tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-987845045143572762024-02-02T00:51:01.643-08:00Paseo PressJudith van Praaghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113677919729425142noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98784504514357276.post-71205701717883774572012-09-04T16:51:00.000-07:002018-04-28T06:16:51.747-07:00PAILS of Hope - Share Pregnancy And Infant Loss Support as Important Today as 35 Years Ago<b>Share 35 Years of Compassion </b><br />
This Fall, <a href="http://www.nationalshare.org/index.html" target="_blank">Share Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support, Inc.</a> celebrates the organization's 35th year of touching people's hearts and helping them/ us in
helping the community to understand that the loss of an infant is no small
loss. A good enough reason to give them a hand. <br />
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<b>PAILS of Hope </b><br />
In the mid 1990s I received a package in the mail from an infant loss support group based in Austin, TX. Among the reading material was the newsletter of PAILS of Hope, published by the <a href="http://www.storknet.com/cubbies/pailsofhope/" target="_blank">Pregnancy & Parenting After Infertility and/ or Loss </a>support group. Today the newsletter is shared Online under the umbrella of <a href="http://www.storknet.com/newsletter/" target="_blank">Storknet</a>.<br />
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<b>Strangers in a Strange Land</b><br />
Having immigrated to the U.S. from the Netherlands, leaving behind friends and family members who had witnessed our devastation after the birth and death of our baby daughter, I felt terribly lonesome. Double bereft if you will, because of the lack of people who knew what had happened to us before our relocation. The care package from Texas was a lifesaver, reading about the experiences of others kept me afloat. A year or two later, I wrote a few reflective pieces for the PAILS newsletter. The notion that I could help others by writing about my experience was triggered, and in 1999, urged on by Dr. Yael Danieli, I published my book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Creative-Acts-Healing-After-Baby/dp/0967267706" target="_blank">Creative Acts of Healing</a>: after a baby dies.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinF67LNRRaNwO54rlJhBhmbrAQ66fL41cSihvQQZir-GERlQVJ25DywVPMVitIjfs9-YHWD31BIHURH9iL87pUThFtW9WB4L7LSlOoTjhSiKjF6Ld6Z68jCDhfnN_Uz_c3N1PxZRVuZPdT/s1600/1997+Butterfly+Vessel+1+to+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinF67LNRRaNwO54rlJhBhmbrAQ66fL41cSihvQQZir-GERlQVJ25DywVPMVitIjfs9-YHWD31BIHURH9iL87pUThFtW9WB4L7LSlOoTjhSiKjF6Ld6Z68jCDhfnN_Uz_c3N1PxZRVuZPdT/s320/1997+Butterfly+Vessel+1+to+crop.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">© Judith van Praag </td></tr>
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<b>There's Life after Hope </b><br />
Until 2002 I would continue writing about grief, publishing both in Dutch and English, participating in forums, heading workshops about writing from the heart at conferences such as ADEC and MISS. <br />
After having experienced my fourth subsequent miscarriage following the loss of our baby daughter, I decided that was it. No more trying, the time had come to focus on what my husband and I had together, and on what I wanted to do in the future. I became an arts journalist and am busy finishing a novel. But, as every person who has suffered a loss can tell you, grief doesn't end just because you think you're finished grieving. Our experience surrounding our loss has made us the people who we are, in that our baby daughter is very much part of our lives.<br />
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<b>Missed Mile Poles </b><br />
Today I watched a video album made in memory of a nearly
19-year-old who died recently. My heart went out to his mother (his
father preceded him in death) his brother, other relatives, and friends.
The photographs spoke of moments in time witnessed by an other, another
person. My heart went out to those who will miss this young man for
whom he had become in the time he was given. And I felt sadness for my
husband and myself, for all those moments in time, sadness for missed
mile poles, and the people who could/ would have been connected to us
through the child we didn't have a chance to see grow up. And I thought
how we are spared the pain of loss suffered for all those moments that
could have been. And I know that we aren't spared that way, for with
each birth date, each mile pole, each accomplishment we witness in
another person born in 1993 we are so painfully aware of what we missed.
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<b>The Gift of Hope is Life</b><br />
<a href="http://www.storknet.com/cubbies/pailsofhope/index.html" target="_blank">Maribeth Doerr </a>keeps on delivering solace to people's homes with her PAILS of Hope.<br />
35 Years after someone, some people, vowed to
help those who grieve the loss of an infant or pregnancy, a loss that to the outside world seemed
small, a mere promise, <a href="http://www.nationalshare.org/index.html" target="_blank">SHARE Inc.</a> is as strong today as it was back when it was started.Judith van Praaghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113677919729425142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98784504514357276.post-90739517690957996662011-05-25T22:11:00.000-07:002011-05-26T10:06:12.638-07:00No Peep, No Breath, still Sheer PerfectionA writer friend needing to know how a stillborn baby looks, went Online and Googled with touching result. She shared her experience in her blog post <a href="http://siftingthegrain.wordpress.com/2011/05/09/my-writing-takes-me-places/">My Writing Takes Me Places</a>.<br />
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Our Ariane Eira's eyes were closed, her lips burgundy rose petals dropped on pale smooth skin, she had the tiniest blond curls as if set around sprigs. Her limbs, fingers and toes were long, like her daddy's, her nails mother of pearl. No peep, no breath, still sheer perfection.Judith van Praaghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113677919729425142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98784504514357276.post-13165051311907181642008-12-21T15:14:00.000-08:002008-12-21T15:41:52.695-08:00So to Speak summer/fall 2008 Visual Art Contest 2nd winner up "Starlight" by Judith van Praag<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2kpaUOHebJXlRYSoPxu07b-07UAvIGfHSk2EBz2WdVj0dmwPkn-GkUfBs_Zr_BOyo5ahJsoG7-1ftNddlIug7_b5po4RW5VUPkmsPuDbPK0G56SVx-D4kKyj2J_u3GqwwrxUFBkzleJBc/s1600-h/img034.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2kpaUOHebJXlRYSoPxu07b-07UAvIGfHSk2EBz2WdVj0dmwPkn-GkUfBs_Zr_BOyo5ahJsoG7-1ftNddlIug7_b5po4RW5VUPkmsPuDbPK0G56SVx-D4kKyj2J_u3GqwwrxUFBkzleJBc/s320/img034.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282386932281377938" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibO6oRpYbPW-KPIlPDLG3S5inV4Q453O5JKum1bUVofv5KSFGidirLmNOljaiYXi57lbJMaZRviTtH0xijtGLmcPXx98ywviWqRHJxX5cWvvcDHZNpabZwhdAgbBYS5toJWhKIz8ARHbQU/s1600-h/img033.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 261px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibO6oRpYbPW-KPIlPDLG3S5inV4Q453O5JKum1bUVofv5KSFGidirLmNOljaiYXi57lbJMaZRviTtH0xijtGLmcPXx98ywviWqRHJxX5cWvvcDHZNpabZwhdAgbBYS5toJWhKIz8ARHbQU/s320/img033.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282386947363844722" /></a><br />"Starlight" by Judith van Praag (Collage Xerox print, China ink, sonogram).<br />2nd runner up of the 2008 visual art contest of <a href="http://www.gmu.edu/org/sts/">So to Speak, a journal of language and visual art.</a><br />Click on image for larger representation. ©1993-2008 Judith van Praag<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhep3J9raJ1Dn7nEbmKufVRLRYtA5mGRBk1wt7_jzLag78UJCNiF4z0jqo5-rLaJkWuCg_VaPbxSUnBkSxULyx4r8yxPzMMhSlrWVRbrrEwmMx29EiYZpcPuL6cKoSlm5bl35s__CKPdxi9/s1600-h/img035.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhep3J9raJ1Dn7nEbmKufVRLRYtA5mGRBk1wt7_jzLag78UJCNiF4z0jqo5-rLaJkWuCg_VaPbxSUnBkSxULyx4r8yxPzMMhSlrWVRbrrEwmMx29EiYZpcPuL6cKoSlm5bl35s__CKPdxi9/s320/img035.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282386958159783714" /></a>Judith van Praaghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113677919729425142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98784504514357276.post-51182648560079928392008-03-06T08:09:00.000-08:002008-03-06T08:18:12.766-08:00SpooningMy love in fetal position<br />takes the place of the empty feeling<br />the vacated belly<br />our baby's home for nine months<br /><br />Once again we're like newlyweds<br />our by winter-gear hooded kisses<br />protected from the gazes of passers-by<br />we're parents without responsibilities<br />except for ourselves/ each other<br />the memory of our child<br /><br />No cradle to rock/ no pram to push<br />no feeding during the night<br />we sleep next to the vacant room<br />where winter's cold combined with grief<br />drives us closer than love in a warm climate would<br /><br />Back to point zero where we started<br />but for the history we now share<br />making us one/ once again<br /><br />©1993 Judith van Praag<br />From Creative Acts of Healing: after a baby diesJudith van Praaghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113677919729425142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98784504514357276.post-38180580658468246222007-10-02T07:28:00.000-07:002007-10-02T07:59:48.540-07:00Love of a ChildThe other night we celebrated the birthday of a friend at a pizzeria. Another guest was "showing" a six-month bulge. I remembered my own pregnancy, and noted there was no sharp pang of sadness, merely the registration: she's going to deliver in January, just like I did. <div>My aim was to show interest, without saying anything that might invite a question about us having children. No need to talk about our loss, no need to scare an expecting mother, no need to draw the attention away from the present birthday celebration. </div><div>The woman mentioned her due date. The day our baby daughter was born, and died. </div><div><br /></div><div>At the table next to ours, seating fourteen quests, an Ethiopian family was preparing to eat. A little girl of about three, eager to have her plate filled, brought a smile to my face. Her mother noticed, and smiled back at me, her two female companions turning in their seats, did the same, while the father helped his small daughter to salad and pizza. </div><div><br /></div><div>Their party finished before ours, as everybody got up, the little girl kissed her aunties. Her mother gestured she should say goodbye to me as well. Holding out her arms she ran over to me. Grabbing my hand she lifted her face for a kiss. Calling her Sweetie, I lightly pressed my lips on her forehead. A birthday present, for me.</div>Judith van Praaghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113677919729425142noreply@blogger.com0