I’ve been pretty much avoiding writing this post. Goodbyes are not my favorite. I try to avoid goodbyes at any cost – unless it’s my tax lady I’m waving goodbye to. To be honest, I didn’t even know if I should write this post, because I don’t think a lot of the men and women that read this internet magazine know that I founded it/ ran it – and I liked it that way, because none of this was about me – it was all supposed to be a safe place for this community to hash out real life after loss, and infertility. So if this sounds egotistical, or arrogant, please don’t quit reading this website because of me. I just feel that I owe a farewell post (and some kind of explanation) for the change that has taken place in continuing Still Standing.
I’ve held onto running Still Standing Magazine for some time now, out of fear of letting down the child loss community – the community that held my hand through the darkest hour of my life. If it weren’t for Carly’s blog and then all the blogs I found through hers, in 2009, I honestly don’t know where I’d be. I’d be a totally different person, that is for sure.
Someone being able to validate my feelings – of anger, rage, wavering faith, rocky relationships, loneliness, intense sadness, isolating myself, and so many more – it was vital to my healing. Support groups have never been “my thing”. I liked the comfort of my own home, being here was my safe house. Leaving my home right after my loss felt much like teeth pulling. Extremely painful, and totally unnecessary. So you can imagine finding this community – unbeknownst to me before loss, was like a prayer answered that I never even prayed. I didn’t even know what a blog was. But I quickly got lost in them, and then started one of my own. And on it went, until this magazine was born a couple of years ago.
This community has morphed over time. It used to feel small, intimate. Like really close friends talking and often crying our hearts out over wine, and maybe a big stack of warm chocolate chip cookies. Buckets of ice cream nearby, just in case the cookies ran out. We could knock on eachothers’ doors just about any time of the day or night. We’d mostly all be up, because we didn’t sleep those first few months after loss. We would all be online, sipping wine… waiting for an update in someone’s blog or writing emails. Surprising each other with our babies’ names written somewhere around the world.
Today the community has exploded. It is catastrophically huge. In a way, that is a good thing. The support, you know? But at the same time, it is mind-blowing that this many people can relate to such devastating loss.
Life changes. It just does. Even when you are fighting tooth and nail, kicking and screaming for it to just SLOW THE HECK DOWN. It races on, and you find yourself X amount of years since your loss. And you realize not much has changed inside, only that you are able to hide it better, whatever “it” happens to be – anger, bitterness, sadness.
And then you find yourself picking up speed, thinking, “Maybe I can do this… maybe I can live a full life again.” And then you run so fast, and things spiral so quickly out of control because it’s been so long that you’ve exercised an attempt at happiness, that you are a bit clumsy at it. Guilt draws you back by tripping you and you faceplant the concrete you were trying to run on. You think twice before trying happiness again.
And then you spot someone who has been here. Who has lost so much, and somehow she can live full, and free. With grace, and freedom. Sadness and real life, not too far behind. And the way the birds sing when she’s around, you want to know her secret. How she lives life again, and how she overcame the sadness, the anger, the longing, the emptiness. Maybe it was all through love? Or surrender? You long to know her secret. Your curiosity trumps your fear. And one day you finally grasp onto something that becomes a secret of your own. You ARE her. You are running toward freedom, painting daisies with your fingertips, and watering rose petals with your tears on the hard days. Life is yours again, and you just can’t get enough of it.
It’s true that life is sweeter after being so close to death. The colors are more saturated, food is tastier – though maybe not at first, laughter is healing and more enjoyable and addicting than ever before, love is precious and chasing the good things in life becomes an obsession. Adventure becomes your middle name because you know life is just too short. You have a dead child to prove it.
That friends, is where I am. I don’t know if that’s where I’ll always be. Right now I have two small babies that fill up my day with so much love and chaos, but I often wonder if my thick grief will haunt me somewhere down the line. I can’t worry about that today though. If grief has taught me anything, it’s that there are no weather predictions for her. Only the choice to move through her and give her room to change you. Because changing is the game that she plays. She changes you, and exposes parts of you that you never even knew about. She makes you feel most vulnerable, and though her capacities include depriving you of ever being happy again… her end game is love. She only exists where love lived first.
And today I’m choosing to chase that love. It is a decision I have wrestled with for months (more on that decision here). I felt guilty for so many reasons, but in the end you have to know your limitations, and be honest with yourself. I cannot carry on Still Standing with a fully committed heart. I will be popping in once in a while, but Lori Ennis, a long time writer and friend (she was one of those blogs I was talking about!!), will be taking over as Editor. She has already officially been running it for about a month now. So much happened, so quickly. But it all just feels right, in a world that often makes no sense at all.
I want to thank you for reading, and making this little dream of mine – a safe place for the bereaved and infertility communities – a reality. It lives on, because of your support, your love and your children. They will always be remembered with us.
You can continue to follow my adventures, my writing and my artwork here.
xo franchesca
Franchesca Cox is the founder of Still Standing Magazine. She is currently seeking her Master’s in Occupational Therapy, a yogi and author of Celebrating Pregnancy Again and Facets of Grief, a creative workbook for grieving mothers. Learn more about her heartwork on her website.
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