Of Priestessing, Pancakes and Prophecies

     AS I look at the calendar, it seems surreal to me that it has already been four months since I last posted. In my previous post I had written about my experiences at the Morrigan's Call Retreat which I had attended in June. So much has happened since the event. Time just flew out of my grasp. Summer is over, Autumn is fading, Samhain has past and we look to the Yule season fast approaching. Something that has been on my mind ever since the Retreat were my experiences in the Temple that weekend. I have had conversations with friends over the past few months centering on these types of experiences. Topics of vision, journeying and receiving messages from the Gods in general. But what I will speak of here, now are my own encounters. More specifically the messages I have received in the days since.

     I have previously written about the Retreat itself and briefly mentioned the experience I had in the Temple that weekend. I felt compelled to expand upon this experience of late. Having a designated space to serve as a Temple and Oracular space at the Retreat was a new occurrence this past June. In past year's we had designated a pop up tent for a makeshift Temple area, as you can imagine occasionally weather interfered with these tents. So we decided to try using one of the cabins as a more solid structure for Temple, also affording us the opportunity to have a more private space for Oracular work in the evenings. It was a good addition in my opinion, judging by the outcomes and comments of participants afterward. We will definitely be keeping this aspect for future retreats. Temple was set with altars for the various aspects of the Goddess as well as altars for the other Gods/Goddesses of the Tuatha De Danann. There were several Priestesses assigned to the Temple specifically for the purposes of keeping it clean, making sure offerings were provided and cleaned up  properly, as well as advising participants who wished to spend time in the Temple praying and making devotional offerings. There were also a few specific Priestesses trained in Oracular work who served as vessels for messages from the Goddess. A small group of members who served as Guardians and energetic grounders. These individuals were also there to assist the Oracles and protect the Temple itself. It was in my own capacity as Grounder and Guardian that I had my particular experience that weekend. One evening, as I was performing my duties as Guardian, which included warding and energetically shoring up the protections placed around our Temple to keep unwanted energies out I had a very vivid encounter. During this time, as my attentions were busy creating shields , checking for weak spots, testing the area for unwanted energies and keeping an eye on the Oracle for signs she was needing assistance or a break, this is when the Goddess came through in full embodiment. I say this because this is exactly what happened. As I stood there between the doorway to the front of the temple and the Oracle and her petitioner at the back of the room, all this energy swirling about, in that moment, the room lit up and standing in the place where my sister Priestess who was the vessel was standing, was the Goddess. She appeared in both her aspects of Badb and Macha together, standing side by side, existing in the exact space the Oracle had been a moment before, like the Priestess had been teleported out and they teleported in simultaneously. There they stood, speaking with the petitioner, Badb, tall and regal looking. She stood there with her long Raven black hair, falling straight down her back almost to the floor. It looked as if it were both hair and cloak at the same time. She wore a deep bluish purple gown and appeared to be in her early 40's as far as age, with fair skin and deep dark eyes. Standing shoulder to shoulder with her was Macha. Tall, fair with fiery red hair cascading in wild unruly curls from her shoulders to her waist. Her eyes as green as the gown she wore and most definitely, very, very pregnant. I don't really know how long this visage lasted. Oracle time was limited to about an hour per Priestess to prevent extreme fatigue. Being immersed in that space and energy I have no concept of when they appeared or how long they stayed, though it seemed quite awhile in the moment. I do remember that I felt and observed it happening around me. I noted it in my mind, but at the same time it didn't phase me as odd. In the moment I was just thinking "Oh, well that is interesting" I was so engrossed in the focus of Guardian and all that entails energetically that I had slipped into that perfect meditative state which is what allowed me to have this experience. It only further confirmed for me, that what these women really do is channel the energies of these deities for us. I have much respect for the Priestesses who serve as vessels.  That night alone would have made the weekend spectacular, it would take me weeks afterward to fully appreciate and process it all.

     A few weeks after the Retreat, I was doing my regular morning devotions, giving my thanks and gratitude for specific things when I was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming feeling of grief. I literally began crying for no reason known to me. The thoughts in my head were of sadness. The Goddess was keening for her children. The message I received was that she was grieving for the pain her children/ravens were experiencing. I equated it to her grief for the people who had come for messages at Retreat, many of whom had expressed having crisis or troubling times in their lives. Not long after, within a week or so I believe, I received the devastating news that my friend and Tribe sister, Jaime Johnson had been murdered by her ex boyfriend, who had then killed himself as well. Looking back now, the grief I felt may have been twofold. Our community is still in shock and disbelief at the loss of our beautiful sister. I still cannot comprehend it myself. The world is dimmer at the loss of this bright and shining soul.

After Retreat, after losing Jaime, after Jaime's memorial and having spent more time at camp later in the summer I sat at my altar and asked for some guidance. I had been thinking about my service and everything that had happened. Part of my acts of service performed at Retreat this past June was that of care taking the land we were a part of for that weekend. The camp grounds we were staying at are truly a special place. we cleaned the trails and picked up garbage as we went about our days. Special effort was made to make offerings to the land spirits, to let them know we were there to honor the land and those who dwell on it. We left that camp much happier and cleaner than we found it. As I was partaking in all of this I found myself pondering the aspect of Anu as Morrigan. She was the one aspect of the Goddess, out of the three aspects that until now, I had never really felt a strong connection. I left Retreat feeling I needed to learn more and explore my relationship to the Goddess in this form. I have been called to Badb as one of her Priestesses. She very loudly and visibly claimed me as hers immediately upon my dedication to the Morrigan. Macha has slowly made herself known to me in small ways and we are coming to get to know each other. Macha wants warriors, and even though I had not seen myself as a warrior per se, she has made it known that I am one of her warriors. I am charged to answer her call and I willingly do so. Anu was more ambiguous to me. I hadn't seen or heard her in this form personally. It was late summer, a time of the first harvest and giving thanks for what we have reaped in the growing season. Part of my offering I felt should be harvest based so I had whipped up a batch of wheat pancakes that morning and taken the first and last ones I made as offering to the Goddess. I paired these with some locally grown organic honey and  mead. I began my devotions as I always do with making my offerings to the Morrigan. I recited my prayers. "Badb I am your priestess, Macha I am your warrior" and as I lit the candle for Anu and made my offering, without even thinking about it "Anu I am your Guardian" . That was it. It came just like that, a little voice in my head saying "Guardian". Something I had been doing all along, why I didn't realize it I don't know. That is my task, charged to me from Anu. I took this to mean that I should connect more with the land I now currently call home in Connecticut, the woods that lie behind my home, the camp I love so much, the people I love so much, friends and family and the members of my Tuatha, my Tribe. I will act as Guardian to all in whatever capacity I am able. Guardian to Oracles, Warrior willing to fight for what is necessary in my community and life, and Priestess, a Guide to serve those seeking to begin devotion to this Goddess.
As I finished my offerings and devotions that morning I felt lighter and peaceful. I went about the rest of my morning, straightening out the house and such. As I stood at the sink doing the morning's dishes my partner came out of the bedroom looking perplexed and suspiciously enquired of me; "Baby, why are there pancakes on the Altar?" I looked at him and laughed. "Because the Morrigan likes pancakes damn it!"

LISTEN

Listen...to the Wind, for she speaks of Truth.

Listen...to the Snake, for she speaks of the burning of Change and Transformation.

Listen...to the Sea, for she speaks of Blood upon the shore washed away in her Embrace.

Listen...to the Earth, for she speaks of deep roots to weather the coming Storm.

The Morrigan’s Call Retreat 2017: A Work of Devotion

                                                                     Badb

Can you hear her calling?

Distant voice upon the wind, Shrieking! Cawing!

Sweltering sun settles on a scarlet horizon

Breathe deep

Swallow hard, bittersweet taste, salty and metallic

Trudging ever forward

She waits, hooded figure, shadowed by the dying light

The path is uneven, the night descends

She stands at the river’s edge, pale phantom, keening for the loss

Red-tinged tide laps upon the shore

Crimson Taloned Queen, she knows what has been, what is now and what will be

Make your choice.

Now or later, she will ever guard you at the End.

Author: Karen Storminger @2016

The Morrigan’s Call Retreat, held this past June 10-12, 2017, the annual gathering of the Tribe to honor, learn and connect with The Morrigan has come and gone so quickly.  2017 was the 4^th Annual Gathering. The prepping and planning in the year before seemed endless, then suddenly it was upon us! This year’s retreat was held at Camp Cedarcrest in Orange, Connecticut. This is a home away from home for me personally for many reasons. The days leading up to the event were hectic and stressful with preparations but, once I stepped foot on the camp grounds, purpose set in.

The day before retreat is set aside for staff to arrive and set up camp for attendees and guest speakers. A time for organizing, last minute decisions if necessary, and setting up sacred space around the camp. I cannot say enough words of praise and thanks for the wonderful people who volunteer their time to doing the “grunt “work to make an event such as this come together and be successful. This year staff were on point and so focused we actually ran ahead of schedule most of the weekend. This made for a much more relaxed event and gave everyone time to slow down and connect with each other and the Gods/Goddess/Land/ spirits etc.

The theme for this year’s Call was Devotion. I can honestly say the work done by everyone in the months prior to put things together, write ritual, prepare workshops and all the myriad other elements was most definitely a work of Devotion.  Devotion means many things to different people. To me it is a deep and abiding connection and feeling of affection for my Goddess. I devote my time in service to her. The retreat was an unbroken almost surreal moment of Devotion to the Goddess. From opening Ritual to closing Ritual, there was a feeling of reverence.  A deep affection for one another and feeling of seeking close connection came from everyone. Throughout the weekend we spoke of being caretakers of the land, building community and showing our devotion to the Goddess through our actions. Clans were tasked with creating their own acts of devotion and service over the weekend. Altars for the land spirits were built. Attendees left this camp spotless.  Much cleaner and happier than we had found it. Unfortunately, the groups that had been there before us had been considerably disrespectful to the land and we made it a concerted effort to make amends for that to help heal those wounds. I believe it was appreciated judging by the impish grin of a wily little tree spirit on Sunday morning, let’s just say you had to be there, lol.

 Ritual focused on the many aspects of the Goddess and held a much more intense and reverential atmosphere to them, in my opinion. The overall feel was much more intimate, even though the group was large (there were some 70-ish attendees this year). Workshops focused on myth, legends, building personal devotional practice and a variety of traditional and practical magical workings. We ate as a community, sat at the bonfire telling stories, and sang songs while drumming into the night. Attendees were encouraged to spend time in the Temple making offerings and communing with whichever aspect they were called to at the time. A personal and private individual Dedication ceremony was held in the Temple. Devotional prayer times were kept for those who wished to participate at regular times of the day. A new addition was Oracular work this year. It gave individuals the chance to speak with the Goddess privately during specified times. It was during my time in the Temple as a guardian for the Oracle, that I felt her presence most keenly. She appeared as both Macha (a very PREGNANT Macha I might add) and Badb at one point one evening. Her energy one of concern for her warriors.  At this writing still, I have an ever-present emotion of sadness from her. The Goddess Keens. It is not easily explained, it just is.

The weekend went smoothly and peacefully and an overall feeling of calm permeated the camp.  Yes, The Morrigan is a Goddess of War and Battle.  The thought of a weekend dedicated to her devotion being calm and peaceful may seem antithetical to some. Indeed, just prior to the weekend, there were stirrings of discontent from others, who for one reason or another disagree with the viewpoints of this Tuatha’s leadership. (A conversation for another time, suffice to say attempts were made to publicly hobble the event with fighting words.)

 I ask you this; How can you know what is truly worth fighting for if you never experience peace? If you never put down the sword? It is not that the Tuatha fears battle, exactly the opposite has been evident from the start judging by the character of most of her followers. The Morrigan loves a good fight for sure, but she also knows that to fight for the sake of fighting is counterproductive and foolish. Does she not in many of her stories repeatedly give warriors the chance to change direction? We pay a very high cost in war, one must heed the Goddesses words, “They do not know what they are asking for”.  Dogs that fight over bones will always go hungry.  “He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.” – Sun Tzu, the Art of War

 For me, personally, the outcome of the weekend was clear. The Queen favors Peace at this time. This was most evident to me on the last day. Our final ritual for the weekend was Badb’s. It was held at the water’s edge, exactly how she wanted it, at noon with the sun directly above us.  Attendees chose to face one of three priestesses at the water, each via a different path. One easy and direct, one more difficult, and one the most challenging path. Each made their own choice. Each came away with their message. Afterwards, I was told by another that as we stood at the water two sunfish were present just to the right of me in the water. As the invocation to the Goddess occurred the fish began to mate in the water under the midday sun. As a Priestess in the ritual I received my message last. Ogham were used in this ritual. My message; Birth, change, new beginnings.

Apparitions

As the veil thins over these October weeks, thoughts of Holidays, family, and the coming cold nights wander through my head. This is a magical time of year with many blessings of abundance and reminders that our time on this earth is but a blink. There are the tell tale reminders of those who have passed before us, those we miss and those we never knew. I find that the mix of happiness and sadness at this time parallels life as a whole. I choose to honor the dead in these days. To remember those I've loved and lost with the passing of the warmer days. Acknowledging their presence as it grows stronger in the shadow of Samhain, of the coming winter, of the coming slumber of the earth itself. It comforts me to know that the opportunity to speak once more with those now gone from this reality is upon us once again. So to my friends and family living and beyond I send my Brightest Blessings, honor your lives and contributions and am happy to know we will see each other again some day.



Apparitions

Can you hear them out there?

Shuffling, crackling leaves, flying on the wind.

Fleeting images dancing in the moonlight.

Can you hear them out there?

Shadows in the corner

Voices in an empty room

Apparitions everywhere

Can you hear them out there?

They hear you.

My Path to Paganism

                                                         

            When someone I meet learns that I am a Pagan and a Witch, it’s funny the questions they ask. Usually they are earnest questions from a person who really wants to learn, know or understand a topic which is new or mystifying to them. It’s human curiosity of course. They are usually quite surprised by my responses. Especially when they include the fact that I have been studying, living and practicing since I was a young child. They typically expect the story to center around some twenty something search for self after years of Catholic or Christian religious oppression. Actually this isn’t the case for me. I came upon my path fairly naturally and without much resistance from the people I love. My path to spirituality had nothing much to do with religion. For me, the two are not necessarily mutual.

            Yes, I was raised in the Roman Catholic faith. My mother brought us to church every Sunday and I was baptized, made penance, communion and confirmation in the Catholic religion. The thing was it never felt forced on me, I did what my family did, but I also wasn’t told I couldn’t explore other things. Obviously I did not agree with a lot of the doctrine I was taught and began to question it all. In fact, I was raised to ask questions. I was expected to read, question and search out answers on any subject on my own all the time. When I was five years old, my parents had me go to synagogue with a friend who was Jewish when I started questioning why she was taught different information in her religion. I was encouraged to learn as much as I could about things so I could understand and make up my own mind about what I believed, what had meaning in my life, and so I would know that there is really not only one way to live a good life.

            As a child I spent my free time outside, playing and exploring.  I developed an affinity for being in nature. When we lived in the Bronx my favorite places were the local park and the Bronx Zoo, where the trees and animals lived. In summer I had the opportunity to spend a week or so in the “country” in New Jersey at my Aunt’s house and marveled that I could hear birds singing outside the window in the morning. Eventually, we moved to Long Island, when I was eight, and I had a special love for the Weeping Willow tree in our back yard. It was a beautiful tree that when in full bloom created a place to hide and commune, just her and I. Cradled in her branches, safe and warm. Later, every Labor Day weekend at my Father’s Union picnic located in upstate NY, I would be allowed to wander off alone into the woods. There I would play with the sprites and spirits of that place. They welcomed me back each year. Between them and the other children, rides and games that were present I would come home exhausted, happy and blackened with dirt from head to toe. It was glorious! So when at the age of ten I started to explore, and read books about witchcraft, Wicca, other occult topics, and other religions it really didn’t alarm anyone. I was told to read as much as I could. Get lots of information and do what I felt was right with it. My Mother said she always knew I was a little witch anyway.  

            I read. I began with Wicca and Native American spirituality. I read Marion Weinstein’s “Earth Magic: A Dianic Book of Shadows”, Starhawk’s “Spiral Dance”, Margot Adler’s “Drawing Down the Moon”, Z. Budapest and of course, Scott Cunningham along with others. In my freshman year of college I began my own solitary practice. At the age of nineteen I formally dedicated myself as a solitary to the Goddess and God. I spent my twenties raising babies and bumbling down my solitary path with a few awesome mentors via post and phone calls along the way. At twenty-five I became acquainted with the Goddess Hecate and she taught me, supported me, and showed me my own strength for many years afterward.

In 2009 I was in a bad car accident. I was literally hit by a bus. Up until that point I was floundering spiritually. I knew I was going through the motions that year and I couldn’t figure out which way I was being pulled. I was spinning my wheels in the mundane world and ignoring my own physical and spiritual needs. Well, that just wouldn’t do, so to send me a serious message I was hit quite hard with a Holy 2 x 4, only in the form of a bus. That’s when the Morrigan stepped into my life. It took me a little while (several years actually) and a lot of research to realize that she was the Morrigan. When I did figure it out, started listening (you really have no choice with her, it’s listen up or you’re in for a world of hurt until you do) and connected to her, my life took a total 180 degree change.

            To me my spirituality, my relationship with the Gods/Goddesses, my daily practice and connection with the divine is more than just a religion. It is my way of life. It centers me, gives me balance in a chaotic world and grounds me in what is real, what is worthwhile in this life. My practice is eclectic. I take what resonates with me and use it. Some other Pagans frown upon this, but I haven’t had any Gods complain to me yet that “I’m doing it wrong”. To me religion is a name for a set of rules and doctrine that someone else tells you how to follow and interpret. Spirituality is following my heart, opening my mind to infinite possibilities and doing what I feel is right. It’s accepting the bad things, exploring the darkness of life and myself, while being grateful for the good and the moments of light. In my opinion, being a Pagan is more than just worshipping a bunch of different Gods at the same time. It’s more than just following what another person has interpreted the stories to mean or how one should practice. It is finding that place within yourself where the divine resides, connecting with the Gods/ Goddesses, listening and looking. Most of all acting upon what you find. The Gods suffer no fools. Sitting at home lighting candles and meditating on something alone for hours on end isn’t going to get things moving by itself.  Like everything else, spirituality and a relationship with the divine whether Pagan or otherwise, requires one to act upon those beliefs. You have to put the work into it and get the energy moving forward to see the results.

            So when I get those earnest and sometimes amusing questions about how I became a Pagan, I smile. I really didn’t “become” a Pagan through any horrible incidence or oppressive religious backlash. Truthfully, in my heart I know I was always spiritual, always a little witchy. I was just born this way and with a little love and guidance I was lucky enough to figure it out early in life.

           

           

No Reason

There is no reason

There is no why

All I want is to curl up in a ball and cry

There is light

There is hope

Yet I keep sliding, spiraling down

I choke it back, swallow it hard

The voice in my head screaming “NO! No! No!”

The light hurts my eyes

My smile lies

The voice keeps screaming

Today I will rise, will put on that smile, will look out of dry eyes

All the time knowing

Feeling the numbness growing

From deep down inside

Without any reason, no discernable why

Tonight when I lay my head down

In the darkness, the quiet, alone with the silence

I will curl up in a ball and smother the cry

                                                          Time for Healing

As I drove down the road on this cold, rainy February day it suddenly occurred to me what had happened. I realized what month this was, and that the anniversary had come and gone over a week ago without my even noticing this time. It was the first time in exactly twenty years that the week of February 13^th had passed without me shuttered away in a depressive heap in my room remembering the anniversary of losing my third child. Time had passed without tears or incident and thinking on it at that moment in my car, I was not upset or saddened by the realization. I was okay. Not thrilled mind you, but I would be okay.

The winter of 1996 started out rough to say the least. My husband at the time was laid off of work. We had a house, and two small children, the youngest was just sixteen months old and I was expecting our third child. The fact that we were having a third was a bone of contention between us as well and had caused some arguments between us in the beginning. But we would deal and I knew somehow it would all work out eventually. So the holidays had passed and as I had made it through my first trimester well, we had told the rest of our family about the baby at the Christmas Holidays. I was sure I was having another girl and my husband and I settled upon a name for her; Saffron, Saffie for short. Just after the New Year I went in for my monthly check up and was excited to hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time at this appointment. Everything went fine during the exam until it came time for listening to the heartbeat. The doctor was having difficulty finding one. Not to worry, this sometimes happens depending on the baby’s position I was told, so let’s do an ultrasound and see where the little one was hiding. Out comes the ultrasound machine, disgustingly cold jelly yuck on my belly. No good. We’ll have to do an internal ultrasound. Yes, if you have never had one done, that is exactly what it sounds like and not comfortable in the least.

Have you ever walked into a room and it suddenly goes quiet. Quiet, silent, not a sound from either the doctor or the nurse as they stared at that ultrasound screen. Even the simplest person in the world knows silence is not a good sign. After what felt like an eternity but was most likely a few minutes I finally asked, “What’s wrong?’ Well, I’m not exactly sure, could be nothing was the response I got. There is a heartbeat. I sighed in relief. “Ok, then what?” There is something else that I am not sure about and we’ll have to send you for a more in-depth test to find out. It looks like an Oomphalocile. I knew what that meant, but for those who don’t, it is basically an area on the fetus that has not formed skin to cover the vital organs, nerves, blood vessels etc. and almost appears as if it is a bubble of fluid and internal parts bulging from the body. It is most common with the condition Spina Bifida where it appears over the spinal column. It is not something you want to hear in your 20^th week of pregnancy.

I went home and told my husband what had happened and that I needed to go for more tests. My son overheard us talking and said something about the baby dying and I completely lost my shit at that point. The next few weeks are a blur as I made my appointment for a level four ultrasound and waited for the date of the appointment to come. Time was ticking. My baby was still moving.

The day of the test finally arrived and my husband and I went together. Of course no one said anything to either of us during the actual test. Afterwards we waited to speak to the genetic and fetal specialist doctor who was reading our results. The news was not good obviously. We were told that the baby did not have an Oomphalocile. It also did not have a lower half of its body at all. Apparently, the umbilical cord had not attached correctly and my child was developed only up to the point of the cord. The heart was beating, buds for arms, head all there. Lower extremities and abdominal organs were not forming. I asked about fetal surgery. No, not in this case, there simply wasn’t anything medically they could do to correct the situation. I was given my choices, as if there really was any choice. Firstly, the doctors were amazed that I had not miscarried before this time as so much was wrong, but, since that had not happened I could either wait and would most likely miscarry in the next few weeks. Or, if that did not happen, and I chose to wait the baby would most likely die in utero and I would have to deliver a stillborn birth which also put me at risk of dying from infection or complications. If the baby by some miracle survived to term and was delivered (which could also put my life in danger) it would most likely die an excruciating death moments after birth. My last choice was to terminate the pregnancy. Since I was already at 22 weeks by then, it made it a late term abortion. Like I said, no choice at all. The children I had already given birth to needed me here, alive and healthy. I made the appointment with the doctor right then and went home to cry.

The day of the procedure my mother came with us to the hospital.  She is my Mom, my supporter no matter what, my friend, my strength when I can’t find it in myself. I needed my Mom. Also though, she understood. My mother had given birth to a baby girl before my birth, a girl born stillborn who was only partially formed she was told afterward. My mother never got to see that baby. At that time, they didn’t do that, she was told to go home, forget it and try to have another child. So my Mom was there for me, she knew. I think she was more of a wreck on the inside then I was that day. I was prepped, stuck by some young nurse in the wrong damn place in my wrist for a line, she actually struck bone. Did I mention this was a teaching hospital? Then taken to the O.R. where for the next 20 minutes some young apprentice anesthesiologist poked my spine with a needle trying to find the right spot to insert the spinal block I needed for this procedure. I took as much as I could until I cracked. I jumped off the table crying and shaking and shouted I was done, I changed my mind, I’m not doing this, get me out of here and get this idiot away from me! The female head of anesthesiology came in, calmed me down and inserted the spinal block herself, simply, easily, I never felt a thing. The rest is fuzzy until the recovery room. I stayed there until I could feel my legs again and a few hours later I was released and sent home. A bit of advice here, one should never be sent home the same day you get a spinal! You are supposed to rest for 24 hours after something like that. I was told I might have a headache. UNDERSTATEMENT of the century!

I went home. I cried. I slept. I could not lift my head physically from the pillow literally for the next 3 days. Have you ever tried to explain to a sixteen month old why Mommy can’t pick her up, why Mommy can’t move? Not fun. I spent the next month recuperating physically. I experienced for the first time in my life a real migraine headache. I called my doctor who said it was normal to have headaches. Really, a migraine that lasts for days when I’ve never had one ever before? Please forgive me anyone reading this who is a doctor, but doctors can be real assholes! I am not some number on a chart, or some hysterical over exaggerator of symptoms. I can take pain but this was something else and they should have listened and warned me properly ahead of time. Anyway, I was able to go back to work and my life in a way in a few weeks after. A few weeks after that I received a letter in the mail with the laboratory results of the genetic testing that had been done on my baby. It was a girl, with no discernable chromosomal abnormalities. No known cause of malformation. The official diagnosis was Limb, Body, Stalk Anomaly and occurred in 1 out of 250,000 pregnancies. Basically, they couldn’t find any medical reason known for what had happened.

  The migraines persisted for the next three years regularly. Then tapered off to about six a year for the next few years, then down to fewer after that. I still get them now. What I didn’t expect at all was the emotional recovery being so difficult. I cried every day for the next two years. This event was also one more nail in the coffin of my marriage and the biggest wedge between us until our last trigger and the end a year and a half later. I cried all the time, silently, privately, and my only sanity was the support of my mother and a few close friends who let me talk about it with them as much as I needed. That was a gift. Letting me talk allowed me to grieve, to deal as best I could. When I couldn’t talk to anyone, I would shut down emotionally and just go through the daily motions just to get by and function. I did this for years. At some point it became just around the anniversary that I would fall apart, privately and get melancholy. Thinking about my baby hurt every time.

The last few years I have spent working on myself, healing my wounds, accepting myself, pushing myself to create the life I want for me. Doing this work has been very transformational and I noticed last year at the anniversary I wasn’t as sad. I acknowledged the day, and lit my candle for my girl, and went about my business. This year, was different. I didn’t acknowledge it consciously at all. It came and went and my day and week since were happy and uneventful. As I realized this in the car driving in the rain, I felt peace. I thought about my girl, I imagined her now, as an almost 20 year old woman. What she would have looked like, probably very much like her big sister. I smiled to myself. Though she never took a breath in this world, Saffie made a profound difference in my life. Her short life changed me, changed my life, and was a huge catalyst for many changes to come from conception to death. She changed things for my other children as well. Because of her, the knowledge of a potential genetic issue in our family is known where before it might have been overlooked as a fluke thing that would never happen again. One anomaly pregnancy in a family line is chance, two raises questions, and three; as I later found out of another family member who had a similar occurrence with their pregnancy and birth, well that’s just something that needs to be known and checked into for future generations. So now the conversation with my now grown older daughter will include the topic of getting genetic testing when she is ready to have kids of her own and my son should as well. If anything maybe my experience will provide my daughter with enough information so she won’t have to go through anything like it herself.

So, today I was driving through the rain, noticing the grey, cloudy sky and thinking about the twenty year anniversary of the death of my youngest daughter, and I didn’t cry. The healing continues.