancy on December 22, 2008. She died on winter solstice. She writes about her experience with grief and mothering at still life with circles, shares her art and daily parenting at still life everyday and is a regular contributor to Glow in the Woods. You can read more about Angie in the about the editor section.

Without Doireann. Jillian

2011-10-24T00:00:00.001-04:00

People always say 'you have your hands full'. I always reply that I wouldn't want it any other way. But they should be fuller. I should be pushing a double buggy as I walk my 4 year old twins to playschool. Their 10month old sister should be sitting next to her 22month old sister Doireann.

I miss that double buggy every day.

Jillian

Empty Crib, Abi

2011-10-20T00:00:00.000-04:00

Our son Corbin was born still at 41 weeks in January of 2011 after a completely uneventful pregnancy. We took his crib down in September, and it sits in the garage, behind his brother's easel. The connection between creation and life and it's absence is so clear in the moments when I sit on the steps and watch Corbin's big brother draw and color next to his brother's empty crib.

Abi Crouch

A heart to hold

Abi Crouch has an impressively large set of skills made irrelevant by technology from the 20th century. Driven by art and writing, she has become a horrible house keeper, a fabulous quilt maker, a loving and (mostly) attentive wife and a mama with her heart on fire for her two boys; Wills, who is three and Corbin who was born still at 41 weeks in January of 2011. Most of Abi's spare time is wrapped up in building A Heart to Hold. You can learn more here; a Heart To Hold or find us on facebook at a Heart to Hold on Facebook

Life in the Kitchen, Kieran

2011-10-19T00:00:00.001-04:00

The kitchen is the heart of the house. The family is together there every day. The kids know more than they ought to about life and death but, with their ability to live in the moment (an ability which many grownups seem to have mislaid) they also know where the food is at.

After Laura, I often felt that just about the only constructive thing I could manage was to put a meal on the table. I couldn't bring Laura back but I could make sure my family was fed. Not the most naturally domesticated of men, I could at least do this thing. I found solace in butter, white wine and finely chopped shallots. Mostly the kids just wanted pasta but that was fine too.

I heard an Irish American comedian on the radio recently, talking about his upbringing. He said that his parents never mentioned or demonstrated love; it was meant to be inferred from the feeding. That struck a chord.

The other thing I could do was take pictures. I have more cameras than perhaps I ought to and I spend more time than I should at family gatherings peering through the viewfinder and twiddling the knobs in the vain hope of making something that's more than a snapshot. I have created a vast family archive in which I am almost completely absent. My presence, like the love – like Laura – is to be inferred.

At home, in the kitchen, my presence is more, well, present. With my wife, Louise, (yes this month's guest editor), Alannah, Michael and Oscar, the daily routine, the logistics, the noise, the demands for nice food - not the slop with the shallots and white wine - can almost make me feel normal.

Cast, Sinead

2011-10-18T00:00:00.009-04:00

When I was eight months pregnant at the end of May this year, I fell down the stairs and broke my leg. Two weeks later on the 16^th June '11 my lovely girl KatieAnn was born and lived for just eleven hours. Now four months later I am still entombed in both my cast and my house.

I have sent you a photo of the 'blasted cast' because in the time since, so many people have spoken to me about the leg and not bothered to mention the death of my child. Both friend and aquaintance alike have used my leg as their crutch to lean on, endless conversations about my broken leg and hardly any at all about my broken heart.

On the other hand, the story of my leg and my KatieAnn are so entwined in my mind, I think I will be a little bit sorry to see the cast and crutches go. Just a very little.

I live in Cork, Ireland with my three other children and one husband, and I am very much looking forward to going for a walk on two feet. Its the simplest things you miss.

Sinead

Butterflies & Dragonflies, Paula

2011-10-17T00:00:00.004-04:00

I have started to believe that there are little miracles all around us. I look for the little miracles in the sky, the trees and well everywhere. For some reason butterflies and dragonflies visit me the most often. I love them, they truly make me feel like they are little signs of miracles. It took me forever to get a photo of a butterfly that I was happy with. I also got a great shot of a dragonfly sitting on my porch one day.

The grieving process is not easy to maneuver but I do believe that there is beauty in the things around us and to capture that beauty in a drawing, photo or in words helps to begin the stage of healing.

I'm a Mother to three boys, two here on Earth and our little squishy, Braedon, who left us July 13th. I am married to the man of my dreams and after almost 17 years he still makes my heart go pitter patter. I am trying my hand at writing, drawing, sewing and well just about any form of creative release. I am hoping that by allowing my emotions to guide my hands, it will help to heal my heart.

Paula

A Moment in our Arms

Wave of Light, Louise

2011-10-16T00:00:00.002-04:00

We were at at service of remembrance on Friday night. Our local hospital organises it annually. Towards the end of the service, after all the parents had lit candles for their children, the lights were dimmed and the hospital staff encircled the congregation with their lit candles. It never really occurred to me that our loss affected them too. They have held the service for three years now. This year there were enough staff there to stand side by side and encircle the entire congregation of a packed church.

We felt held.

Louise

Hot Water Bottles, Catherine

2011-10-13T00:00:00.001-04:00

I know this is not a photograph. It is an ink drawing I made a few years ago. This picture comes into my mind whenever I think of two of the little babies that I lost. I never got to hold them or see them but this gives me an image of them, something I can hold and admire!

After many years I am now a mother of two. Twins Hannah and Cormac arrived last December and brought love into my life. My heart will however always ache for my other babies who never arrived.

I work as an art therapist and live by the sea in a lovely part of the south of Ireland.

My Healing View, Nollaig

2011-10-12T00:00:00.001-04:00

I took this picture on the 6th Oct 2011. My daughter Isabelle was born still on 13th July 2010 after 40 weeks of a dream pregnancy. My whole world fell apart.

The view in the picture is a view I spent many hours looking at after Isabelle died, I remember feeling very broken but alive. At the time I read a line in John O'Donohue's Anam Cara where he said: "In landscape, nothing is ever lost or forgotten." and to me this meant that all the emotions that poured out of me found a place in the landscape around me. Isabelle is in that landscape. I refer to that view as my "healing view". Nature's patience and presence helped to soothe my soul. The Irish weather means I can't always fully appreciate the view but I know it is there.

I am sitting on the ground in the picture but barely visible, a bit like how I feel as far as the rest of the world is concerned.

I am surrounded by Isabelle's presence and absence.

Washing, Georgie

2011-10-10T00:00:00.000-04:00

I only very recently came across the website, Still Life 365 and one of the first things I read about was your challenge for the month of October. I think it's a terrific idea and extremely thought provoking.

Please find attached two photos of the same subject - our washing! As our laundry dries in the warm Africa breeze I often wonder what our daughter would have been wearing at this stage in her young life.

I live in Jinja, a small town on the River Nile in Uganda, with my husband Chris. On the 4th September 2008 our daughter, Ella, was stillborn at 26 weeks old and our world was turned upside down. Seven months later I miscarried at 12 weeks and we were advised that our chances of conceiving naturally again were close to zero.

Six months ago, and against the odds, Leo Phoenix roared into our lives and has given me the courage to breathe again.

Georgie

Living on a Knife Edge.

Artist to Artist: Louise

2011-10-03T00:00:00.000-04:00

Artist to Artist is a regular feature for still life 365. Through a dialogue about the creative process, grief, loss and art, the idea is to learn more about the art you see on still life 365 and the mother, father or family member creating it. In turn, we hope you learn more about your own art, creative process and grief. Artist to Artist a regular monthly feature of this blog space. If you have an artist that you would like to learn more about, or interview, please email me.

Louise is a mother, a part-time educator/artist/student/writer from the south of Ireland. Laura, her fourth child, was born in May 2009, a wonderful gift she had hardly dared hope for, as Louise describes it. I first met Louise through her writing on Radar of Chance. She is, without exaggeration, one of my favorite writers in the world. Her work is so evocative, beautiful, heartbreaking. When she first submitted a piece to still life 365, I found her art to be just as moving, her insights just as important. Later I found out that Louise was working on her thesis surrounding art and therapy in group settings. Her work is fascinating. When she offered to guest edit still life 365, I was so excited to see how she would engage this community and inspire us all.

With that brief, and not nearly complete enough introduction, it is my great pleasure to introduce October's guest editor, Louise. We decided to kick off the month by having an artist to artist conversation, so you can get to know her a little better. We talked recently about art, creativity and grief.

Hi, Louise, thanks for agreeing to talk to me about art and grief. Let me just first say how sorry that Laura is not with you.

Thank you Angie. It is a pleasure to talk to you and can I say how sorry I am that Lucy isn’t here with you?

Thank you. Can you tell us a bit about Laura and your family? Your husband Kieran has submitted work to still life 365 as well.

Sure – where to start…

Laura was our fourth child. We already had a daughter, Alannah (the Giraffe Princess) and two boys, Michael (Astro Boy) and Oscar (the Little Boy Racer.) They were each born two years apart with what appeared like precision family planning, but was in fact entirely due to the wonders of Clomid and our fair share of ttc heartache.

Laura happened along all on her very own. I had always fanticized about being one of those women who conceives without any intervention, who finds herself surprised by new life suddenly and unexpectedly growing within her. So whilst Laura wasn’t planned, she was dreamed of and longed for – a gift I had hardly dared hope for.

Kieran and I have just celebrated our twelfth wedding anniversary. We both work in the arts. Kieran is a graphic designer and can’t stop taking photographs. Our computer literally groans under the weight of them. He has submitted some photos to Still Life 365 in the past.

We live up on a hill in a city in the south Ireland, in an old house we bought thirteen years ago, fully intending to move on within five years. After several failed attempts to move, we are currently revising these plans and have decided to extend. We share our house with Owen, the cross-eyed cat and rather a lot of spiders.

The Spiders and a Cross-eyed Cat would make a great band name.  I always like to kick off these chats with just a brief overview of how art played a role in your life before Laura died. You are a beautiful writer, and a stunning visual artist as well. Have you always been an artist? Do you have one medium that you gravitate towards?

I have always loved art and I was labeled as the artist at home and in school. How bad? It seemed obvious that I would go to art college and I wandered happily along that route. Although drawing came easily to me, allowing myself the freedom to create was more of a struggle. You referred to Rachel (Curls o Fred) before and her comment “the paralysis of perfection.” I think I suffered from that pretty badly and found myself studying graphic design more out of a fear of expressing myself than a love of design.

As part of an illustration module I did a short course in the print department in college. I still remember the day I walked into that department. It was like coming home. Printmaking was my thing. There is a whole ordered process behind it that really suited me. I could express myself, but it felt safe.

I worked with poems I had written and somewhere in the middle developed an interest in fabric and sewing too. And that is where I have lingered – somewhere between print-making and sewing, the written word, mixed media and (these days) computer manipulated images aswell. More often than not, they are all combined together.

Although I am much more secure in my creativity these days, since the kids came along there hasn’t been much art-making going on. My creative energies are getting used up elsewhere in life.

I talked a little about your thesis in the introduction, and congratulations on recently finishing your Masters degree. Can you talk a little about your work? How was your work impacted since Laura's death?

Thanks Angie. It feels SO good to have the Masters completed.

Learning is lonely., Louise.

This is always a difficult question for me. My family joke that none of them could really tell you what I do so I am endeavoring to do here what I have never successfully done for my family. I work as a lecturer in the Art Therapy & Continuing Education Dept in an Art College. My main responsibility is training people to facilitate groups through art making.

Having trained as an art teacher without ever wanting to work in mainstream education, I returned to my hometown to explore the idea of art therapy as a career. I began working as a community artist and discovered a whole way of working I’d never known about and enjoyed it too much to go on and train as an art therapist. These days I train people to work in this area; artists who are looking for group work skills, social workers that are looking for art skills and a whole spectrum of individuals in between.

Returning to work after Laura’s death was very difficult. Working as a group facilitator, I am always telling people how important it is to be yourself with the group. And yet, I am discovering there is a difference between being yourself and spilling yourself all over the group. I wanted everyone to know about Laura. I felt I wasn’t being honest sitting there keeping going when inside I was falling apart. It was incredibly difficult to be present for people when inside I was screaming “You have no idea!” Even though I love my work, for a long time I wanted nothing to do with it. All I wanted was to be with my family. I didn’t spill to the group. I spilled to my colleagues instead, but I work in an Art Therapy Dept so they were qualified to be with me in my grief! I guess that could be considered a perk.

I think I am braver in my work these days – less afraid of people. “What’s the worst that can happen?” I feel I am simultaneously more accommodating and more challenging.

Laura had a big impact on my work in her life too. We were told at our twelve-week scan that there was a risk she might have Down’s syndrome. Most of the people I train work with marginalized groups of people. An aspect of the training focuses on equality issues. Over the years I have often delivered training on disability equality and the medical and social models of disability.

My pregnancy was closely monitored because of the possible risks to Laura’s health. She became a medical concern. Everything was about her possible physical complications, deviations from the way she should be. I would be lying if I pretended all the uncertainty wasn’t hugely traumatic, but through it all was an absolute certainty that Laura was simply our Laura. The medical concerns and labels weren’t “in addition” to who she was. She was who she was right from her very beginning.

As I’m trying to clarify this in my head, I think it is like if you write a blog post and you create this piece that is words and imagery and maybe eloquence and beauty, or whatever it is. It is a creation. Then you put a few tags down at the bottom and all anyone focuses on is one particular tag. They don’t look at or can’t see the piece for what it is. Despite years of teaching this idea to people, I never really got it until I was pregnant with Laura.

That is a very powerful revelation. I could relate to it very closely just from having to qualify my children as living and dead when asked how many I have. How do you think your art has changed because of your grief?

A friend brought a pencil and notebook in to me when I was in hospital waiting to deliver Laura, just in case…. It was that book that started me writing and it was also that book that enabled both Kieran and I to draw Laura while she was still with us, lying there right beside us. Later that evening I traced Laura’s hand. It felt so important to acknowledge that she was physically here while she was physically here.

That is such a beautiful idea, to draw her, then trace her hand. Wow, I can see that act in my mind, and how gentle and important it must have been.

During my pregnancy Alannah had come home from school one day with a “Baby Annabell” sheep she had found on the pavement. She thought it might be nice for the baby. We had washed it and kept it. The day before Laura’s funeral Alannah remembered the sheep and we spent the afternoon making a velvet pillow for Laura and quilting the sheep on to it. I sewed a butterfly then and appliquéd it onto a hat for Laura to wear. Creating for my baby was a physical need.

When I initially heard this question my first reaction was to think, I hardly make art these days, but that isn’t true. My art these days is less ideas based and more just hands-on physical making out of a need to just engage in the process. Allowing my creativity room to breath, room to engage with the everyday, is what is important to me now.

One outcome of going to art college was becoming a slave to standards and dismissing so much of the creative process I was engaged in because it wasn’t really art. That has all changed. I bought a book recently called “Making is Connecting” by a man called David Gauntlett. He explores the idea of making and creativity literally from knitting to the internet and the connection that this offers. That kind of captures where I am at these days. My art is about making and connecting whether that is making candles in my kitchen with friends or blogging on the internet.

Falling Asleep, Louise.

Yes! For me too, art is about connection and idea making. I love that you quoted Rachel earlier and then talked about this as an artist. It really is so hard to let go of those standards and engage in the process. People talk about it so much it almost sounds trite, but to truly to do it revelatory. At least it was for me.

And how do you think your grief has changed because of your art?  

How has my grief changed because of my art? Hmm. Room to breath. My grief has been given room. When I was pregnant, Mikey drew his own version of picture I had made and called it a musical black hole. He had a big long complicated Astro Boy description of the picture. That picture has really stayed with me. If grief is a black hole, my art has enabled me to explore this black hole and given me a language of metaphors and symbols to try and navigate through it. When I have been suffocating in grief, giving my head a break and allowing my hands just do, whether or not I can make any sense of the end results, has given me room to breath.

 I love how you articulated that. Giving your head a break and allowing your hands to do. Going back to connection with art, I have found that as much as creating art has been part of your grief, viewing art becomes part of this journey too. How has connecting with other grieving artists helped you? 

It is hard separating creative experience out into all its various parts. For me (and maybe this comes from working with groups and encouraging collaborative creativity) it is all so intertwined. I have resonated with other’s stories, with feelings they have described and with the images they have created both with art materials and, through their words, in my mind. I have resonated with all these different aspects and they, in turn then, have inspired a new idea or image or enabled me to tap into an aspect of my grief that had been bubbling under the surface, but I hadn’t yet explored. Connecting with others has been the single most important aspect of my grieving journey. Discovering Still Life 365 and Glow in the Woods and the creativity contained in these spaces was like the coming home experience I had all those years ago in the Print department in art college.

still life 365 feels like home to me too. Thank you so much for agreeing to guest edit for the month of October. It is a month so rife with symbolism and importance in this community and society at large with Samhaim, Halloween, Dia de los Muertos, not to mention Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Month. I was so curious to see what theme or idea you would come up with for this month. Can you talk a little about your inspiration and what you envision this month being?

I really believe that art is a process we can all engage with. For many of us though art making is fraught with fear and insecurity. I love finding ways for people to partake in a creative project that asks nothing more than that you participate. It is the gathering or joining together of each of our efforts that creates something that is so much more than the sum of its parts.

I am rediscovering the pleasures of taking photos these days after upgrading to a phone with a built in camera. This rediscovery is also reminding me of how much is said and unsaid in photos.

Photographs are a very accessible medium for most people. I wanted to suggest an idea that would be easy to take part in. I know I am always filled with good intentions to do something and suddenly it is three weeks later so I wanted to come up with an idea that even I could follow through on with relative ease in a short space of time.

When I offered to guest edit October I wasn’t thinking about it being Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Month, but when I realized the significance of the month I wanted to acknowledge it in the theme. So that is where the idea came from – Life as we know it: what does it look like?

Take a photograph of any aspect of your life now and send it in…

I am working on an idea for the community poem linked to this theme. I will post details in the next few days.

Awesome. I love this theme. It is accessible and also very profound. It is in the ordinary that we truly miss our children. Thank you so much for talking to me and for guest editing this space. I can't wait to see and read what happens this month.     

Thank you Angie. It feels like a real privilege to be climbing on board. I am starting to get quite excited by it now.

Please submit your work to still life 365 capturing as aspect of your everyday life without your child(ren) to stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com.

october theme and guest editor

2011-09-26T07:15:00.002-04:00

still life 365 is honored and privileged to welcome a guest host for the month of October. We will be kicking off her guest hosting duties on Monday, October 3rd, with an Artist to Artist conversation to get to know her better, though those of us at still life 365 already are familiar with her work. Please help me welcome Louise from Radar of Chance.

Louise is a writer and an artist, a creative, three-dimensional thinker with a streak of wry. I adore her and hope you do too. She has an incredible month ahead and a very achievable cool challenge for the month of October.

One thing we all share in common, despiteour particular and unique experiences of baby loss, is that we continue to liveon in this world after our babies have departed. We are left to negotiate theeveryday. Life/time has the audacity to continue on regardless in the face ofour grief.

We wake and sleep, eat and drink, walk andtalk, navigating our way through a world at once familiar and bewilderinglyunknown. Absence amongst the everyday. Can we see it? Is our baby’s absencevisible in our lives.

October is Baby Loss Awareness month.

Last year, in Ireland, one of our radiostations asked anyone who wanted to submit a photograph or photographs thatthey took on a designated day. The results, collated into a book, captured apicture of life in Ireland one day in 2011. It wasn’t just beautiful landscapesor smiling families. The photographs told a much bigger story of friendship,simple pleasures, sadness, changing circumstances, occasion and everyday.

Over the month of October, I would lovepeople to send in photos of any aspect of the everyday in their lives after the loss of their child with afew lines explaining why they chose the photo(s). The aim is to capture apicture of our everyday, during this month of awareness, as we negotiate ourway through life post loss.

Please send your submissions into still life 365 through our gmail account at stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com. Please do not forget the DAYS part of the email addie. And please use submission in the subject line. It helps us organize the in-box.

Thank you, and if you are interested in editing this space, please contact me through stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com.

Sea of Grass, Sherry Russo

2011-08-23T00:00:00.000-04:00

Sea of Grass
by Sherry Russo

My son’s grave sits

on a sea of grass

in line with other graves

like a row of rocks

sitting on the distant shore.

Trees abound giving shade

while the wind blows.

Shade that never comforts

anyone above the grass,

except for the birds

who make their home.

A sea of grass

so calm, so serene

were it a park or a garden.

Although it is,

albeit a different one

where peace never comes.

Only sadness and a heavy heart

to be reminded of

how dead my son is

buried 6 feet underground.

08.02.11

1635

:::

about the poem.
I wrote this to express how I feel about the cemetery. 2 1/2 years into my loss, and I still can't accept that I have to go there to visit my son. It's painful being there and it triggers so many emotions. Thoughts and feelings that I manage to compartmentalize so I can move on with my life and be the best mother I can be for my two living children. As much as I hate the place, I still visit on a regular basis, out of obligation and out of love. - Sherry

about the poet.
Sherry describes herself, "I have been married for 10 years to a wonderful husband, a mother of three, one in heaven. Our world was forever changed when our twin babies were born at 28 1/2 weeks due to an incompetent cervix. Our twin baby boy Brandon died shortly after birth from complications of a collapsed lung, and Sophia stayed in the NICU for 48 days. I mostly write about Brandon and my journey in this world without him. It's the only thing I have that's devoted to him. It helps me heal, while keeping his memory alive." Sherry blogs at Remembering Brandon.

Florence's Garden, Jeanette.

2011-08-22T00:00:00.001-04:00

Florence's Garden.
Jeanette.
Photograph.

:::

about this piece.
I have a small space in my garden that we think of as Florence's garden. The stone was a gift from a dear friend, carved for us, the dove is taken from the applique I designed for Florence's burial gown.(previously submitted) I'm not much of a gardener, but I try to keep this small space pretty with plants and found objects.

The 7th of August was two years since Florence's burial, and I felt I needed to mark the occasion somehow. Last year we released Chinese lanterns, but this year that didn't seem quite right. Instead we waited till dusk, and I lit these candles in her garden. We watched the glow of the candlelight while eating apple cake and drinking tea. Simple, but it felt right. -Jeanette

about the contributor.

I'm a Mummy to six children,married to Woody. Sadly our fifth child, our youngest daughter Florence died suddenly and unexpectedly after a robustly healthy pregnancy and perfect homebirth, in July 2009. I blog about life with a large family, about babyloss,and about sewing, it's a curious mix, but then nothing is ever straight forward after you have buried one of your children. -Jeanette

Jeanette's blog is Lazy Seamstress.

Poem for Sky and Mizuko Jizo Magnets, Skytimes.

2011-08-19T00:00:00.017-04:00

Poem for Sky.
Skytimes.
Poetry and photography.

Mizuko Jizo Magnets.
Skytimes.
Craft.

:::

about these pieces.

A poem for Sky... wherever dead-baby-heaven is, this is how I'd like it to be.

Mizuko jizo magnets...four years along the dead baby road I dreaded the built-up for Sky‘s fourth birthday. Hence I lined up tons of crafting projects to keep me busy. What seemed to work best for my grief-stricken mind was to play around with bottlecap sized canvas and create little Mizuko Jizo fridge magnets. A babyloss mom can never have enough jizos around and it's nice to spread love in his name.

I stayed true to my turning-rubbish-into-beauty credo and everything I used was basically rubbish and too small of an amount/length to be used otherwise.

Materials: soda bottlecap, scraps of coloured cartons or pieces of dark wooden veneer, leftover cords and strings. Pencils and love. --Skytimes.

about the artist.
Skytimes is a graphic artist and designer. Her son Sky died on August, 14th, 2007 and was born sleeping 5 days later on August, 19th 2007, at 33 weeks. She maintains a blog at Skytimes.

Today the still life 365 community remembers Sky on his fourth birthday and abides with his mama in love and thought. Skytimes asked me to share this additional picture, so you can head over to her blog to win one of these mizuko jizo magnets in Sky's name.

Little Stars, Kara L.C. Jones, aka Mother Henna.

2011-08-10T00:00:00.002-04:00

Little Stars.
Kara L.C. Jones, aka Mother Henna.
Photography.

:::

about this piece.
Just a still life of the plushie a friend gave to me right after our son died last summer. She hadn't yet heard what name we'd chosen for him: Mizuko Star. And then I saw the little plushie has a star stitched to his hand! It's Zuzu's star! As we approach the first year anniversary of his birth and death, I just miss him. I was trying to capture how much I miss and love him in this one. - Kara

about the artist.
Kara is the Radical Creative behind all things MotherHenna.com. In 1999, after the death of their son Dakota, Kara and her partner Hawk co-founded Kota Press (KOTA: Knowing Ourselves Thru Art), an expressive arts outreach. Through their KOTA work and in partnership with the MISS Foundation, they have been mentoring other bereaved parents and caregivers around the world, offering creative perspectives on learning to life again after loss. As a coach to private clients, Kara facilitates the exploration of grief and creativity using many tools for alternative mind, body, spiritual health. Some of her specialties include henna art, heART-making, co-active coaching, Reiki, Tapping, asking the answerable questions and more. Kara keeps a radical creativity blog at Mother Henna Kota Loss & Compassion Blog. Kara has been featured on still life 365 with her scrapbook page for her son Dakota, her poem Take-out Order, and her poem the After Life. The still life 365 community is mourning with Kara and her husband for the recent loss of her second son, Mizuko Star.

Today the still life 365 community remembers Kara's son Mizuko Star on the one year anniversary of his birth and death. Abiding with our dear mentor, fellow artist and friend.

Preening, Abi Crouch

2011-08-09T00:00:00.005-04:00

Preening
by Abi Crouch

Today I met another

Mama

who lost her little boy.

We traded photos,

Complimented and preened.

And looked with hungry eyes

At babies

still

but not asleep.

:::

about the piece.
My son Corbin was born still at 41 weeks gestation. There were no indicators during my pregnancy that there was anything wrong with him and the many tests I've had since we lost him have not provided any answers about what happened. He simply slipped away from us between dinner on the 18th and the wee hours of the 19th when I went into labor. After he was born I had this ferocious need to share him and the love and pride that I had for him. Because of the circumstances and the taboo around talking about dead babies, I didn't feel like I could. This piece is about the first Mama I met who also had a late third trimester loss. We met for lunch one day and shared our birth stories and boys' photos. It was such a relief to be able to share freely and to have someone look at my boy, and to be able to see HIM and not just death. This afternoon holds a very special place in my heart. -Abi

about the poet.
Abi Crouch has an impressively large set of skills made irrelevant by technology from the 20th century. Driven by art and writing, she has become a horrible house keeper, a fabulous quilt maker, a loving and (mostly) attentive wife and a mama with her heart on fire for her two boys; Wills, who is three and Corbin who was born still at 41 weeks in January of 2011. Most of Abi's spare time is wrapped up in building A Heart to Hold. You can learn more here; a Heart To Hold or find us on facebook at a Heart to Hold on Facebook

Right Where We Are, Josh Jackson

2011-08-08T00:00:00.002-04:00

Right Where We Are.
Josh Jackson.
Digital Art.

:::

about this piece.
I began this project after reading the entries in the Right Where I Am project. For me, the project was borne out of a desire to connect with Margot and to connect to the babyloss community. And it sort of became a grief study, even though I realize that where people were at on the day they took part in the project could have been totally different the very next day. I wanted to learn and see if I could find any themes or patterns to this overwhelming grief. I read every post at least twice.

Here are some figures and thoughts regarding the project:

- Basically I took a word or a few words or a sentence from every single post and put it in the art piece I created in Photoshop. I read every post at least twice and looked for a theme within that post. Whether it was sad or hopeful or depressing or content, I tried to honor that person's post with what I chose to include in the document.
- On a deeper level, to begin with, I also put all of the collective posts together in one document and then read through the document as a whole piece to see if I could find lots of repeated ideas that were communicated. For example, how we will all miss our baby forever or how hard it was for so many people to deal with friends or how anxiety filled the subsequent pregnancy was...stuff like that. And then I tried to include this kind of thing as well from different posts that were written for the project.
- Special love goes out to Sally (HopesMama) and Jill (FireFlyForever) - they commented on almost every single post in the entire project. I felt their presence as I read and copies and pasted for hours on end.
- All in all, there were 138,571 words written. 239 pages in my pages document (enough to fill a book!). This doesn't include a few BLM's that had private blogs that I couldn't access.
- I went over and over through this piece to make sure I didn't leave out any baby names...I hope I got them all, but I'm fairly certain I did (excluding those who have private blogs that I couldn't access).
- The document itself is 4800 X 6000 pixels and 300 DPI, so it prints really clearly at 16 X 20 inches.
-Josh

If you are interested in a copy of this poster, please visit Josh's blog and website where he can email you a copy.

about the artist.
My partner Kari and I live in Los Angeles with our first child Stella, who was born in February 2009. On March 24, 2011, at 39 weeks pregnant, Kari tripped and fell on her belly. We rushed her to the hospital and they performed an emergency c-section. Our second daughter, Margot June, was stillborn thirty minutes after Kari fell, due to placenta abruption. Margot weighed nearly eight pounds and looked just like her sister. Kari almost followed Margot, and needed fourteen blood transfusions to save her life. Both of her kidneys failed as well, so we didn't leave the hospital for two weeks after losing Margot. For work, I design and build furniture out of reclaimed and salvaged wood. I have been blogging for many years now, using it as a way to keep a family record. Now I'm writing about Margot and grief and doing my best to integrate her story into our story. Josh blogs at Jack (at) Random. -Josh

Beauty, Kristin Binder.

2011-08-04T00:00:00.000-04:00

Beauty.
Kristin Binder.
Photography and digital art.

:::

about the contributor.

Kristin blogs about mothering and grieving Peyton, as well as her struggles with secondary infertility, IVF, and the emotional ups and downs of pregnancy after loss on her blog Once A Mother. She recently completed her first novel, and is working on a memoir. She makes her home with a husband she adores, a black lab she can't seem to train, and “The Snowflakes” twins conceived via IVF.

Twilight Love, Amy McCarter

2011-08-03T00:00:00.005-04:00

Twilight Love
by Amy McCarter

There you are, in the space that is no longer
The place that was yours and now gone
In the light that mingles with dark
Your story drifting on the silent current of sorrow
Dancing in the magical twilight sun
I feel you though my eyes can not see
You are the dream that once was and should have been
You are my love for all time
My Hope
Inspiration
You are Liam

:::

about the poem.
I wrote this poem after finally taking down Liam's nursery in July 2008 and converting back into a spare bedroom. While the room was no longer a nursery, I saw ghost shadows like whispers of what it used to be... sometimes I still do.

about the artist.
Amy lives in North Carolina with her husband and two greyhounds. Amy describes her journey, "Our only child Liam was born alive and apparently healthy on September 25, 2007, and was the joy of our lives. Our son Liam died soon after birth due to unexplained/unknown causes, shattering our world and our hearts. Art is an expression and release of my grief, and a way to honor the memory of our little man who is missed beyond words." Amy maintains a blog showcasing her Creative Everyday Challenge at Surviving the Day Every Day.

Bullet Jizo, Kara L.C. Jones

2011-08-02T00:00:00.001-04:00

Bullet Jizo.
Kara L.C. Jones, Mother Henna.
Photography.

:::

about the piece.
One of my favorite discoveries here in Sedona has been the Stupa Park. On the red dirt paths on the way up to the main Stupa, people build little impromptu shrines, leaving a ray of items that intrigue me as memorial art. I often walk here to try and get a handle on some aspect of my own grief, but I find myself doing tonglen for the others who are suffering grief and leaving items on this path. This photo in particular was of an impromptu shrine that captured my heart. Right there with the peaceful Buddha is a bullet. I wonder if someone's child died at the hands of a bullet? Was it the bullet someone was going to use to commit suicide but changed their mind? What wrestle of grief did that person have with this bullet? It was a moment of tonglen, breathing in whatever suffering they might have, and breathing out compassion and witnessing of their heart. - Kara

about the artist.
Kara is the Radical Creative behind all things MotherHenna.com. In 1999, after the death of their son Dakota, Kara and her partner Hawk co-founded Kota Press (KOTA: Knowing Ourselves Thru Art), an expressive arts outreach. Through their KOTA work and in partnership with the MISS Foundation, they have been mentoring other bereaved parents and caregivers around the world, offering creative perspectives on learning to life again after loss. As a coach to private clients, Kara facilitates the exploration of grief and creativity using many tools for alternative mind, body, spiritual health. Some of her specialties include henna art, heART-making, co-active coaching, Reiki, Tapping, asking the answerable questions and more. Kara keeps a radical creativity blog at Mother Henna Kota Loss & Compassion Blog. Kara has been featured on still life 365 with her scrapbook page for her son Dakota, her poem Take-out Order, and her poem the After Life. The still life 365 community is mourning with Kara and her husband for the recent loss of her second son, Mizuko Star.

Travel Gnome's Diary, the travel gnome.

2011-08-01T08:00:00.000-04:00

about this video.
Accompanying the travel journal is this wee little gnome. After the first leg, Skytimes added a handbound journal and began keeping a diary for the gnome. People added photos, sketches and notes about what they did with the gnome. Ines made little carved footprint pebbles, gnome prints, for each participant to keep when the journal reached the destination. When I first received the journal between the United States and Australia, I was blown away by how amazing the diary was and what everyone did. It was a fantastic surprise. I pulled together this little retrospective for everyone from the gnome pictures I received and used some of the entries in the diary. -Angie

still life 365 travel journal, the community

2011-08-01T00:00:00.004-04:00

Traveling Journal.
still life 365 community.
Video of mixed media art journal.

:::

about this piece.
Jess suggested a traveling still life 365 journal. The idea is that one journal moves around the world with art inspired by our grief and our babies as a shared art project. Each participant could pick one or two (or more) 8"x8" pages as a spread or a single page. Any medium that fit into the plastic sleeve was allowed. The work served as a tribute to our babies, life after loss, healing thoughts, and/or supportive messages--anything that moved each person. The journal pages could either be mixed media, collage, painting, sketching...anything flat of which you can conceive. After each person finished their piece, it was mailed to the next person on the list. Before mailing it off, each person put a dot on the map where they were. The journal was mailed March 31, 2010, and just made its way home July 28, 2011. Accompanying the journal was a little travel gnome, each person was asked to take a picture of the gnome in their town, or house, and email it back. On its first leg, in Germany, the journal was accompanied by a mini-writing journal (created by SkyTimes) called the Traveling Gnome Diary, and people wrote in the first person from the gnome's point of view about the art and their trip. People included pictures, and writing.On the second leg, in Ireland, Ines added footprints and a beautiful bag that accompanied the gnome. Each contributor was asked to take a carved pebble from the Irish shore. You can read about individual journal entries through this tag: traveling journal.

A second journal was started a few months later, but was lost in the mail.

about the contributors.
The contributors to the traveling journal include: Angie, Skytimes, Ines, Jess, Andrea, ANg, Kara Jones, aka Mother Henna, Tina, Holly, Katrina, Amy McCarter, Audrey, Noah, Michelle White, Naomi, slh, Jill, Carly Brooks, Sally, Julie Cozens and Soph.

Mykelti, Dawni

2011-07-18T00:00:00.000-04:00

Mykelti
by Dawni

Though I never took you here, you line the seashore,
your figure running across the rocks and dipping down
into the tidal pools. Cradling an underwater orb in
clumsy palms, the blunted pencil urchin a perfect fit;
your eyes sparkle, reflecting rainbows of colour.

At day's end, you race the setting sun's fire,
joyous, you dash along and fling the sand loose
with bronzed limbs flailing. In this moment,
wreathed in the sun's glow, you look your part.

And mine, mother to an angel, is obvious: everywhere
I stand, every direction I face, I watch your lips
as they shape words that the wind carries away,
buries in dark caves along the water's edge.

Every day you disappear, slip a little further under the waves;
and still, though I never took you here, you line the seashore.

:::

about this piece.
My inspiration for this poem came from a couple of factors. First of all, I was challenged to come up with a unique poem using a set of words (fire, lips, rainbows, orb and angel), but bigger than that, I was holidaying half-way around the world and feeling a bit lost. Immediately when I saw the list of words, I had a vision of my son romping on the beach, and I knew exactly what I wanted to write. This poem was originally posted to my Writer's Cafe account, Penulis Kecil. -Dawni

about the poet.
I'm 28 years old now, but I was barely 14 when I lost my first child, Mykelti Noah. Circumstances around his loss are much more complicated than those around my daughter Elyssami Faith's death, ten years later, but I do love and grieve for both of my children. I find a measure of solace in creative pursuits, and have dedicated a number of artworks and poems/lyrics to one or both of my children. My blog, Dialectic Dichotomy, focuses on my recovery from mental illness but also visits other topics (such as my children) at times. -Dawni

Reflection, Jill

2011-07-11T00:00:00.004-04:00

The Glass Baby
by Jill

I wake one morning
Aware of molten glass
Pouring into me.
It burns and the pain makes me cry.
But my tears don't cool the fire
So I grit my teeth and reach down.
I pull and push until a shape is formed -
A tiny glass child.
I look at my hands, burnt and bloodstained,
And I fold them over my belly
To protect the fragile life within.
IT ISN'T ENOUGH.
Until suddenly, my little glass boy floats.
I look inside and see his sister.
She is rocking him and crying tears of joy.
Her tears surround him in a warm, wet bath.
He floats, protected and happy,
My tiny man.
Her tears reflect in the glass of his limbs
And Rainbows burst from my womb.
Her tears, my broken hands, his rainbow
Surround him on our journey
'Til he bursts forth in a gush of her tears and my blood.
I recognise his newborn cry
As a call of goodbye to his womb mate
His newborn limbs flailing a wave
To his loving sister,
Who smiles and kisses his head,
Before wrapping herself in our rainbows
And tucking herself back into my heart.

:::

about the piece.

"I've been reading through all the posts from the "Where are we right now?" project and it has lead me to reflect on my own relationship with my daughter and my grief. I have felt distant from all things babylost recently and it has been valuable for me to re-connect. I was drawn back to these two pieces, both created in the first year of my grief, to remind me that I carry my daughter and her loss with me always, in all situations - not matter how far down the path I travel." -Jill

about the artist.Jill's third child (her second daughter), Emma, died during labour at 40 weeks on 14th October 2008. She blogs about her beautiful girl and her journey without her at Only a Whisper.

Turbulence, Adrienne Yancey

2011-06-28T00:00:00.000-04:00

Turbulence: My world turned upside down.
Adrienne Yancey
Mannequin form with acrylic

:::

about the piece.
I have been painting mannequins for about five years now and I usually just wait until the perfect idea comes into my brain and then I transform them. This one came to mind a few weeks ago as I was sitting outside crying and a plane flew overhead. I looked up to see a perfect blue sky and wished I could paint it the colors of my grief. It seems so wrong that the world doesn't know he's gone. The sky doesn't reflect his absence and the people go on with their lives.

I thought about my mannequins and how I could recreate the sky there, but give it a deeper meaning using the woman's body. My world was turned upside down when I lost Leo. My reproductive system failed me and in turn bled red over most of my life. The turbulence has yet to let up and I'm trying so hard to find peace with my reality. This mannequin represents my reality, as disturbing as that may be. -Adrienne

about the artist.
Adrienne Yancey is a 28 year old restaurant manager and beer buyer. "Leo was my second son and he was going to be my last. I had severe complications with my first son and feared the worst my entire pregnancy. The day they told me he was gone crushed a part of my soul. I have been using art as an outlet for my emotions. This piece expressed what I wanted perfectly. I appreciate the opportunity to share this with other baby loss parents." Adrienne blogs at Loss of Leo.

Bossa do Anjinho, Julio Santillán and Francisca Almeida.

2011-06-27T00:00:00.000-04:00

Bossa do Anjinho.
Julio and Francisca.
Film, music and art.

:::

about the piece.
Julio wrote this song the day his friends’ twins were born, right after he came back from the hospital. He imagined they were the little friends of his stillborn son, Alejandro. Part of the inspiration came from Chico Buarque, a Brazilian songwriter who often writes as a woman. The watercolors were painted by Francisca, Alejandro’s mother, as a healing activity. About half of the paintings are reproductions of (or inspired by) watercolors from the book The Tao of Watercolor, by Jeanne Carbonneti. Julio took pictures of the watercolors, recorded the song (with an amazing singer and friend, Ana Rossi), and made the video while Francisca was away in a business trip to make her a surprise gift. Here is an approximate English translation of the lyrics:

Bossa of the little angel

I forgot to feel all the pain
that was left by the illusion you were bringing

I forgot to cry, to understand
that you are not here and are only a remembrance

I was deprived to offer you the warmth
of this voice that names you

I’ll keep for another time
my advices and motherly fears

They will grow up and one day will know them,
the ones that are and will be your friends

It is difficult to understand what justice decided
to take you away forever

about the artists.
Julio Santillán, Argentine, 37, is a professional musician now based in Barcelona. Francisca Almeida, Brazilian, 35, is a scientist. They met in NYC where their first and only child, Alejandro, was stillborn at exactly 40 weeks, on December 30th 2008. Ale had been planned and the pregnancy was mostly healthy except for a few bleeding episodes between weeks 14 and 16. Despite tens of tests and an autopsy the doctors couldn’t explain Ale’s death. Julio has contributed to Still Life 365 before with an instrumental piece, Piedrita de rio.

Giraffe for Thomas, Louise.

2011-06-22T00:00:00.000-04:00

Giraffe for Thomas.
Louise.
Crochet.

:::

about the piece.
Our son Thomas was born at sleeping at just 20 weeks. I really wanted Thomas to take something I had made with him and so I crocheted this little giraffe for him the night before his funeral. I was still sewing bits on in the car. At first I was quite distressed that he wasn't finished but someone gently pointed out that neither was Thomas. I chose a giraffe because we had planned to decorate the nursery with them. We're hoping that we can continue the theme with any future children. -Louise

about the artist.
I'm 38 years old and Thomas was my first child, we have been trying for over six years. My partner and I 'suffer' social infertility and have had to rely on the kindness of donors in our hope to have a child. I have continued to make little crochet animals as it helps me feel closer to my son. I never know who they're for until I'm finished. I like to think Thomas is choosing for me. - Louise

The Cardinal, Sara

2011-06-21T00:00:00.001-04:00

The Cardinal
by Sara

they say he passed in the night on a whim,
or maybe he was conjured out of me and sent to live in thin air.
three days gone only nature could quell the ache.
a small cardinal was perched on a branch nervously fixed in my direction.
i begged silently: "let it be my boy."
let him get close enough so i can see the puffing of his chest,
the quickening thump beneath his feathers, rhythmic like the morning hiccups in my belly.
did he feel life independent of my body?
i wanted to know he saw glittering lights beyond the clouds,
he touched the trees and was blinded by fog.
he felt weather, cool air.
he had memories of water.
he dodged the rain.
he sensed danger in man's machines and was deafened by contraptions.
living above, he marveled at how we look like simple automatons,
scurrying about like ants on a schedule.

the cardinal inched away.
no whistled confession arrived,
my insides felt more empty than the moment he was yanked into that fluorescent light,
laid down like a floppy doll.
still.
our blood spread across the floor like an abstract streak on a blank white canvas,
a table of sharp silver was mottled with red.

for fourteen hours i held him like a sarcophagus, stony and shocked.
a hardened vessel immobilized by a catheter feeding numb to my spine.
with no sense of urgency the nurses shuffled into the room wearing their most serious faces
and the doctor spoke of options like a funeral director.
i wondered how many coffins she had pried open.
how many sleeping babies found their way into her arms?
three days later these were questions of no importance.
birth, the consummate beginning, had been absurdly preceded by death.
basic dates were reversed,
essential words redefined.
the future became blank.
all of my middle chapters were torn out and thrown into a river with my stygian womb.

december's sun lost its strength and the cardinal departed.
a breeze played the sterile branches,
they rattled like the hollow toys he was supposed to hold.
i am a wasteland,
a childless mother,
an origami woman who was folded into grief and half-crumpled by death's harsh hands.
my boy is ashes in a box on my headboard,
his only experience of life was the sound of my muffled heart and stirrings.

:::

about this piece and about the poet.
I wrote the below poem about my son Lawrence. He was born still in the third trimester on December 15th, 2010. I don't have a blog and this has not been submitted or published elsewhere. I'm a 33 year old single woman in Kansas. I'm not a poet and I doubt this is particularly good form-wise, but it's the only thing I've written that fully explains the experience of his death / birth. -Sara

Possible Factor V, Adrienne Yancey

2011-06-16T00:00:00.000-04:00

Possible Factor V
Adrienne Yancey
Acrylic mixed media

:::

about the piece.
I created this piece after finding out that my blood clotted in the placenta due to a possible genetic blood disorder resulting in my son Leo being stillborn. I wanted it to represent the inability of my placenta to sustain Leo's soul and his graceful exit from my body. I saw it in my mind while driving home from the doctor and thankfully I was able to bring it into reality. -Adrienne

about the artist.
I am a 28 year old restaurant manager and beer buyer. Leo was my second son and he was going to be my last. I had severe complications with my first son and feared the worst my entire pregnancy. The day they told me he was gone crushed a part of my soul. I have been using art as an outlet for my emotions. This piece expressed what I wanted perfectly. I have a blog at Loss of Leo. I appreciate the opportunity to share this with other baby loss parents. -Adrienne

Softly Spoken, Emma's Daddy

2011-06-15T00:00:00.000-04:00

:::

about the music.
Emma's Daddy wrote Softly Spoken. "The idea behind the music was simply to take two notes as a starting point and imagine a word being whispered through them. The piece is deliberately short, as if the words were brought on the evening's breeze and then gone," shares Emma's Daddy.

about the contributor.
Emma's Daddy describes himself and his family, "Emma was our third child who was born sleeping on her due date in October 2008. I live in the North East of England. My blog is called My Baby Emma."

The Grief Divide, Kara Wansbury

2011-06-14T00:00:00.000-04:00

The Grief Divide.
Kara Wansbury.
Painting.

:::

about the contributor.
I am 30 years old, single and I live in Sydney, Australia. I am in the Navy and I work in public relations. I have been granted the good fortune of considerable time off work and I will use this time wisely to study and explore my grief in whatever creative outlet I pursue. I am not alone in this journey: I have Marin with me every step of the way. - Kara

My Heart, Shaina

2011-06-13T00:00:00.000-04:00

My Heart.
Shaina.
Mixed Media on Acrylic.

:::

about the artist.
I am a 30 year old woman who lost my firstborn son on March 8, 2011. I had an easy pregnancy and was two weeks overdue when I finally was induced. I had a very long (36 hour) labor and my son was fine and healthy until the last 30 or so minutes when his heart rate started to decrease. However, it was in the last five minutes before he was born that his heart stopped and he never took a breath after being born. I am not a very crafty person, mostly because I feel too insecure, but I have found art to be healing and a cathartic way of expressing my grief. -Shaina

Shaina blogs at My Search for Hope.

An Explanation, Katie

2011-06-09T00:00:00.000-04:00

An Explanation
by Katie.

I am mourning my miscarriage

I am mourning my pregnancy
I am missing the flutters and kicks of my baby in my body
I am missing the morning sickness and the aches and pains
I miss being so tired I could cry
I regret that I do not get to labor to bring my child into the light
I am sad that I don’t get to hear a cry and see a scrunched up red face covered in blood
I wanted to hold him to my chest and for the first time see his eyes

I am mourning my child
I am mourning first smiles, first grasps, first steps, and first words
I am missing snuggles and sweet smelling baby hair
I am crying because I will never change a dirty diaper and never have my sick child puke all over my shirt
Never wipe his grubby fingers, never clean a muddy face
Never have the chance to clean the pee off my carpet when I mess up potty training
I will never have his hands reach for my shirt
Never have him run to my arms
Never hear him say mama
I am mourning lost Christmas pictures with Santa Claus
I am mourning lost shopping trips when shoes become too tight
I am mourning lost walks in the park, trips to the zoo, and pushes on the swings at the playground
I am mourning lost first days of school
I am missing finger-painted hand prints stuck on my refrigerator
I am missing piano recitals, sports practices, field trips and birthday parties
I am missing Sunday mornings in church with wiggles and shushing

I am mourning my child
I am mourning the fact that I do not get to see him graduate, marry, and have a family
I am mourning the fact that my words of wisdom, my love, and my tears have no landing place
I want to give kisses and hugs
I want to give lectures and groundings
I want to make the mistakes my parents made
I want to be a better parent than my parents

I am crying because until my baby died I didn’t even realize I had made plans
Seen his whole life and calculated my place in it
I am mourning the fact that every day I am missing something important
I am mourning my child
I am mourning my pregnancy
I am mourning my miscarriage

:::

about the piece.
After I had a first trimester miscarriage in August of 2010 I felt like people didn't understand why I was so upset. I had a friend tell me that it shouldn't be this difficult for me because my baby never even got a chance to really live. I tried to explain my grief to her but didn't feel like I expressed it well. I went away, thought about it, and I wrote this poem to try to explain and articulate exactly what I was mourning. - Katie

about the artist.
My name is Katie I had a first trimester miscarriage in August of 2010. It was an unplanned pregnancy and I was all by myself but I wanted my baby from the moment I knew I was pregnant. I never found out the gender but while I was pregnant had dreams about a little boy, so I named my baby Nathan. Writing has always helped me unravel my feelings and it has been especially helpful in dealing with the mixture of regret, sadness, relief, and shock of this whole experience.

My Dragonflies, Krista

2011-06-08T00:00:00.000-04:00

My Dragonflies.
Krista.
Tattoo design.

:::

about the piece.
Dragonflies have always been my favorite bug and since my losses I have discovered that many women are drawn to them after loss. I put this tattoo together using clipart I found online and a downloadable font. The tattoo artist was able to give me exactly what I wanted and even did it cheaper than he quoted it for. Now I have a permanent, physical, outward mark to tell the world that my babies DID exist and that feels right. It was also the only painful tattoo I've ever gotten and that feels right too. - Krista

about the artist.
Krista is a 28 year old woman who has had three healthy, full term pregnancies followed by four miscarriages; a blighted ovum at 12wks, Benjamin Elijah at 16wks, Kadence Delilah at 21wks and Katharine Delia at 18wks.

For our Sweet Collins, Nikki

2011-06-07T00:00:00.000-04:00

For our Sweet Collins
Love, Mommy

I’ll never get to rock you,
or softly comb your hair.
I’ll never get to tuck you in
with a well-loved teddy bear.

There’ll be no Mother’s Day cards,
no wild flower bouquets,
no puppet shows, no zoos, no parks,
no graduation days.

I won’t dance at your wedding,
won’t watch you hold you own first born.
Your life, too brief, and stolen from you,
has left me and your Daddy torn.

But I’ll cherish the time, sweet Collins,
when we were connected by a cord,
I’ll rejoice in knowing you are now safe
in the arms of the Almighty Lord.

I’ll look for you in each sunbeam;
I’ll feel your presence in the wind.
And you will live in our hearts, forever,
Wrapped in a love without any end.

:::

about the piece.
I wrote this poem and read it at Collins' funeral. He passed on May 19 of this year.

about the poet.
Nikki shares her story, "I have a beautiful 14 month old son, and Collins was going to be the "completion" of our family. Two perfect little boys. He died one day after birth due to PPHN, something that occurred despite the fact that I had a perfect pregnancy and barely took a Tylenol during it. It is very rare and we still have no idea why him-- a robust 9 lbs and 1 oz.I am blogging at imissyoulikehell.blogspot.com It's private, but if anyone tells me they read this poem here, I will gladly add them.

For A While, Sherry Russo

2011-06-02T00:00:00.000-04:00

For A While

by Sherry Russo

For a while time stood still

suspended when you died

My heart, my mind

confined to where

you left me

In a haze

I muddle through

oblivious to the world

that continues to move on

Apathetic to everything

but my grief

my sorrow unyielding

For a while

I will stay here

in the depths of darkness

the valley of death.

05.24.11

:::

about the poem.

I actually wrote this due to my father's recent and very sudden passing. Although the grief I feel from losing a parent is a little different than that of a baby, the sentiment of the poem is universal. All of this really brings me back to when I first lost Brandon. - Sherry

Self-portrait, Krista.

2011-06-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

Self-Portrait.
Krista.
Charcoal.

:::

about the artist.
Krista is a 27 years old woman who has had three healthy, full term pregnancies followed by three miscarriages. First at 12wks (blighted ovum), second at 16wks4ds (Benjamin), and the most recent at 21wks (Kadence).

I also had a chemical pregnancy the first cycle after my first loss and the first cycle after my last loss, both were devastating. Since my last loss I have been using art as a way of getting my grief out and have really appreciated this site and seeing other women's work. - Krista

Not Mine, Kara Wansbury

2011-05-31T00:00:00.002-04:00

Not Mine
by Kara Wansbury

She picks the sprinkles off her cupcake one by one
She wears Barbie bandaids
She cuddles her worn, well-loved bunny rabbit

Her hair is disheveled from a morning at the park
Her shirt wears this mornings babycino
Her giggle warms her mothers heart
And gives her a reason to get up in the morning

She isn't my daughter
I am not her mother

:::

about this poem.
I went for my usual morning coffee and noticed a mother and daughter together. She was about four. I thought of all the things I won't get to do with Marin. I came home and wrote this. And cried. -Kara

about the poet.
I am 30 years old, single and I live in Sydney, Australia. I am in the Navy and I work in public relations. I have been granted the good fortune of considerable time off work and I will use this time wisely to study and explore my grief in whatever creative outlet I pursue. I am not alone in this journey: I have Marin with me every step of the way. - Kara

The Garden, Shaina

2011-05-30T00:00:00.002-04:00

The Garden.
Shaina Gadow.
Acrylic and mixed media.

:::

about this piece.
I have been searching for ways to "mother" my son in his physical absence and found creating a garden and tending to it is a way to nurture him and/or his memory. It is way a to feel close to him when I can't hold him in my arms. -Shaina

about the artist.
I am a 30 year old woman who lost my firstborn son on March 8, 2011. I had an easy pregnancy and was two weeks overdue when I finally was induced. I had a very long (36 hour) labor and my son was fine and healthy until the last 30 or so minutes when his heart rate started to decrease. However, it was in the last five minutes before he was born that his heart stopped and he never took a breath after being born. I am not a very crafty person, mostly because I feel too insecure, but I have found art to be healing and a cathartic way of expressing my grief. -Shaina

Shaina blogs at My Search for Hope.

Live Chat at Noon EST

2011-05-26T07:40:00.000-04:00

Exploring Art, Poetry and Craft after Loss

Broken Heart, Krista

2011-05-18T00:00:00.002-04:00

Broken Heart.
Krista.
Digital Media and poetry.

:::

about this piece.
I did the drawing and wrote the poem the same day but had no idea they went together until I put them in the computer. - Krista

about the artist.
Krista is a 27 years old woman who has had three healthy, full term pregnancies followed by three miscarriages. First at 12wks (blighted ovum), second at 16wks4ds (Benjamin), and the most recent at 21wks (Kadence).

I also had a chemical pregnancy the first cycle after my first loss and the first cycle after my last loss, both were devastating. Since my last loss I have been using art as a way of getting my grief out and have really appreciated this site and seeing other women's work. - Krista

Millie's Angel, Megan

2011-05-09T00:00:00.000-04:00

Millie's Angel.
Megan.
Photograph.

:::

about the piece.
A friend and I went to our local cemetery for International Babylost Mother's Day. I found this angel atop a grave. I called it Millie's Angel. Millie was the lady buried there.

about the artist.
Megan describes herself, "I am the wife to Ken and mother of five: 17 year old Troy and four who are only with us in Spirit - Brendan (Still born 19/4/1999 - 20 weeks gestation); Cianan (stayed with us for us for 7 hours - 6/8/2000 - 22 weeks); Kavyn (Still born 31/1/2002 - 23 weeks); and Alex (Still born 17/2/2005 - 21 weeks and 5 days). Writing and art have helped me to traverse the journey that is grief.

Megan blogs at Four Ravens. Her former blog, the Rose Garden, has more of her poetry and writing.

I Wear My Baby, Krista

2011-05-05T00:00:00.000-04:00

:::

about this piece.
A poem for my second loss, my son, at 16wks4ds. - Krista

about the artist.
Krista is a 27 years old woman who has had three healthy, full term pregnancies followed by three miscarriages. First at 12wks (blighted ovum), second at 16wks4ds (Benjamin), and the most recent at 21wks (Kadence).

I also had a chemical pregnancy the first cycle after my first loss and the first cycle after my last loss, both were devastating. Since my last loss I have been using art as a way of getting my grief out and have really appreciated this site and seeing other women's work. - Krista

I am a Mother, Crystal Theresa Zapanta

2011-05-02T00:00:00.001-04:00

I am a Mother
Ocean Beach, San Francisco, Mothers Day, 2009.
Crystal Theresa Zapanta
Photography.

:::

about the piece.
After I lost my first baby, my son, Calvin Phoenix, people's well-intentioned wishes for me to "become a parent someday" were extremely hurtful and made me feel very conflicted. I spent my first Mother's Day, two months after this loss, writing names and these two messages on the beach. These photos and statements in the sand were my way of asserting that I am still a mother, even if my baby did not live. - Crystal

about the artist.
I live in San Francisco and am married to my best friend and high school sweetheart, Louie. We will be celebrating 12 years together in May. We do not have any living children, but have been blessed with three precious and deeply missed babies: Calvin Phoenix (lost at 18 weeks, March 5, 2009), Rainbow (lost at 7 weeks, December 10, 2009), and Gaelen (lost at 6 weeks, March 15, 2011).

I have "dabbled" in arts and crafts for as long as I remember, majored in English/Writing, and have dreams of getting an MFA (in creative writing or through a cross-genre/mixed-media program). Because of my babies, I am finding a new voice, greater conviction, and a renewed drive for creative self-expression.

I blog at These Fragments, I love and also create virtual remembrance cupcakes at Calvin's Cupcakes. - Crystal

Untitled, Stephanie Dyer

2011-04-28T00:00:00.003-04:00

Untitled.

Stephanie Dyer.

Acrylic.

:::

about the piece.
This piece is a combination of my husband and my hand prints and the small canvas in the center is of Amelia's hand print. This hangs in our bedroom and I am constantly reminded that we held our baby girl in the palm of our hands for a short while, but in our hearts and memories forever. - Stephanie
about the contributor.
Stephanie Dyer describes her daughter Amelia and her journey:
With much anticipation and delight, I endured the rough first trimester and finally felt that I was in the fun part of pregnancy. We had found a midwife and began planning a home birth.

During my 24th week, our midwife explained that I was measuring larger then I should and she asked us to get an ultrasound to rule out twins. I was so excited about the possibility of twins, but also very aware that other problems could be the result of measuring larger. So, we waited for our ultrasound appt.

During the appt. I told the tech that we didn't want to know the sex of the baby. She did extensive measurements and made the appropriate small talk. But I instintively felt something was wrong. As I contacted our midwife after the appt. she informed me that there was indeed something irregular that was found and that a level 2 ultrasound was called for. So, the panic began. The week between ultrasounds was the longest week in my life. We had some ideas of what to expect...all terrible possibilities, but until the next ultrasound, all we could do was wait.

A week later, the level 2 ultrasound confirmed that we had a baby girl who had multiple congenital anomalies that were incompatible with life. She was diagnosed with Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome, Cystic Hygroma, and Hydrops Fetalis. We were told right there that we had a 99% chance of her being born still and a 1% chance of her being born alive. I believe that the doctor said that she had a close to 0% chance of surviving at all. They believe she has a disorder called Turner's syndrome. This is a chromosomal disorder where a part of the 46th pair of x chromosomes is missing or damaged.

I have a blog as well as a small business that are inspired by Amelia's life. The blog is called Carried Through Grief and the other is Beyond Words Designs.

Mizuko Jizo Gesture Cards, Angie.

2011-04-27T00:00:00.000-04:00

Mizuko Jizo Gesture Cards.
Angie.
Watercolor.

:::

about the pieces.
Last summer, my beautiful, wise, amazing friend Janis sent me a catalog she bought in Japan when visiting an exhibition at a Buddhist temple from an artist monk. She translated the titles throughout the book onto post-its.She was de-cluttering, saw the book and mailed it to me. When I received it, I was immediately enchanted and inspired. I know nothing of kanji, but I love calligraphy, and mostly it is calligraphy scrolls. I instantly thought of ten things to do with these pieces, and then ten more when I put it down. Then one morning, while I was drinking my coffee and trying to get out of the house by 9am, I somehow thought that it might be a good time to paint a card or two based on this little page I found in the monk catalog. I paint jizo cards for my babylost friends when they are reaching a birthday or milestone, if I have time. So, sometimes I like to sit down and paint them as gesture paintings, spending a little time on each of them, and working through meditation. I opened the book and found two jizos flanking a Guan Yin, which is also a female Bodhisattva of compassion. Mizuko jizo has become very important to me in my grief, and painting them are like little meditations. So, I used this inspiration for some gesture watercolors, and well, they took over my desk. - Angie

about the contributor.
Angie is the editor of still life 365. Her second daughter Lucia was stillborn after 38 weeks of pregnancy on December 22, 2008. She died on winter solstice. She writes about her experience with grief and mothering at still life with circles and is a regular contributor to Glow in the Woods. You can read more about Angie in the about the editor section.

Hope Colored Pink, Holly .

2011-04-26T00:00:00.000-04:00

Hope Colored Pink.
Holly.
Photography.

:::

about the piece
Spring is a time of renewal. Life springs forth from that which looked dead for so long. We have a weeping cherry tree that has been at our house since we moved here. I never cared much for the tree until my daughter died and then the tree became dear to my heart. The weeping branches reminding me of my own weeping. Every spring I look forward to the beautiful pink flowers that grow from the branches and every year it gives me joy and a hope colored pink. - Holly

about the artist.

Holly describes her daughter and her journey, "My husband and I found out on December 15, 2008 when I was around 22 weeks pregnant that our daughter, Carleigh McKenna, wasn't going to live. She was diagnosed with a fatal neural tube defect called anencephaly. It was devastating. I carried our daughter to term and we made the most of the time we had left with our daughter. Carleigh was born still on March 28, 2009." Holly blogs at Caring for Carleigh.

Visual Community Poetry Project

2011-04-25T00:00:00.027-04:00

Water

By: The Community

The Community Poem expressed as a visual project, via digital art created at Scrapblog.

:::

Contributors, Kara, Holly, Janice, Crystal, Angie, Julie.

Visual Community Poetry Project

2011-04-22T06:27:00.002-04:00

Hello my friends and artists, the “community”

I am calling for submissions to the,

Visual Community Poetry Project 25th April (on Easter Monday)

It will be the final community challenge from me this month. I am hoping to do a Visual Community Poem. I don’t have enough submissions at the moment to complete the work, so I am posting this call for art. Please send your submissions to stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com and use “visual challenge” as the subject. The extra challenge is that I need them before Monday.

This month I have had the pleasure of being the Guest editor here, it has been an amazing experience. I have really been humbled by your art, your expressions of grief and love. I started this guest editing role with Photo Monday, the submissions explored grief using the theme of water. Then the following Monday I published the Community Poem. Submissions were two lines of prose exploring your reflections on water and grief using one word from each of the two lists I published in the theme challenge.

The idea with this Monday’s project is that it will be a visual poem, we will see your written art take the form of visual art and it will be published as a group, together as a single piece.

This is the idea.

I would like you to please write your poetry lines or words from the lists in your natural handwriting, and I would like you to write them in circles, like the circles that the ripples from raindrops make in puddles.

Then scan or photograph it and send it to stilllife365days(at)gmail.com

I would love to see your handwriting, in this technology age we rarely see handwritten things. Please try to use your natural handwriting, so that means the language and the style that you would normally scribble a note to yourself is perfect. I will create a visual project from everyone's lines to post on the third Monday in April (the 25th, Easter Monday).

Here is an example I did earlier this month.

If you have not previously contributed but would like to do so for this project please go ahead. My suggestions are to create new poetry along the lines of the Community Poem. Or alternatively create circles from some words in the lists, or the same word over and over. You are the artist and I will leave the interpretation up to you.

This is how I did it. I drew circles on a piece of paper with a black marker. I put my sheet of copy paper over it and wrote my lines using the black marker circles as a guide. This is how it looks. I am sure yours will be wonderful and together it will be amazing.

Here are the lists from the Community Poem.

aqua,

awash,

baptize

bathe,

damp,

dehydrate

drench,

drool,

dry

flood,

hose,

inundate,

irrigate,

moisten,

saturate,

soak,

souse,

spatter,

spray,

sprinkle,

steep,

submerge,

wash,

wet,

flood,

deluge,

rain,

ripple,

storm,

stream

tidal,

tears,

waterfall,

Thanks for your support and encouragement my village.

Love from Melbourne Australia,

Julie

Ferdinand in my Heart. Janis Tan.

2011-04-21T00:00:00.002-04:00

Ferdinand in my Heart.
Janis Tan.
Travel Journal.
Ink.

:::

about the piece.
This is what I did for my journal page for the travel journal.

After I decided to participate I had a feeling, an idea of what I wanted to do. But concretely, I really did not know. I went to the craft stores and tried to find my ideas in concrete forms. I went home with stuff, I started, I stalled.

Then, life got in the way.

And I kept emailing Angie that yes, I was going to do it, next week, next week, next week.

And weeks went by, temperatures plunged and my young little one refused to be put down for her naps. Which meant I never got my hands free from October until now.

In the meantime, I discovered Zentangle and was really drawn to it. When I had a few minutes (while waiting for pasta to cook, water to boil...) I would doodle a little on bits of scrap paper.

And eventually, I knew Zentangle was the answer to what I wanted to create for my journal page. I immediately had the vision of a heart, filled with so many things: memories, heartaches, hurt, love, my precious Ferdinand, hope, strength, friendship. I left some small spaces here and there.

I kind of made a "draft" before I started, just to visualize for myself what it may look like when I brought together elements that called to my heart. But the actual work proved rather different.

First, I was drawing on a larger piece of paper. Second, I could not really stop. I stayed up late one night to allow myself a good stretch of time to do it; I would never find a good two hours during a day with no interruptions. Third, I did not feel I could stop, artistically. Fourth, I changed my mind about some motifs as I went along, and new ones sprung to my head/heart. Fifth, it was tiring on my wrist and fingers and I made imperfections here and there, but a re-do was out of the question (the lines were like manifestations of feelings, emotions and memories, which was why I felt I could not stop), so I just let the imperfections be a part of the work, my heart.

As I was drawing, I thought too of the twins I miscarried last August. And when I finally finished and stepped back and looked I saw elements that represented the twins too.

This is Ferdinand in my heart. All the love, all the loss, everything.

- Janis

about the artist.
Janis Tan writes on Ferdinand's Gifts. She also gathers recipes her family loved and enjoyed at My Sweet Life. She is still trying to put together the puzzle of her life after her son Ferdinand died, but there is always a missing piece.

I Gave my Child to God, Crystal Theresa Zapanta.

2011-04-20T00:00:00.001-04:00

I Gave my Child to God
Ocean Beach, San Francisco, Mothers Day, 2009
Crystal Theresa Zapanta.
Photography.

:::

about the piece.
After I lost my first baby, my son, Calvin Phoenix, people's well-intentioned wishes for me to "become a parent someday" were extremely hurtful and made me feel very conflicted. I spent my first Mother's Day, two months after this loss, writing names and these two messages on the beach. These photos and statements in the sand were my way of asserting that I am still a mother, even if my baby did not live. - Crystal

about the artist.
I live in San Francisco and am married to my best friend and high school sweetheart, Louie. We will be celebrating 12 years together in May. We do not have any living children, but have been blessed with three precious and deeply missed babies: Calvin Phoenix (lost at 18 weeks, March 5, 2009), Rainbow (lost at 7 weeks, December 10, 2009), and Gaelen (lost at 6 weeks, March 15, 2011).

I have "dabbled" in arts and crafts for as long as I remember, majored in English/Writing, and have dreams of getting an MFA (in creative writing or through a cross-genre/mixed-media program). Because of my babies, I am finding a new voice, greater conviction, and a renewed drive for creative self-expression.

I blog at These Fragments, I love and also create virtual remembrance cupcakes at Calvin's Cupcakes. - Crystal

Anger, Krista

2011-04-19T00:00:00.000-04:00

Anger.
Krista.

:::

about the piece.
Simple writing of what was consuming me that day. - Krista.

about the artist.
Krista is a 27 years old woman who has had three healthy, full term pregnancies followed by three miscarriages. First at 12wks (blighted ovum), second at 16wks4ds (Benjamin), and the most recent at 21wks (Kadence).

I also had a chemical pregnancy the first cycle after my first loss and the first cycle after my last loss, both were devastating. Since my last loss I have been using art as a way of getting my grief out and have really appreciated this site and seeing other women's work. - Krista

Community Poem XIII - Water

2011-04-18T00:00:00.123-04:00

Water
By: The Community

I.
Dry lips and starved heart

Moistened and fed by my tears

II.
I baptize the forehead with my tears, cross myself,

A ripple of grief soaks the small, still form

III.
You were baptized in death, holy water sprinkled over your still body in my heavy arms

From the blessing on your tiny chest, ripples rose into waves--a tidal deluge of guilt and love and God

IV.
This invisible roller coaster of in-comprehendible pain saturates the expansive abyss of grief within my soul.

These wild, violent undercurrents drench, rip, flood and flow to incessantly cut their bottomless gullies.

V.
Deaths intimate bond permeates, dehydrates,

Grief delegates life, playacting proxy navigates the ceaseless stream

:::

about this piece.
This months theme was water, contributors were asked to write two lines of prose exploring their reflections on water and grief. I posted two lists of words and the contributors were asked to use one of the words from each list in each line of their prose.

about the contributors.
Each person created one stanza, in this order the authors are, Kara, Angie, Crystal, Janice and Julie.

Four years and one day, Audrey

2011-04-14T00:00:00.000-04:00

Four years and one day

by Audrey

Yesterday I looked for something to hang in your tree.

I wanted something to catch light and move

In the wind without sound.

The sounds would be disingenuous since you are stone silent.

But you do catch light in the corners of my eyes.

You rustle leaves. You are my hallucinations and ceaseless longing.

You are the ghost baby like a lost limb I still feel.

You are my undoing

And all the grace I have ever known. You

Are poems and images, tributes and tears.

You are the thread that holds me together at the seams.

You are the ocean between me

And every other person alive.

You are a long rope bridge to understanding.

You are my 7 Nation Army. You flick the lit match into

The rage that threatens to engulf me.

In your aftermath, I surrender all my pride.

Four years and one day brought this poem to me.

A day too late. Four years too late. Eighty years too soon.

All the ingredients are here in full supply.

It is from these things that I will cook until I can eat no more.

:::

about the piece.

I wrote the following April 5th, for Eva, a day after the 4th anniversary of her death.

about the poet.
Audrey is the mother of three. She is raising two and writes at Glutton Button.

Country Jizo, Amy McCarter

2011-04-13T00:00:00.000-04:00

Country Jizo.

Amy McCarter.

Watercolor pencil and marker on paper.

March 2011.

:::

about the artist.
Amy lives in North Carolina with her husband and two greyhounds. Amy describes her journey, "Our only child Liam was born alive and apparently healthy on September 25, 2007, and was the joy of our lives. Our son Liam died soon after birth due to unexplained/unknown causes, shattering our world and our hearts. Art is an expression and release of my grief, and a way to honor the memory of our little man who is missed beyond words." Amy maintains a blog showcasing her Creative Everyday Challenge at Surviving the Day Every Day.

She Never Took a Breath, Kara Wansbury

2011-04-12T00:00:00.002-04:00

She Never Took a Breath
by Kara Wansbury

She never took a breath
(Take mine)
She never saw the sun
(It brings no light to my life)
She never saw my smile
(I have no joy)
She never heard my voice
(It echoes in my empty heart)
She never felt my touch
(I want for no one but her in my arms)
She felt my love and it was all I could give her

:::

about the poem.
I wrote this poem a few weeks after my gorgeous daughter was born into peace on 2 March 2011. I named her Marin. Marin, of the sea. She was diagnosed with hydracephelus and spina bifida at 20 weeks so I made the heartbreaking choice to endure pain every single day so she was spared it. I started writing poems so that I could explore my feelings and this piece allowed me to explore my feelings of guilt and sadness. Throughout my journey I have always owned every emotion, feeling and experience. I refuse to follow a grief timeline and I refuse to let others guide my feelings. I will not give in to shame and guilt regarding my decision. I will embrace sorrow and hope, equally. I will love again. - Kara

about the poet.
I am 30 years old, single and I live in Sydney, Australia. I am in the Navy and I work in public relations. I have been granted the good fortune of considerable time off work and I will use this time wisely to study and explore my grief in whatever creative outlet I pursue. I am not alone in this journey: I have Marin with me every step of the way. - Kara

Photo Monday

2011-04-11T00:00:00.090-04:00

Dogwood flower floating in water
Amy McCarter
April 2011
Surviving the Day Everyday

Grief can be isolating. Grief sometimes makes me feel as if my days are spent circling around, never moving from the place I was. Occasionally even the most vibrant Spring day can feel devoid of color and light. Grief leaves me searching for something I can not find, something just beyond my reach. But on other days grief bestows beauty and courage. At times being alone with my grief I find a kind of peaceful solitude. I see all this in the black and white photo of the single dogwood flower floating in circles within the small birdbath of water. - Amy

:::

Endless
Rachel
Digital photograph, unaltered except the addition of sepia tone.
Curls O Fred

Having been born and have mostly ever lived in landlocked states, the ocean presents itself as a very powerful force to me. It's vast and seemingly unending, much like the grief I have after my daughter's stillbirth. Both the ocean and grief are ever changing...some days more raw and unrelenting, and at other times more calm and subtly washing over me. - Rachel

:::

Untitled.
Kara Kohr.

My submission for Photo Monday is a photograph taken on our son Matthew's first birthday. He was born still on Sept. 8, 2007 at 21 weeks. We were shocked when we learned at 20 weeks that he was very sick and would not live. On his first birthday one year later, we bought a sunflower for each member of our family: my husband, our first and only child, Matthew, and myself. We threw each flower into the lake in our neighborhood and we released balloons into the sky. It had been a terribly hard year for us after we lost him. And, very fitting, it rained very gently and quietly the whole time we stood at the lake and watched as our flowers floated away and our balloons disappeared.

about the photographer.
Our first child, Matthew was born still on Sept. 8, 2007 at 21 weeks. We were shocked and heartbroken. After genetic testing and an autopsy, the doctors could only tell us that they thought it was a fluke. We then struggled for almost 2 years to conceive again. After months of infertility treatments, we became pregnant 2 years and one month after we had gotten pregnant with Matthew. At our 12 week ultrasound, we learned that our second child, Gracie, was sick as well. 14 weeks later, Gracie was born still at 26 weeks. Our second pregnancy was excruciating, filled with many appointments, extensive genetic testing and overwhelming hope for a miracle. It wasn't until after an autopsy was performed on Gracie that we learned that we are both recessive carriers for a very rare, fatal genetic condition. There is a 25% chance that any child we conceive will be affected. There is no chance that any baby will survive pregnancy if s/he is affected. We are now 24 weeks pregnant with our third child, a boy, who our doctors are confident is healthy and see no reason why he won't join us this summer. - Kara

:::

Sideways.
Julie Cozens.

Grief still does this to me. It knocks me sideways. Some moments of some days I feel as though I have to have a life jacket to survive it because I am too exhausted to swim anymore and I feel like I will drown. I don't understand why people who are standing on the edge are still just waiting for me to reach safe water. - Julie

Journey of Grief, Ines

2011-04-07T00:00:00.000-04:00

Journey of Grief.
Ines.
Photography.

:::

about this piece.

I lined the pebbles I made for the participants of the travel journal up in a row, like a path.

When you're making your way through this bogland called grief, it's good to have some solid ground under your feet. it's such a tough journey and at no point do you really know when you sink back into the pain and sadness, find yourself up to your neck in it... This photo or more about the journey of grief, something that often features in my art, and how I hope there is always a bit of solid ground ahead. I also let the gnome travel towards the light, the better time... -Ines

about the artist.
Ines, aka forward tumble, is a 42 year old mother of Fionn who died before he was born in June 2008. After a year of serious illness, she is learning to live her life without her child.

In Ines’ words, “While art and creativity has always somewhat been part of my life, I used to take a lot of pictures (still do) to capture the beauty of life. I have recently discovered art as a new way of expressing and releasing parts of me from within. I now pursue art in a more deliberate way because it seems to cleanse/liberate me which helps both in my grieving and life in general.”

Ines lives in rural Ireland in a house in a big field two miles from the sea. She maintains a number of blogs: forward tumble; daily forward tumble, chronicling her Creative Everyday Challenge; Fionn, a blog about her son; and tunnel time, a blog about growing vegetables in a poly tunnel in Ireland.

Broken, Krista

2011-04-06T00:00:00.000-04:00

Broken.
Krista.
Charcoal.

:::

about the artist.
Krista is a 27 years old woman who has had three healthy, full term pregnancies followed by three miscarriages. First at 12wks (blighted ovum), second at 16wks4ds (Benjamin), and the most recent at 21wks (Kadence).

I also had a chemical pregnancy the first cycle after my first loss and the first cycle after my last loss, both were devastating. Since my last loss I have been using art as a way of getting my grief out and have really appreciated this site and seeing other women's work. - Krista

News around the Community

2011-04-05T18:00:00.051-04:00

The amazing aspect of the intersection of the babylost community and the art community is the projects that come up to channel your grief energy and connect with other grieving parents. I hear about art swaps and community projects here and there, but I am not really sure how to share that information. So, I am going to start a page for community news. Under the header are different pages for resources. There I will post art swaps, community project and art shows focusing on grief and art. If you have a project you want to see in this area, either an on-going project or one that has a deadline, please please consider submitting it to this resource. You can email it to me at stilllife365DAYS(at)gmail(dot)com. Use Community News. It will be updated with news when it comes up.

Speaking of cool projects, Jenni of Demeter's Feet started a swap for the holidays last year. I participated and was blown away by my ornament (Thanks, Kristin!), which I will keep for years to come. Jenni started a blog about the swap at Remembering Together, where she answers questions and takes ideas for new swaps in the future. For Mother's Day, she is hosting a craft swap for mothers in our community to support one another around what usually is a hard holiday for all of us. You can check out more information at her blog Remembering Together. It is open to loss families anywhere in the world who want to participate, and that the deadline is Sunday, April 10th. I can only say that community art swaps and projects saved my life, not to overstate it or anything, early in my grief. And if you are new to this community, or have been around for a few years, please consider joining other women for this cool swap.

One thing I feel I need to mention, it has come to my attention that people might feel slighted by the blogroll and/or community mentions. I made a very deliberate decision when I started still life 365 to not add any one I read or knew to the blogroll without them approaching and asking me specifically. I did that so I would not slight anyone in particular, leave a friend off, or talk too much about my own friends. This is a community space, not my space. I don't take it personally if someone doesn't submit, nor do I see work shared here as a favor to me. This is a space created by everyone for everyone. So my philosophy here is to have people contact me to add themselves to the blogroll. Anyone in the babylost or artistic community who asks is added. It is very easy to add your blog to the blogroll. It draws traffic to your blog and connects you with other grieving women. Just contact me at stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com. Use Blogroll in the subject line. I read and add every website sent in, so if you sent it in and I missed it, it was not intentional. It is because I am human. Please consider resending it to me.

In other news, I also purchased the domain stilllife365.com. I bought it a few months ago, and not really sure where to go from here. I would love to redesign the site, and self-host. I am negotiable about money, if you desire money. I just have no idea how to do this or what I am going to do with it, but it seemed important. If you do have ideas, or know what to do, and would like to help me figure it out myself, please contact me at stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com.

Happy arting and crafting, loves.

Notes from the Guest Editor: Theme Challenges and Community Poem

2011-04-05T00:00:00.017-04:00

Hi to all my friends, fellow babylost community and artists.

I would like to say thanks to Angie for letting me come onto still life 365 to be a guest editor for the month of April. Angie has selflessly offered this experience to me, so that I can know what it is like to be in every day contact with such amazing artists and supporters. I am having a great time already, and its barely even started. I am having lots of email contact with Angie and I can't help anticipating all the inspiring work that is going to flow into this sacred space this month.

I love still life365, I can't say it enough. I am such a big fan. I love seeing the photos arrive on Photo Sunday, as a group we all contribute a photo that expresses our perception of the theme, for me it's like seeing a piece of your soul, being invited to look out from your window and see your world. I love the secretness of the group poem, because everyone submits something individual but no one sees the lines that others are submitting. The group poem always takes the temperature of grief in our community, even though each portion is so deeply personal and straight from the heart it all fits together. And I love the questions that Angie posts, so many contributors have posted that their exploration of the questions have prompted something unknown to rise to the surface, things that have been lying in the depths.

Speaking of depths, this month I have chosen water as the theme

I personally connect with the analogies of grief and water. Ones like "grief is as heavy as water", or it feeling like an unnatural state "exhausting as walking through water", and the very commonly stated "waves of grief rolling in".

We all use water everyday, for most of us we have very constant and unremarkable contact with water. I mean do we call up our best friend and tell them the story of when the water came out of the tap and into our sink? Of course we don't. We flush it, wash in it, drink it, we do countless other mundane things with it. It's just ordinary.

But, there are times when water becomes something else, especially when it gets bigger. Like a lake or a stream or a river or the sea. Being near water becomes a spiritual thing, we feel closer to the source of our beings, we feel a connection with the universe, our creator. Things are more intense and more intimate when we can hear see or feel water.

In Australia we are so focussed on water. It surrounds us, there are thousands of miles of it between us and just about everyone else. We have a very fragile existence because of the lack of water, many parts of our amazing country cannot be inhabited by the ordinary person because they would just die of thirst. We have just had a 10 year long drought which was broken by an extremely rainy and tragic summer. Huge tracts of land disappeared under water and caused the most catastrophic consequences from the top of our nation to the bottom. Some of that land is still under water, or it has been flooded for the second and third time this season. In Australia it seems that there is either too much or not enough. Of course it's not true

Our babies were all protected by water, they floated in an climate controlled amniotic fluid filled sac while they were alive. That sac of water was one of the lifelines that our body gave to protect their life, for every single one of our babies. For some the water was too much and for others too little, and that signaled problems. For me that is where my journey with grief became coupled with water.

This month I would like you all to create art using water as your theme.

Please send in any submissions that relate to water at any time, especially if you created something because of the prompts. Angie has been calling for submissions over the last week or two weeks, so if you are not sure please send it to Angie and she will forward it to me and one of us will reply (because I still have my training wheels on) with encouragement and love. I know that I personally have art that has never been published here, so I will take my own advice.

We are trying something a little different this month, instead of posting the community art challenges on Sundays we are going to do them on Mondays.

The publication dates and deadlines are:

Photo Monday 11th April and the deadline for submissions is Saturday 9th April at 8pm

Community Poem 18th April and the deadline for submissions is Saturday 17th April at 8pm

Visual Community Poetry Project 25th April (Easter Monday) and the deadline for submissions is Thursday 21st April at 8pm (because of Easter)

Please send your submissions to stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com. And use the submissions type (photo sunday, community poem, visual challenge) as the subject. Next Monday will be Photo Monday, and you have less than one week before the deadline. The challenge with Photo Monday is to take a picture that explores your grief using the theme of water. If you find you are having trouble getting a creative visual idea, post a help message in the comments section of this post and we can all help out with ideas.

I love the Community Poem, I think I already said that. It is going to be the following Monday 18th April.

About the Community Poem. This month I would like you to write two lines of prose exploring your reflections on water and grief. I am posting two lists of words, please use one of the words from each list in each line of your prose. So that is one word from list 1 written into Line 1, and one word from List 2 written into Line 2

Here are the lists,

aqua,

awash,

baptize

bathe,

damp,

dehydrate

drench,

drool,

dry

flood,

hose,

inundate,

irrigate,

moisten,

saturate,

soak,

souse,

spatter,

spray,

sprinkle,

steep,

submerge,

wash,

wet,

flood,

deluge,

rain,

ripple,

storm,

stream

tidal,

tears,

waterfall,

I did a poetry workshop last year sometime and there were so many wonderful individual bohemian type people there who wrote some very amazing things. One thing I remembered from the guest poet (Drew Dellinger) was that poetry was essentially "memorable speech". So I will attempt some memorable speech to explain where I am going.

I will use the words bathe and ripple.

First, I try to collect phrases and words that come to mind that relate to the word bathe;

stepping into, foot first, hot ankles, naked, prepared, wash, pink, heat, anticipate, bubble

This is how my two lines read;

Awkward weary steps in fear spreading

wraps grief ripples round ankles unused to bathing in death

Here is the second part of this challenge which I am calling the Community Visual Poetry Project. Its a visual project because we are going to see your written art take the form of visual art.

I would love to see your handwriting, in this technology age we rarely see handwritten things. Please try to use your natural handwriting, so that means the language and the style that you would normally scribble a note to yourself is perfect. I would like you to please write your lines in circles like the ripples that raindrops make in puddles. Then scan or photograph it and send it to stilllife365. I will create a visual project from everyone's lines to post on the third Sunday in April.

This is how I did it, I drew circles on a piece of paper with a black marker. I put my sheet of copy paper over it and wrote my lines using the black marker circles as a guide. This is how it looks. I am sure yours will be wonderful and together it will be amazing.

Happy photo snapping and poem building my village.

Love from Australia,

Julie

Artist to Artist: Julie Cozens

2011-04-04T00:00:00.002-04:00

Julie Cozens' son Thomas was born with many complications in October 2007. He lived 135 days and died in February 2008. I can't rightly remember when I met her, but I know that early in my grief and journey I became acquainted with her. Julie has explored poetry, photography, art and graphic design at still life 365. I began watching Julie's work come into my inbox in the early months of this project. Julie’s first submission was poetry, and she started off the “about this piece” section with, “I don’t usually write poetry, but…” And that defines Julie’s creative journey—she is brave, honest, and innovative. Julie joined community poems, mid-month challenges and submission calls whenever they came through the pipeline. When I put the call out for a guest editor position, Julie was the first person to respond. “I don’t usually edit, but I would love to try.” That epitomizes Julie.

It is my great pleasure to introduce April's guest editor. We decided to kick off the month by having an artist to artist conversation, so you can get to know her a little better. We talked recently about art, creativity and grief.

Hi, Julie, thanks for agreeing to talk to me about art and grief. Let me just first say how sorry that Thomas is not with you.

Thanks Angie, it's a pleasure to have this chat. I am very sorry that your Lucy is not with you too.

Can you tell us a bit about your son and family?

Thomas is the fourth of my children. I have four sons, the eldest being born in 1984, then another in 1986 and my youngest surviving child born in 1996 before Thomas who was born in 2007. I think I am one of the oldest Mums in this community with a recent loss, I am now 47 years old. I am married to Dean and he is Thomas' Dad. Dean has no surviving children. Dean and I live with one teenager, two Irish Terriers (Doug and Erin) and one Tenterfield Terrier (Bella). We live in a large suburb of Melbourne, Australia. It's near many beaches. My eldest children live in their own homes with their partners. They are very busy, but they usually catch some time with me on the phone or in person most weeks.

I always like to kick off these chats with just a brief overview of how art played a role in your life before Thomas died. I have to say that we have been sharing your art for over a year now. So many people connect with your work. You have submitted poetry, photography, digital artwork, even a grief sudouko. You work in so many medium. Is that something you always did, or are you exploring more medium? Do you have a medium that you gravitate towards?

I have always been a sewer, my first love of art was designing and sewing clothes for my doll Giggles, I got a hand driven Singer sewing machine for my 10th birthday. I still have my doll Giggles, she has 1973 stamped on her bottom. As I became a teenager and playing with dolls was not cool anymore, I discovered a love of painting and drawing through art class at high school. I also did Graphic Art and Photography. I have loved photography ever since. Then as a young adult, I started a career as a Draftsman / Tracer in the Engineering field. I love drawing plans, it's like dreaming on paper. Over the years I have drawn countless plans for things that never happened except for inside my head. Most recently I have been redesigning my backyard. It hasn't happened yet either because I am still saving money but it will happen. I also draft my own clothing patterns and make clothes that I design, I haven't done any of that since Thomas died. I want to make a quilt out of all his clothes, but I can't bring myself to unpack the boxes, yet. I knit and crochet too. My art in the past usually appeared whenever I had some fabric and scissors or some yarn and a hook.

As for art for me today, it mostly revolves around photography and writing. I have been doing some drawing lately too. This blog has really prompted me to "do" art, simply because I wanted to share in the experience, to feel included, found, home.

Art does feel like home to me too. I love what you say about how drawing plans is like dreaming on paper. That is beautiful. How do you think your art has changed because of your grief? And how do you think your grief has changed because of your art?

Grief has changed my art. I see it as being more purposeful now. Before it was quite willy nilly (Australian slang term meaning all over the place or random). Basically I did whatever took my interest at the time. But anything can be art, I think art is an expression of your soul that comes via your hands or body. I have been a single parent for much of my life so the necessary things in life became my medium, like gardening, cooking and sewing.

My grief has a voice since I have been artistically expressing it. I think it is so important to have a voice, to know who you are. While I don't believe I am defined by Thomas' death, my life has been shaped by his life and death and the consequences of both. Having a voice is a way of exploring who I am inside my grief. My grief was so unexpected. I don't think anyone I know could have predicted my grief reaction, it took me completely by surprise, I am normally a "take it all in my stride" kind of person. I am usually the dependable one, not easily panicked, I am normally always calm. I find that writing is like cleaning the wound inside me.

I am not a trained writer and sometimes I wonder if I will ever be able to write smooth flowing expressions like the ones I read on other blogs. Probably not.

As much as creating art has been part of your grief, viewing art becomes part of this journey too. How has connecting with other grieving artists helped you?

There are so many amazing artists out there and so many unique ideas that I can learn (steal) from. Sometimes I see something and it stops me in my tracks, some things are so raw, or innocent, or simple, or complex, or heartbreaking and I am thinking of photographs, prose, sculpture and craft that I have seen here on stilllife365. And Angie, when I first saw that you were going to post a year of art by grieving families I didn't think of myself as an artist in a contributing way. I sort of saw myself as a copying type of artist, but when you asked for two lines in the community poem a couple of words leapt to my mind and so I had the confidence to try. Then you asked for a photo and I had one already on my computer. You have made it easy for me to join in and belong, so I must say that connecting with you has been a huge boost to my confidence.

I think comments are really important too because a comment might be the difference between someone deciding whether or not to submit art ever again. A comment creates a connection, it says "I'm feeling your space", or "you touched me" or "I acknowledge your pain", it's connections that matter.

I couldn't agree more. Comments make this place extraordinary. Thank you for reminding us of that. I think that I had a lot of hopes for this space, but one was that it was a space that freed grieving parents from the "paralysis of perfection" as Rachel from Curls O' Fred calls it, or the voice of self-doubt. Just let themselves be free to explore grief in a different language, the language of art and poetry. I really wanted still life 365 to be a community, and it has exceeded every expectation I had of it.

I take my hat off to you Angie, this blog was a great idea. I am very glad you came up with it.

Also, thank you so much for agreeing to guest edit for the month of April. I understand you have a theme for the month. Can you tell me a little bit about the theme you chose and why you chose it?

Thanks Angie, this is great fun I am glad that I put my hand up to have a go. The theme of the month is water. I have chosen it because I live near water and it is part of my daily life. I can see water from my street. I am drawn to the water nearby, whether it is the ocean beaches or either of the bayside beaches, whenever we go on an outing it's usually to water. I find it is so intimately tied with grief also. Long reflective walks are more reflective and longer at the beach. I write Thomas' name in the sand at beaches and take photos. And I also have a picture of the one Carly Dudley wrote in the sand in Western Australia. I wonder how many of us babylost parents who read this blog have one of her pictures.

I would imagine hundreds. Maybe all of us. When I first came on the scene, Carly was the only one writing names anywhere. It was sacred to me to see Christian's beach and have my Lucy join the others there.

Yes, I remember feeling so special that a stranger would take the time out of her day to write his name and photograph it then blog it with the words I gave her. It's where I connected with other bablost bloggers that I still follow today. I have many photos of Thomas' name written in the sand now and for some reason I have thousands of photos of the water too since Thomas died and I don't really know why.

For me, my walk with grief started around the same time that I was found to be carrying too much amniotic fluid. I didn't know why it was such a problem at the time and I didn't have a doctor who felt they needed to share the reason. I googled it because I didn't have the courage to ask. Thomas was floating in about 150% of the water he was supposed to have, and that was at 35 weeks gestation. At 36 weeks he had around 180%, by the time I had an emergency caesarian section at 37.6 weeks there was about 2 liters of fluid. Thomas was born with a birth defect called Oesophagael Atresia which meant that everything he swallowed came back out of his mouth. His Oesophagus did not join his stomach and that is why he couldn't digest the amniotic fluid, so that is why it kept building up and building up. They couldn't see his OT in scans but they could see that the fluid was building up. The doctor had a good idea that something was wrong. Something pretty normal and uneventful spelled disaster for our baby Thomas.

I must say that the Children's hospital in Melbourne have expert surgeons who do Oesophagus repair all the time (around 15 to 20 a year). And it was pulmonary hypertension that caused Thomas' death but the pulmonary hypertension was bought on by the major surgery he had to undertake to have his Oesophagus repaired. Catch 22. Thomas put up a brave fight and had meningitis and pneumonia, a tracheostomy, a feeding tube (PEG), blood transfusions, a seizure and cellulitis, he was given every chance to recover but lost his battle after 4 and a half months in neonatal intensive care. It was an intense experience for us too.

A book that really impacted me not long into my new normal, was one called "Living on the Seabed" by Lindsay Nicholson. There were many days I felt as though I was pinned to the ground by that suffocating crushing feeling of grief and my only view of the world was murky and distorted, it was as if I was lying on the seabed and trying to participate in life on the surface.

That was beautifully put, Julie. That is a great way to end today's chat. What an amazing theme and reason for coming to that theme. Thank you so much for talking to me and for guest editing this space. I can't wait to see and read what happens this month.

Thanks Angie, I feel that it's a privilege and I am going to do my best.

I am excited for the month of April, and I hope you are too. We will post Julie's theme post and community poetry challenge for April later today.

Flying High, Merry Raymond.

2011-04-02T00:00:00.000-04:00

Flying High.
Merry.
Polymer Clay.

:::

about the piece.
Our son Freddie, our fifth child, was born on April 2nd 2010. After failing to breathe at birth, he was rushed to SCBU, where he lived for 11 days. He made good progress at times and his carers were baffled by him in many ways. Although he suffered fits and was clearly going to have considerable needs, he seemed to be making progress in the latter part of his life when he woke up for periods of time, looked around and started trying to make noises. Just as we were beginning to have a little hope, he suddenly contracted pneumonia and faded drastically before our eyes. Within 36 hours of him first starting to take notice of the world, he was back on oxygen and then suffered a complete collapse. After 18 hours on CPAP support, we had to choose whether or not to ventilate him fully or not as he had reached a point of complete exhaustion and was not responding either to us or to the antibiotics. Our decision was to withdraw oxygen and see if he made any attempt to try to hang on to life.

He didn't and died in my arms aged 11 days old on the 13th April 2010.

In the year since his birth, through a year of supporting our 4 daughters come to terms with the loss of their brother and through a year of fruitless trying to conceive, I have spent a lot of time making things, either knittings squares to count off the weeks since he lived or making pictures and models with polymer clay. Trees are very important to me as a way of remembering Freddie in my mind and I have made a large number of them. Mostly recently I've been sculpting dragons. One of my daughters, Josie, who at 5 had to come to terms with being briefly a big sister and then going back to being the youngest in the family again, asked me to make a model based on Haku, the dragon from Spirited Away - and this picture came from that, a dragon born to fly above our family tree of life. It is a picture filled with secret numbers too, all the different ways I count the people in my family, both missing and here. - Merry

about the artist.
Merry writes at a Patch of Puddles. Merry also began a fund to support the Special Care Baby Unit which cared for Freddie.

Remembering Freddie today on his first birthday.

Holding Merry and her family in our hearts as they remember.

Footprint Pebbles, Ines

2011-03-24T00:00:00.000-04:00

The Footprint Pebbles.
Ines.
Rock Carving.

:::

about this piece.

I found the travel journal an excellent way to connect with other women who were going through the loss of a child and I thought it would be nice for everybody to have something to keep, a token, a treasure, to hold on to, once the journal left their house. I thought of the pebbles as a fare, the gnome's and my way to pay for safe passage so that the journal would arrive back to you, Angie, in Philly. - Ines

Alone, Krista

2011-03-22T00:00:00.000-04:00

Alone.
Krista.
Charcoal.

:::

about this piece.
I drew this one day when my children were playing happily with my husband watching them and watching me sit and not even be able to smile because of the pain. I really felt like there was a wall separating me from my family. - Krista

about the artist.
Krista is a 27 years old woman who has had three healthy, full term pregnancies followed by three miscarriages. First at 12wks (blighted ovum), second at 16wks4ds (Benjamin), and the most recent at 21wks (Kadence).

I also had a chemical pregnancy the first cycle after my first loss and the first cycle after my last loss, both were devastating. Since my last loss I have been using art as a way of getting my grief out and have really appreciated this site and seeing other women's work. - Krista

Grief, Sherry Russo

2011-03-21T00:00:00.002-04:00

Grief
by Sherry Russo

Grief is the feeling
that consumed me
Paralyzed my being
My heart, my mind

Grief is the pain I feel
So raw
So excruciating
So real

Grief is what changed me
Yanked me out of life's comfort
Tore me into pieces
Molding me with time

Grief is accepting the reality of my loss
Missing my child that will never be
Living with the fragments of my broken dreams

Grief is a process that unfolds
A long, lonely journey
Of highs and lows
Ebbs and flows
To self discovery
To life
To healing

05.18.10

:::

about this piece.
I wrote this piece as a response to Still Life 365's creative prompt last year but never submitted it. I realized after I wrote the poem that I was only supposed to submit a line or two and not the whole thing. The site's creative prompt was a source of great inspiration to me. - Sherry

about the poet.
Sherry describes herself, "I have been married for 10 years to a wonderful husband, a mother of three, one in heaven. Our world was forever changed when our twin babies were born at 28 1/2 weeks due to an incompetent cervix. Our twin baby boy Brandon died shortly after birth from complications of a collapsed lung, and Sophia stayed in the NICU for 48 days. I mostly write about Brandon and my journey in this world without him. It's the only thing I have that's devoted to him. It helps me heal, while keeping his memory alive." Sherry blogs at Remembering Brandon.

Untitled, Amy McCarter

2011-03-15T00:00:00.001-04:00

Untitled.
Amy McCarter.
Watercolor pencil and marker on paper
March 2011

:::

about the piece.
As time marches forward and the five year mark of trying to become parents approaches, I am feeling pretty down and out. This sad little bug depicts the emotion of my heart as does the wilted flower she rests upon. - Amy

about the artist.
Amy lives in North Carolina with her husband and two greyhounds. Amy describes her journey, "Our only child Liam was born alive and apparently healthy on September 25, 2007, and was the joy of our lives. Our son Liam died soon after birth due to unexplained/unknown causes, shattering our world and our hearts. Art is an expression and release of my grief, and a way to honor the memory of our little man who is missed beyond words." Amy maintains a blog showcasing her Creative Everyday Challenge at Surviving the Day Every Day.

Betrayed, ANg

2011-03-14T00:00:00.000-04:00

Betrayed.
ANg.

:::

about the artist.
Alter My World (screen name) aka Ang began her art journey one year after the death of her newborn son, Andrew Joseph. Her art gives her a voice, whether its her grief expression or her happy times, it gives her a sense of self and the hope of healing. Art at first became a voice of grief and sorrow, through the years it has become so much more than that. It now has periods of laughter and brightness and when she needs to, she arts about loss and grief and sadness.

Her art can be seen here.

Learning to Ride the Wave, Ines

2011-03-10T00:00:00.002-05:00

Learn to Ride the Wave of Grief.
8"x8"
Ines.
Watercolor.

:::

about this piece.

Learning to live life after loss is hard work. At the beginning after Fionn died I felt like I was drowning, going under, sinking, suffocating. Eventually I came back to the surface but struggled to keep my head above water. I was still alive but found that I had to learned to swim in a storm out at sea. I gradually advanced to floating along on a raft, or nutshell boat, then I started sailing, met friends on a similar journey and then made land, too. Now I feel I can learn to master these powerful waves (which I painted first). At times there even is a sense of thrill to be standing up and being able to deal with these forces. But it's not easy and it all depends on where on these waves I try to stand whether or not I get washed under and crushed, yet again. So I put the surfer on a string... movable. I'm learning to surf the wave called grief to a point where you become good at it and can actually enjoy life again. - Ines

It's Getting Dark in Here, Sharon Chatham

2011-03-09T00:00:00.001-05:00

It's Getting Dark in Here
by Sharon Chatham
7/20/09

There once was a light for all to see
It shone for you, your daddy, and me.
It turned on day you were created
Rays of light that had us elated.
But now there is no radiant cheer
It's getting dark in here.

Gone are the sparkles that were in your eyes
The used to dance like fireflies.
We will never be warmed by the glow
Of the flash forward memories we made long ago.
Now the future is dim I fear
It's getting dark in here.

The sun once shone on you
In my belly where you slept and grew.
My soul was illuminated with your presence
My heart expanding in your incandescence.
I need your beacon to draw me near
It's getting dark in here.

The shadows of your memory fade
The light your love has made.
Whenever you need t to find us in this world
The spark that is left will be unfurled.
My dear angel son have no fear
Though, it's getting dark in here.

The splendor of your life warmed your daddy and me
It won't fade altogether you see.
The space of light will grow
When the memories of you flow
Until then my dear,
It's getting dark in here.

:::

about the poet.
Sharon blogs at Angel Steps.

Green Box, Sherry Russo

2011-03-08T00:00:00.000-05:00

Green Box
by Sherry Russo

Green box
with all your stuff
is all I have left of you
A lock of hair
I could barely touch
So little, so fine and few
A yellow cap
meant to keep you warm
sits lonely and cold in the dark
A blanket that lingers
without your smell
lays idly in it's spot like a lark
The tiny gown you once wore
draped every inch of your skin
Is all that's left
without your flesh
for me to have
and to hold

07.27.10

:::

about this poem.
I couldn't open this box for a long time. As if I was afraid of what I will find, of how I will feel. As if opening it is worse than holding my dead child and giving him away knowing I will never hold him again. I had to brace myself each time, and still do. To bring a box home instead of a baby is so unnatural, so f*#%*d up. But I'm glad they forced me. I'm glad I have it... - Sherry

about the poet.
Sherry describes herself, "I have been married for 10 years to a wonderful husband, a mother of three, one in heaven. Our world was forever changed when our twin babies were born at 28 1/2 weeks due to an incompetent cervix. Our twin baby boy Brandon died shortly after birth from complications of a collapsed lung, and Sophia stayed in the NICU for 48 days. I mostly write about Brandon and my journey in this world without him. It's the only thing I have that's devoted to him. It helps me heal, while keeping his memory alive." Sherry blogs at Remembering Brandon.

Not Okay, Krista

2011-03-07T00:00:00.000-05:00

Not Okay.
Krista.
Charcoal.

:::

about the piece.
This was to show what was really going through my head when I said "I'm Okay". I actually stopped saying it and just switched to "I'm functioning". - Krista

about the artist.
Krista is a 27 years old woman who has had three healthy, full term pregnancies followed by three miscarriages. First at 12wks (blighted ovum), second at 16wks4ds (Benjamin), and the most recent at 21wks (Kadence).

I also had a chemical pregnancy the first cycle after my first loss and the first cycle after my last loss, both were devastating. Since my last loss I have been using art as a way of getting my grief out and have really appreciated this site and seeing other women's work. - Krista

Daughter, Kristin Binder

2011-03-03T00:00:00.002-05:00

Daughter
by Kristin Binder

The sun rises,
cars pass,
bikes move,
people mill around,
shops open and close,
x's mark dates on the calendar,
the world continues turning,
but not for me child, I stand still.
I am in limbo,
walking the line between what was,
and what is.
Between a life imagined,
and that which was realized.
Between youth,
and age.
Between naive happiness,
and the pain of wisdom.
I try to understand.
I try to find answers.
It is a fruitless pursuit.
There are none.
Some call you “an angel,”
“a tragedy,”
“a spirit,”
“a terrible thing that happened,”
“a victim of odds,”
“in a better place.”
They have so many labels for a life cut so short.
I just call you daughter.

:::

about the piece.
I wrote this poem just after the first anniversary of my daughter's birth and death dates. I found myself feeling both angered and in awe over the fact that while my life stood so painfully still, the world had the nerve to continue on around me. I was also wrestling a great deal with labels people were applying to Peyton's short life as a means of making themselves more comfortable with what had happened to her. They needed a neat bow to tie around this loss so that they could move on, and with each label applied, I rejected them more. - Kristin

about the poet.

When not writing poetry, Kristin blogs about mothering and grieving Peyton, as well as her struggles with secondary infertility, IVF, and the emotional ups and downs of pregnancy after loss on her blog Once A Mother. She recently completed her first novel, and is working on a memoir. She makes her home with a husband she adores, a black lab she can't seem to train, and “The Snowflakes,” twins conceived via IVF and due this Spring.

Angel, ANg

2011-03-02T00:00:00.001-05:00

Angel.
ANg.
Oil pastel.

:::

about the artist.
Alter My World (screen name) aka Ang began her art journey one year after the death of her newborn son, Andrew Joseph. Her art gives her a voice, whether its her grief expression or her happy times, it gives her a sense of self and the hope of healing. Art at first became a voice of grief and sorrow, through the years it has become so much more than that. It now has periods of laughter and brightness and when she needs to, she arts about loss and grief and sadness.

Her art can be seen here.

Cautiously Optimistic, Ceil Drucker.

2011-03-01T00:00:00.002-05:00

Cautiously Optimistic.
Ceil Drucker.
Photograph.

:::

about this piece.

I was cleaning the slip-cover on the sofa the other day and found a blue snappie, one of those diaper holder things- it made me think about all those beautiful diapers I so excitedly purchased last spring awaiting Kai's arrival, and how they were stored in a cardboard box in a dark room now. I thought "I should do a pregnancy test" and so I did- getting a positive result. I still don't really believe it, but 7 tests later, I guess its real for now. I keep the tests on my altar right now and feel cautiously optimistic. - Ceil

about the artist.
Ceil is among other things, a writer who seldom writes and now a mother who doesn't get to mother. She is riding the waves after the loss of her son Kai on his due date, in mid June.

Ceil's last submission to still life 365 was Trying Again, so sl365 wishes her a cautiously optimistic congratulations.

I Have Nothing, Julie Cozens

2011-02-28T00:00:00.000-05:00

I Have Nothing
by Julie Cozens

I have Nothing

Nothing new to feel
Grief mows me down
I dodge it sometimes
Today I didn't try
The Anniversary day

Nothing new to say or blog
It has been said, written
Fading now to forgottenness
Greeting card genuine
Trauma obscured

Nothing new to show
Photographs, movies
No birthday cakes
First steps, smiles, teeth
Baby onesies never outgrown

Nothing new to hear
No laughter no cries,
Nor the sound of his name
His running feet
All quiet in his grave

:::

about this piece.
It's Thomas' Anniversary today. It's been 3 years. I quickly jotted down my thoughts this morning, I was thinking about the nothing of today. If I don't drive his remembrance then it will fade into nothing. That there is nothing new, except the milestone of 3 years since he died. Its actually not even his anniversary today, its the 29th February which only comes every 4 years. I have decided to mark his anniversary on the last day of Summer every year, because he died on the last day of Summer 2008, February 29th. - Julie

about the poet.
Julie Cozen's son Thomas was born in October 2007. In Julie's words, "I was 42 years old, I was already the Mum of three children, aged 11, 21 and 23. He was born with many health challenges and needed surgery to save his life. He was just not well enough to survive the surgery. Thomas died aged 135 days old in February 2008. I am trying to live around my broken heart."

Remembering Thomas today with his family.

Fingerprints, Lisa Warner

2011-02-24T00:00:00.000-05:00

Fingerprints
By Lisa Warner

They are everywhere
But often go unseen.
Like snowflakes,
No two are alike.

A signature mark
That is uniquely yours,
Those swirly lines
Are as good as an ID card.

A little known fact
Is not everyone gets a set.

I held a boy once--
All four point five ounces of him--
Who had none.

And yet...

And yet...

He needed no prints
To leave his mark on me.
No prints, but still
Unique and mine.

:::

about the contributor.
Lisa Warner is a 27 year old new mom living in Indiana. She describes her journey: "I gave birth to a boy just 17 weeks into my pregnancy--on December 29, 2010. We named him Lewis. He lived in our world for nearly three hours, receiving all the love we could give him in that short while. He will live in our hearts forever. Though he was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, his presence in my life is unbelievably large. I write to remember. I write to sort out my thoughts. If you'd like to follow along, join me at Chancing the Dance."

Crowns, Laura Wilson

2011-02-23T00:00:00.000-05:00

Crowns.
Laura Wilson.
Sewing Project.

:::

about this piece.
I lost my baby Nicholas in December. I am now making dress up crowns for children in special need and giving them away in his name. Each crowns reminds me that each child is special, and each moment of joy I bring to another child adds a drop to the sea of joy my child missed. You can see all of the crowns here. Attached are two photos for submission. You can submit a child to receive a crown here. --Laura

about the contributor.
Laura lost her son Nicholas in December of 2010. She writes about her life and projects at we wilsons. Laura runs an Etsy shop called Wilsons.

Poem, Ya Chun

2011-02-22T00:00:00.000-05:00

Poem.

Ya Chun.

Digital Art.

:::

about the piece

I don’t have skill in drawing or painting, but I love to use the computer to make a poem far hanging around my desk. This poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye hangs between my two windows that look out over my garden and bird feeder. I think of Serenity with the rain and the snow, the birds and the fall leaves.

about the contributor.

Ya Chun blogs at ‘She almost made it’.

November Hope's First Outfit, Kami

2011-02-16T00:00:00.001-05:00

November Hope's First Outfit.
Kami.
Knitting and Sewing Project.

:::

about the piece.
November Hope's 1st outfit that she will never get to wear. They were the first items i knitted when i found out i was pregnant. The blanket they are laying on was the first sewing project for my first or second miscarriage. - Kami

about the artist.
Kami is a stay at home mother, who describes her journey, "I have had three miscarriages. I have two children. My last loss really hit me hard, it took a little over three years to get pregnant and then to just have it taken away was devastating. I had a feeling that the baby would had been a girl and November because that was the month we had the miscarriage and Hope because that pregnancy was full of Hope." Kami blogs at So. Cali Mommy Sewing & Knitting Blog and Dreaming of an Unassisted Birth.

The Cell, Missy V.

2011-02-15T00:00:00.000-05:00

The Cell
by Missy V.

Something happens. Suddenly, everything is chaos. People are yelling. You are angry, you are sad, you are fraught with emotion. They tell you it’s over. Why is this happening? You are in shock, you are paralyzed, you are frozen in fear. You are guilty. What did you do? They ask you so many questions. They take your temperature, your blood pressure, your measurements. They take your picture. They tell you, you can call someone. You do and now they are worried. What did you do? Why are you there? They are yelling and screaming and crying and so you do to. Someone tells you it’s time to go. You are taken to your own room. The door slams shut and you are left inside. All alone.

There is no color on the walls. It reeks of the history of all the people who have come before you. It will harbor your secret and whisper it quietly to all those who come after you. You cry out and claw at the walls. You want to leave, but you can’t. You are stuck. Trapped by the constraints of time and the hand of fate. Why me? You ask, but there is no answer. Only silence, and the muffled sounds from nearby rooms. There are visiting hours, so people come to see you. There is anger and tears and eventually they must leave you. The door slams shut. The sound gives you nightmares and you cry out. All alone.

Hours and hours go by. The people come by and check on you. They are cold and uncaring. You need to get better. You can learn from your mistakes. Everything happens for a reason. God has a plan for you. It’s all a bunch of bullshit. You want to fight it but you are weary and tired. You crumple to the ground. All alone.

How long does this go on? You want to go outside. Feel the sun on your face and the wind in your hair. Distance yourself from all of the sadness. Forget about the pain. You can see time passing. The sun rises, the sun sets. You try to heal, you’ll be okay they say. You wonder when? It seems time stands still and runs all together. You are confused. You have no focus. You have learned that you have no control. You have learned you are all alone.

Finally, it’s time to go. You get to leave that room and those people behind. But something is missing. You are not the same. You left a part of you all locked up inside that tiny room. You can never get it back. How do you live? How do you go on? One day at a time. It’s easier said than done. You wish you could go back to the time before, but time only moves in one direction. Time moves whether you want it to or not. Time is your enemy. Time is your friend. Regardless, you’re still all alone.

:::

about this piece.
I wrote this piece a while ago shortly after returning to my job at a jail. There is no sound like hearing the cell door slam shut behind you for the first time. I couldn't help but notice the similarities and began to feel the weight of my own life sentence. -Missy

about the contributor.
Missy is mom to Ayana miscarried May 31, 2009 and Chaunchai died at birth on July, 3, 2010.

sl365 Valentine ATC, Amy McCarter

2011-02-14T00:00:00.001-05:00

sl365 Valentine ATC
Amy McCarter
Marker and watercolor pencils on paper
February 2011

:::

about the artist.
Amy lives in North Carolina with her husband and two greyhounds. Amy describes her journey, "Our only child Liam was born alive and apparently healthy on September 25, 2007, and was the joy of our lives. Our son Liam died soon after birth due to unexplained/unknown causes, shattering our world and our hearts. Art is an expression and release of my grief, and a way to honor the memory of our little man who is missed beyond words." Amy maintains a blog showcasing her Creative Everyday Challenge at Surviving the Day Every Day.

Candle, My New Normal.

2011-02-10T00:00:00.000-05:00

Candle.
My New Normal.
Photography.

:::

about the piece.

This is the candle we bought to honor the birth and death of our first and only son. To honor his very short, yet meaningful life. It was burning as we said good bye and scattered his ashes. This photo was taken just after we scattered his ashes over the lake that you can see in the background. The fuzzy lights in the background are on the dock where we sat to say our final good byes. Such a beautiful place to remember him.-My New Normal

about the artist.

I'm originally from California, and I now live in London with my husband of over 12 years. We have had a great life with lots of adventures, love, and fun. On August 13, 2010 our lives were shattered when we lost our son at 36 weeks pregnant. After struggling with infertility for many years, we thought we were finally going to have our miracle baby. Sadly, this is not what happened and I struggle every day to make sense of it all.

I started my blog Finding My New Normal to help work through my feelings after losing my son. It's been an amazing place for me to vent, and cry, and share my feelings and experiences. Through it I've met some amazing women and men who have also experienced loss. - My New Normal

Dream, Sherry Russo

2011-02-09T00:00:00.001-05:00

Dream
by Sherry Russo

Was it just a dream
that I was pregnant with twins?
That for seven months you and your sister were inside of me growing, moving?
That I saw you, felt you, heard you?
Loved you and Sophie with my every being
the moment I found out I was pregnant?
That for seven months
we were awashed with hope and big dreams,
imagined how our future would be
How perfect to be blessed with two babies?

Was it a just dream
that I gave birth to twins?
That I saw two faces with pink and blue caps on their tiny heads?
That you were alive and breathing at that moment?
That for a moment I believed everything will be alright?

Was it just a dream
when I was told you died?
That I held you and kissed you with your skin still warm?
That I still hoped you will open your eyes?
That I still hoped you will let out a cry?

Was it just a dream
that last winter we had to decide
on funeral arrangements instead of a homecoming?
That on the coldest day of the year
we buried you and said goodbye?
That I died with you that same night
and buried with you forever?

Was it just a dream?

02.27.10

:::

about this piece.
I wrote this piece a year after Brandon died. Reaching that first year anniversary, I was able to finally take that big breath and yet my loss still seemed surreal at times. Some days it felt so fresh while others felt like it was a lifetime ago. -Sherry

about the poet.
Sherry describes herself, "I have been married for 10 years to a wonderful husband, a mother of three, one in heaven. Our world was forever changed when our twin babies were born at 28 1/2 weeks due to an incompetent cervix. Our twin baby boy Brandon died shortly after birth from complications of a collapsed lung, and Sophia stayed in the NICU for 48 days. I mostly write about Brandon and my journey in this world without him. It's the only thing I have that's devoted to him. It helps me heal, while keeping his memory alive." Sherry blogs at Remembering Brandon.

Bitter, Liz Paparella

2011-02-08T00:00:00.001-05:00

Bitter.
Liz Paparella.
Relief.

:::

about the piece.

“She betrayed me”

“She stole my daughter away”

Those are the mantras that keeps running through my head. “She” is my midwife, who I found out in the months after Aquila's death was responsible for her not being born alive and screaming....

I am in a different place in my grief now, a year after Aquila's death. After being chipped away at bit by bit, I am left angry and tired.

This piece is me trying to express this. It is the first relief I have done sine high-school. The difference between most clay pieces and a relief is that instead of building up the piece, you cut into it, to bring out a work of art from what is hidden beneath. -Liz Paparella

about the artist.
Aquila died at my homebirth on December 19th, 2009. She was Liz's sixth child. Her sister Willow was born nine months later, nine weeks early but pink and screaming. Liz blogs about her life at the Paparella Brood.

Without, Ya Chun

2011-02-07T00:00:00.001-05:00

Without
by Ya Chun

Missing a beat

Without a sound

From the womb

To the grave

Without a life in between.

:::

about this piece

Sometimes phrases stick with me. Here is a sentence that came to me that way.-Ya Chun

about the poet.

Ya Chun blogs at She almost made it.

The still life 365 community remembers Serenity Joy on her third birthday, February 6, 2008.

Learning is lonely, Louise.

2011-02-03T00:00:00.001-05:00

Learning is lonely.
Louise.
Caran d'ache pastels.

:::

about the piece.

I am writing a thesis at the moment– a thesis loaded with emotional connection to Laura. She was with me during most of my MA studies in 2009 – her and I together, beavering away at the endless assignments. I miss her, wriggling around. I miss her, draining me of all my energy, forcing me to sleep, face in my papers at the desk. I miss the weight of her making me wriggle around uncomfortably on my chair. Laura died as I wrote the last piece of my MA course work. My thesis was deferred.

Last November I read about the Creative Everyday Challenge. I loved the idea, but was afraid I would procrastinate my study time away so, when it came to being creative everyday, I thought I’ll take a word from my research each day and make an image with it/from it. Perfect. My thesis is about learning through creative reflection. It all fits.

So I got my sketchbook and wrote “learning” on the top right hand corner of the first page. And there it stayed. All alone. Lonely.

Learning is lonely.

This weekend I revisited it and starting with the blue colour of my desk tried to capture how I feel, here studying without Laura, negotiating around the pearl that she once was, the sadness that fills her absence, the hole where she should be.

Learning is lonely.

--Laura's Mum.

about the artist.
Louise is a mother, a part-time educator/artist/student/writer from the south of Ireland. Laura was her fourth child, a wonderful gift she had hardly dared hope
for. She was born in May 2009, her time on earth already passed. Louise is married to Kieran. Together they are very busy parenting their three living children as they try and come to terms with life without Laura. Louise blogs at Radar of Chance.

Everyday, Julie Douglas

2011-02-02T00:00:00.000-05:00

Everyday

by Julie Douglas

I miss you

I think about you.

I remember the day you were born,

The uncertain days leading up to your birth,

And the painful days afterwards.

I look at the tiny clothes you wore

spread out next to my bed.

I look at the photo I keep on the fridge

Of you in my arms.

I write about our journey together on my blog.

I talk about you regularly.

I feel lost without you here with me, it is unnatural.

I do things that need to be done

Even though my heart is hurting.

For 11 weeks and 2 days

I have missed you

Everyday

:::

about the piece.
I wrote this poem to mark Charlotte's intended due date on July 2nd, 2010. I wanted to communicate to people who were reading my blog that my grief was on going, it was very much part of my everyday life. -Julie

about the artist.
Julie Douglas' fourth child, Charlotte, who had Trisomy 18, was born at 28 weeks in April 2010. She also recently lost a twelve week pregnancy. Julie's story can be found at We Dreamed of You.

Untitled, Susan

2011-02-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

Untitled.
Susan.
Photograph.

:::

about the piece.
These flowers were part of the two dozen pink roses that my dad and step-mom purchased for the cemetery on Gracie's first birthday in Heaven. This photo was the product of just playing with my camera a little bit before we left the cemetery. When I was looking at the pictures later that night, this photo struck me as being representative of my pregnancy with Gracie. At first glance, it's a beautiful picture; but if you take the time to look carefully, you can see the very slightest indicator that life is already starting to slip away from the rose in the front right. When it's all boiled down, I feel like our pregnancy with Gracie went the same way. At first glance, everything looked great. There were definite signs that life was starting to slip away, it was just so easy to look past them until it was too late. -Susan

about the artist.
Susan is a mother of two beautiful girls - Gracie, who was born into Heaven on August 1, 2009, and her rainbow baby, Jenna, who was born on September 15, 2010. Gracie's story can be found at Our Lives Forever Changed.

Broken Heart, Krista

2011-01-31T00:00:00.000-05:00

Broken Heart.
Krista.
Colored Pencil and Poetry.

:::

about the work.
I did the drawing and wrote the poem the same day but had no idea they went together until I put them in the computer. -Krista

about the artist.
I'm 27 years old and I've had three healthy, full term pregnancies followed by three miscarriages. First at 12wks (blighted ovum), second at 16wks4ds (Benjamin), and the most recent at 21wks (Kadence). I also had a chemical pregnancy the first cycle after my first loss and the first cycle after my last loss, both were devastating. Since my last loss I have been using art as a way of getting my grief out and have really appreciated this site and seeing other women's work.--Krista

News for still life 365

2011-01-30T17:03:00.000-05:00

I am just so sorry about the sporadic posting in the month of January. I have been feeling burnt out from 2010, I guess, trying to find my way and my bearings. I am hoping that February I can turn a new leaf and bring you some ART! YEAH! (Imagine rocker hands right now.)

I have had the amazing fortune in January to connect with some other grieving parents and family members this month through readings for the book They Were Still Born and a workshop I led on the Creative Journal. No artistic or writing talent needed--just a sincere desire to be open with exploring grief with the language of art. It is a workshop that was incredible to lead, and I would love to do it again. So, if you and your support group, or just a group of babylost mothers and fathers, want to give it a go. I am based out of Philadelphia, and would love to work with your group, or a group of friends. Contact me for more information at stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com

I am also available to do readings of my essay along with Janel Atlas and other contributors of the book. The response to the readings has been great and it is a good jumping off point for discussion. Again, you can contact me at stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com

Guest Editor
I had three people express interest in the Guest Editor spot for this year. I realize that the way I wrote about the role probably seems like a lot of work, so I kind of reenvisioned the editor position, which might be more appealing to you. One thing that struck me last year is that each community poem could have been written hundreds or thousands of ways. I have my style, which is evident in the end product, I think, but I always thought it would be amazing to see what other people do with the same raw material.

SO, the Guest Editor will kick off their month by being the Artist to Artist interview. I will post a piece of their writing or artwork along with a short interview about the role of art and writing in their grief process and life. The Guest Editor create a community poem challenge and pulling together the poem. This poem might have a larger theme, which can be incorporated into the theme of the month. That monthly theme would be applied to a Photo Sunday, if you are interested in seeing that. And mid-month Challenge. You can create a specific challenge, which is usually a visual challenge on the same, or similar theme. So your work as editor will really be one to come up with creative challenges, and pulling the poem together. You can use your email, or I can forward them to you when they come into the still life 365 mailbox, your choice.

If that seems more manageable and you would like to explore the role of guest editor, please contact me at stilllife365days(at)gmail(dot)com

Submissions
still life 365 is always always always looking for submissions. Please check out the how to submit tab. This space is created and kept alive by your creative fire and interest. So, let's generate some.

Artist Trading Card Swap
Last year I was in an Artist Trading Card (ATC) swap for Valentine's Day with other grieving artists, and I have an incredible series of work in my ATC journal. Artist Trading Cards are 2.5" x 3.5" cards (think the size of a baseball card). ATCs are original, or limited editions works that are created. (Here is a great website description--Art in your Pocket) ATCs are primarily traded between artists to get a sense of who the artist is and to collect individual pieces of artwork. It is a great way to have mini-paintings for your home or office space.

Are you intrigued? Awesome. Why not consider joining the still life 365 ATC swap for Valentine's Day? How do you do it? Create an ATC with a heart theme. It can be about grief, if you'd like, or just about love. You mail it to me at

Angie Yingst
927 Merrick Avenue
Westmont, NJ 08108

You include your ATC, which must must must be FLAT and 2.5" x 3.5" and a self-address stamped envelope. Did I mention that it must be flat? Your work must get to me by next Tuesday, February 7th. I will turn around and mail you back an ATC from someone else. Easy peasy. Use the Mister Linky if you are planning on joining us (so I know to expect your work). If your ATC gets back to me later than Tuesday, I will send still send something out to you. I just don't think it will get to you by Valentine's Day. You can create your ATC with collage, stamping, painting, drawing, sketching, printing, photography...if it is two-dimensional, it is perfectly acceptable.

Sign up in the Mr. Linky below. On Valentine's Day, I will post the ATC I received in the swap (it will be totally random) and provide another Mr. Linky. You can share the ATC you received and/or created on your blog and post a picture, link here, and tell others. Happy creating!