I feel like a failure sometimes. At all of it. Professionally, since I never "made it" in my field. And then personally, on the home front, at the thousand mundane tasks of motherhood and domesticity. The thousand simple tasks of daily living.
And then I read a post like this and am blown away.
I've been following sweet/salty kate's story for several months now. She writes beautifully about motherhood. She writes beautifully, period. She has lived through what no mother should ever have to live through: the death of a child. This past summer she gave birth to identical twin boys, born too early. They went straight to the NICU. One survived. He came home, and he's now thriving in the love of his family. The other one never left the hospital.
I don't know the full details of this story. When I stumbled upon Kate's blog, it was already the aftermath. And I haven't had the fortitude to read the earlier posts, the ones where it all began. I may never have the heart to do so.
But I've read her posts in the aftermath... And what is so amazing to me is not only that she survived, and is surviving; but that she is surviving and grieving and also living with such grace and love and even joy. That there is still joy, after such tragedy.
I am haunted by this line of her latest post: "You're riddled with bulletholes, but there's still peanut butter oatcakes and vanilla steamers ....."
The minor stresses of daily life seem to fade into a larger space. I wonder if I *could* live through what she did. And I'm grateful to be reminded of those peanut butter oatcakes.
I know this is a somewhat unusual posting for me, but I haven't been able to shake the effects of Kate's post all day. And I hope others will find her writing.