Goodbye, Danielle

Goodbye.
Danielle.
Photography.

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about the piece.

The Hudson Valley has become a crucial place of peace and safety for us since we lost our babies. We scattered Kai's ashes there two years ago, and I traveled there alone last year before my first IVF cycle to find clarity and strength. We went back again when we lost Chip this January, the ice thick and loud on the water. Last weekend, while waiting to hear the results of our most recent cycle, we traveled back up to our beloved Hudson, where the leaves were in full autumnal blaze. We sent two leaves floating down the river- one for Kai and one for Chip- and asked them to help bring their sister safely to us.


This cycle didn't work. And with that, for many reasons, our journey through infertility, pregnancy, loss, infertility, pregnancy, loss, and infertility is at an end. We thank you for your love and support along the way, wish you many blessings, and ask for yours in whatever is to follow.


We love you, Kai, Chip, and Ellie.

--Danielle


about the contributor.

Danielle lives in New York with her husband, but without the children whom she loves and misses every day.

Remembering Kai today, two years after his birth, and his brother and sister, Chip and Ellie with Danielle and her husband. The still life 365 community grieves with you.

Hudson Ice, Danielle

Hudson Ice, 2010
Danielle
Photography

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about the piece.

In Danielle's words, "When we lost our first son, Kai, we scattered his ashes in the Hudson River near Cold Spring, New York, so he could be gently returned to the water and become part of nature.  Our second child was taken from us last week in such a way that there were no ashes to scatter.  We returned to Cold Spring this weekend.  The Hudson is frozen over at this time of year and, as we stood looking out at the water, we began to hear the ice crack- sudden, sharp, random bursts of noise that made the ice begin to shift and sink into itself.  Somehow, the cracking of the ice seemed like a metaphor for what we've lost- beautiful, ever-changing, seemingly solid, and then suddenly broken and gone. This is also a lot like what I imagine my heart to look like right now."

about the photographer.

Danielle is a psychologist in New York City, where she lives with her husband and misses her two children who might have been.  Much to everyone's frustration, she does not have a blog.