Kristine E. Brickey

I wish I had a camera  that could capture the feeling in my heart, and then I could show it to you, and you would, maybe, finally understand. My words don’t want to come. My mind doesn’t wish to burden yours, but, if I had a camera, you might understand. I promised, didn’t I,  that I would always keep fighting. If I had that picture, from that camera, would the stress cracks show? The heart is a miracle of muscle, beating to keep us moving, keep our blood flowing. Mine still pumps, but if you squint as you look at the polaroid, the spidery lines cover my heart like lace.  Even the nicest people have their limits,  and some days I ponder the peace of simply staying put, wrapping the comforter over my head, puppy breath on my cheek, warm puppy body curled up in my fetal position lap. Every day I push away the irony of the comforter that brings no comfort, and I rise and shine and make my morning coffee. Yet, even the nicest people have their limits, and some days though I rise,

My first baby is turning thirty, but she is and always will be, my baby. She knows not how tightly she holds my heart. There's no way she can until hers is held by tiny fingers of her own making. I didn't. My father warned me, how I wouldn't understand until I held my own in my arms. The morning I stood outside the NICU, watching my tiny daughter fighting for air, her two pound body small amongst the machines, my father's hand on my shoulder, my eyes overflowing as he reminded me, As I finally understood. And now, she is thirty. Grown. In love and loved. Her future open wide to her dreams. Far away. Missed each day. And she knows not how tightly she holds my heart.

On Loss and the Anti-Resolutions By Melanie Hooyenga The new year brings hope and an optimism for better things to come that typically inspires people to overhaul their lives. Cushioned with the word ‘resolution,’ they tell the world they’re going to eat better, exercise more, go to bed earlier, stop drinking, cut out toxic people, focus on self-care, find a new job, and be content with what they have. That’s an exhaustive list, and while it’s all doable—and admirable!—it’s completely unrealistic to change that many things in your life all at once. The start of a new year is a wonderful time to reflect on things you want to change in your life, but I don’t like resolutions because I feel like if you’re going to make a change, you shouldn’t wait for a particular date on the calendar. Instead of declaring January 1st as The Day I Will Change My Life, why not start tomorrow? Or next Monday, after one final weekend of debauchery? Choosing an uneventful day means you’re less likely to

     As I move into this new decade, my heart feels like it is shifting, priorities seem to be changing, and goals are sharpening. These are all good things, even as they push me to reevaluate parts of my life.       I am struggling a bit with admitting some things to myself. Some parts of my life that have been vital to my healing and survival have softened in my need for them. I'm not sure if I need, no, I'm not sure that I want to continue with some things.       I have been questioning, pushing for hard honesty.  Does this bring me peace? Does the thought of this activity/person/task/goal make me smile or sigh or bring no reaction at all? How will my life change with/without this? Am I replacing this with other things or do I only need/wish to eliminate it? What might the consequences/repercussions be if I make this decision?      It seems impossible that the world has made it to 2020. It seems impossible that I will hit double fives this year on my birthday.

     As I drove into town to run errands, the tears flowed. New Year's Eve. The final day of 2019, the decade that brought my greatest loss. I didn't bother wiping them away. I was in my home town. I might run into people I knew. I might not. It didn't matter.      I was missing my boy.      I am always missing my boy.      2020 will mark ten years without him. A decade of gone. That thought was the catalyst for the tears. Ten. Years. This May, the 16th will arrive and then fade into the past. My boy will still be gone. My heart will still be broken. My memories will roll over me, overwhelm me with laughter and wrenching pain, keeping Robbie's smile fresh and alive even though he is gone.      As grief swells in my chest, threatening to take over, a red tailed hawk swoops over my car. Laughter breaks the dam of pain, washes away the worst of it, and I wipe the tears as I remember. A decade of gone, but also a decade of Robbie checking in with me, sending me moments