Oh, I was afraid of this. I am not a girl who cares much at all about what others think of her. In fact, I may not care enough? This morning it made me sad when I found out that some people (who began reading my blog when I wrote about Victoria) have now stopped reading. It is because of my last post. I don't really even know what to write at this moment. I have to get to work, so I am sure I will think about it all day.
It would have been a non-issue if these women had been reading my blog for a while, and just stopped because they grew tired of my political rants, or because they think I just plain suck.
It breaks my heart that these were mothers, who came to my blog for comfort. They found it, and then when I returned to being fully who I am, they left.
I have disappointed them.
This is why I thought, after writing about Victoria, that maybe I should edit myself.
I just can't do it, I don't want to either.
The passing of 12 years has not lessened my yearning to see,
hold, and mother my daughter.
I am passionate about shedding light on stillbirth.
I am passionate about uplifting parents who have been newly introduced
to the harsh realities of mourning a child's death.
But, there is more to this woman than sadness and grief, more to me than loss and pain. I am also passionate about politics, partial-birth abortion and all the things I last posted about. I enjoy writing about those issues with fiestiness and fire. And even a little humor now and then; although, I know I'm really not all that funny.
The common thread is that I am passionate about things that are uncomfortable.
I write about them. I say what so many others can't or won't.
Despite the knots in my gut this morning, despite the tears I feel welling up, I won't edit myself. This is my spot. I need it. I like it. And my daughter would not want me to hesitate being the woman she knows her mother is.