10 Things Dr. Seuss Can Teach Us About Life

I've always been a huge fan of Dr. Seuss. His stories provide a great message on many different levels. As a parent, the morals I found within his writings enabled me to teach my kids many valuable lessons. As I got into the business world, it was me who learned invaluable lessons as I read quote after quote from Dr. Seuss.

Life can be funny, from here and to there
And success is a sliver as thin as fine hair
So how can you find it, searching high, seeking low?
Precisely how to grip it, it's so hard to know
It's the ultimate quest we search for each day
In clue corners and hint houses the answers they lay
I'm quite sure the solution can be found here by you
Through the quotes of the creator of Thing 1 and Thing 2
So read on blog readers, keep your brains nice and loose
As you study the musings of that man Dr. Seuss.

"Think and wonder, wonder and think." -- Dr. Seuss
Take time to get deep in your thoughts. Expand your "what-if" possibilities. You can accomplish great things if you give yourself freedom to spend time thinking about the limitless possibilities.

"Only you can control your future. -- Dr. Seuss"
Although you will have lots of supporters, cheerleaders and guides along the way, it is you that is in control of your future and no one else. Don't rely upon others to believe in your dreams more than you do. Your future belongs to you and it is up to you to control it.

"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." -- Dr. Seuss
Don't just do. Care as well. Be conscientious, mindful and caring when you take your journey. There will be many delicate things in your wake. Be aware of your surroundings and while it is great to have focus, don't lose sight of the role you play in making this world a better place to be.

"Adults are just outdated children." -- Dr. Seuss
Don't forget to have fun. Be playful and enjoy life. All work and no play leaves little room for fun in your life. Have fun and enjoy the ride.

"Whenever things go a bit sour in a job I'm doing, I always tell myself, 'You can do better than this."' -- Dr. Seuss
There will be times when things go perfectly well. And then there will be times when things aren't perfect. Understand, you have plenty of room for improvement. Be open to make changes along the way. Be flexible enough to make changes quickly. Be wise enough to know when change is needed.

"Why fit in when you were born to stand out?" -- Dr. Seuss
Being unique, special and totally YOU is awesome. There is no one better at being you than you. When you play your role well, with confidence and without hesitation, you will succeed not just in business, but in life as well.

"To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world." -- Dr. Seuss
There are people in this world that need you, including your kids, your family, your friends and your supporters. Never lose sight that you may only be one person, but you are very important person. You have an impact in this world and it is impressive.

"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple." -- Dr. Seuss
Don't get so caught up in asking so many questions that you don't move forward for lack of knowing all the answers. You will never know everything. Keep moving, keep smiling and keep loving life as you take your journey.

"A person's a person, no matter how small." -- Dr. Seuss
There is no such thing as an insignificant life. Everyone from the stockroom employee to the CEO plays a vital role in business. Stay humble, keep humility in your heart and keep your ego in check. Never look down upon someone and feel you are better than they are. The bigger your position within an organization, the more aware you need to remain of everyone on your team.

"And will you succeed? Yes you will indeed. 98 and ¾ percent guaranteed." -- Dr. Seuss
Think it into existence. Goal setting, visualizing and charting your path from here to there are essential steps towards success. You have greatness within you and you have control over your future. The only reason you will not succeed is if you quit. Stay in the game, have a positive attitude, stay consistent and be persistent. You will succeed.

You've got this, quite surely, success is your friend
It's not hiding from you, it is just 'round the bend
It's your job, you see, to keep up the pace
We know you're a winner, so go win this race
Life is a journey, for all of us here
We've got feelings and emotions, we've got worries and fear
If we do it together and walk hand in hand there
From the bottom of our toes, to the top of our hair
Be a lover of life, work hard and play harder
Ambition and good luck come to those who are smarter
As we finish this story of Seuss and his words
May your dreams soar to heights with the highest of birds.

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How Do You Want to See the World?

When you leave old thinking behind, anything is possible.

-- by Linda Bloom

I am a recovering pessimist. I grew up in a family that had a basement freezer crammed with food and cases of canned goods stacked against the walls. All this hoarding was preparation for the economic or political disaster that my parents were certain would occur.

I grew up hearing stories about my grandfather's assault on a Russian army officer who had taunted him with anti-Semitic remarks. As the story goes, he then fled and deserted the military, leaving Russia to emigrate to the United States. There were stories about the pogroms and violence that occurred in the old country, particularly on Easter Sunday, when angry neighbors took it upon themselves to punish the "Christ killers." There was also a steady stream of stories about all of the relatives who perished in the Holocaust because they didn't leave Europe in time.

My parents' caution was well-meaning, but it left me with a sense of anxiety and a pervasive belief that doom and catastrophe are always right around the corner.



When I left for college, I thought that I had been admitted by mistake, and didn't think I would graduate. I expected failure. I expected to fall in love but also that I would probably be left by my beloved. But I had no idea that my general attitude was deeply pessimistic -- I just thought it was realistic.

By studying psychology and human development, I came to understand that we all form protective beliefs, and that these beliefs can be modified. What a concept! I put the theory to the test and was delighted to discover that it was actually possible for me to change my thinking. With concerted effort, my rich imagination -- which had been catastrophizing -- started to envision successful outcomes for the scenarios I anticipated.

So much of my happiness now is a result of my efforts to put my inner pessimist in his place. When he sneaks onto the scene and starts spinning his fearful scenarios, I know that he is just doing his job to protect me by preparing me for trouble. But these days I talk back. I say things like, That may or may not happen. Thank you for sharing, but I choose to believe that things will turn out well.

I've had losses and tragedy in my life; every life has to contain its share of joys and sorrows. I have come to trust that it is possible to make a full recovery from some ordeals, and at least a partial recovery from the even most devastating blows. To waste precious life energy worrying about what might happen is unproductive and can even become self-fulfilling. I now know that I have choices. I still have to exert effort when pessimistic thoughts arise. But with experience and practice, it has become easier to trust that things generally do work out--and not necessarily in the way in which I expect.

Some people see optimists as "Pollyannas," believing they are in denial about reality. Of course optimism can be taken too far. But those who criticize optimists are often pessimistic themselves, and believe that they are stuck with their attitudes for life. Maintaining optimism as a life view is a much more harmonious way of living. Despite some negative experiences, I see people as being basically good, the universe as a friendly place, and nature as trustworthy. So much of my energy that used to be used defensively has now been freed up for more creative pursuits.

If you think that your own beliefs and attitudes are fixed, I challenge you to reassess, and dare to believe in the possibility of transforming the darkness of pessimism into a more hopeful outlook. Working with our attitudes and beliefs is an essential part of cultivating the art of joyful living. Don't take my word for it; give it a try and see for yourself. You may be in for a pleasant surprise.

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Liquid Diets Are Not My Cup of Tea

Who remembers Carnation Instant Breakfast? You just needed to add milk or water to these nutritious, artificially-flavored, sugar-laden meals-in-a-packet. My mother drank them before she took off for work. I drank them before I took off for school. We both tolerated the taste in the spirit of fast, nutritious and calorie conscious consumption. It's still in the marketplace along with an assorted other liquid meal options.

Flash forward. Today, I dread the idea of liquid meals. They remind me of being ill or watching my sick father consume Ensure (also a nutrient-dense but sugar-laden drink) during his hospice days. Sure, I enjoy drinking smoothies, sipping soups and hydrating with fresh juices. But I also find pleasure through mastication, so I can't tolerate the idea of a living on a liquid-intense diet for my nutrients.

What amazes me is all the smart, healthy people who are turning to liquid meals as replacements for the real deal meal. My inbox is flooded with offers and books on juicing-detox diets. The health food stores stock shelves filled with powdered concoctions to boost your metabolism, add protein and help detox your system.

The last straw to hit me is an article in the May 25, 2015, edition of The New York Times on how time-pressed Silicon Alley entrepreneurs and wonks are drinking liquid meals by the gallons. Who has time to eat when you're working on the next big tech thing? This quote really struck a nerve with me:

"The time wasted by eating is, in Silicon Valley parlance, a 'pain point' even for the highest echelon of techie. Elon Musk, Tesla's founder, once said, "If there was a way that I couldn't eat so I could work more, I would not eat. I wish there was a way to get nutrients without sitting down for a meal."

This is comment from someone who is considered a thought leader. I'd like to see him put the brakes on the idea that eating is a waste of time. In auto talk: Eating provides fuel for your body. Why would you put second rate fuel in a first rate body?

Too busy to eat? What kind of message does that send? More important, think about the cracks it puts in the family table, the art of dinner conversation and the pure pleasure of consuming a great meal?

Juicing loyalists says a fresh liquid diet boosts your energy, cleanses your system and makes your skin glow. I've tried juicing, meal replacements, energy boosting drinks and protein packs all in the spirit of health and wellness. I'm not knocking what I haven't tried, and I really have tried to go the juicing route. I just don't find the appeal of a liquid meal as pleasurable as eating -- and chewing -- real food. I'd rather boost my energy taking a walk outside, doing yoga, getting a good night's sleep and eating a delicious meal prepared with farm fresh vegetables and fruits and lean proteins.

I'll take a gnaw over a straw any day, I enjoying masticating my food and plan to do so until the day comes when I have no teeth. Chew on that!

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The Coffee Complex

For many of us, coffee is what gets us out of bed in the morning. It is the magical substance that gets us going -- that gets us doing. According to the National Coffee Association's 2015 Survey, 59 percent of American adults drink coffee on a daily basis. Admittedly, I am one of these people.



My first exposure to coffee occurred at a very young age, when I was maybe 6 or 7. My mother has been an avid coffee drinker for as long as I can remember, and she used to let me sip the watery remains of her iced coffee once she was finished. As I got older and entered teenage-hood, my father would brew me hot coffee to go, which I would take to school in a silvery thermos. Then my obsession with Twin Peaks inspired me to try black coffee, which I began ordering at cheap diners, drinking the piping hot liquid out of thick mugs.

A little over two years ago, my relationship with coffee changed drastically, as I began to experience chronic fatigue as a result of a viral illness. Caffeine became a form of self-medication more than anything else. Today, the promise of a jolt of energy remains all too tempting. When my energy level is artificially improved, I begin to feel more like my happy, authentic self. I can "do" things: make a phone call, go for a short walk or hang out with a friend. I can feel somewhat productive.

As someone with chronic fatigue, I often wonder where I fit in to our culture of productivity. Our society, generally speaking, is result-biased; we are rewarded for the things we create or achieve externally (i.e. earning a diploma, getting a new job, writing a novel, buying a house, etc.) While all of these milestones are wonderful achievements to be celebrated, I can't help but think how our result-oriented society is rather exclusionary. What about those who are not able-bodied, for whom brewing a pot of coffee in the morning is a struggle? How can we measure their self-worth?

One alternative would be to place introspection on equal ground with external achievement. Imagine a world where people were praised for attending to their mental (and physical) health before they were celebrated for landing that promotion. A world where simply "being" was as important -- if not more important than -- "doing." A world where "feeling" was on par with "thinking."

This may sound like an absurd, utopian vision, one that is quite un-American. After all, we are a nation of doers, achievers and coffee drinkers. But I would like to see us find a balance between the internal (our thoughts and feelings) and external (our actions).

Perhaps a more realistic goal would be to redefine "being productive" on an individual basis. For some, being productive might mean getting out of bed in the morning. For others, the same could mean writing a ten-page paper. Embracing this fluid scale of productivity would empower those who do not fit the able-bodied stereotype. Eventually, we could begin to break down the shame perpetuated by ableism.

So how does this all relate to coffee?

Unconsciously, I have been using caffeine as a means of conforming to the ableist ideal of productivity. This can be dangerous, as drinking coffee can actually lead me to overexertion. In other words, I am fooled into thinking I can do more than my body is able.

I don't know when or if I will stop drinking coffee, but I will begin to use the substance with more awareness. I will allow myself the time and space to heal both my body and mind. I will give myself permission to do only what I can, and to feel a sense of accomplishment even on days when I do absolutely nothing. I will step back and simply "be."

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4 Ways My Life Changed in 4 Years of Sobriety

I painted this mug four years ago on May 25, 2011. I was hungover, shaking, and scared as I painted these lyrics from the song Fee by one of my most favorite bands, Phish. The three days prior, despite the promises I made to myself, I spent drinking and feeling completely powerless over alcohol. I did not know it then, but that was the first day of my sobriety. Soon after, through a series of synchronicities and miracles, I was guided into the open arms of a fellowship and to a sponsor who worked the 12 steps with me. She encouraged me, while also calling me on my crap so I could grow and transform into the woman I am today, or as our linage says: "A woman of dignity and grace."

These past four years have been quite the ride, and in this blog I am going to share four ways that my life has transformed in my recovery. Before I dive in, I wholeheartedly acknowledge and honor that there are different recovery paths. I believe if there is a path that resonates and keeps you clean, then power to you -- keep on truckin'. This is simply my experience.

Miracle One: Goals and dreams seamlessly came into fruition. 

I used to create goal lists all the time, and yoga teacher training would always be in the top three. I didn't even really have a regular yoga practice and I certainly was not in union with my body and my heart. I believe now that something deep in my soul knew that one day teaching yoga would be a purpose, passion, and dharma of mine. However, at that time, I could never get my act together to really save for the training or do the research to find a program and teacher that I loved. When I was three months sober, an opportunity to embark on a 200-hour teacher training path basically fell into my lap at a rate I could afford with an organization that I was passionate about. I have been teaching ever since and feel aligned and connected through this work. I have immense gratitude that I have never stepped into one of the yoga classes that I guide foggy or hungover. This is one of the many miracles that causes me to me to gratefully, humbly, and wholeheartedly bow at our final Namaste.

Miracle Two: I acquired Integrity.

There were periods in my drinking days when my Thursday-Sunday self could not keep up with the more efficient and productive Monday-Wednesday self. I would change appointments, flake on people, and procrastinate because I was either partying or feeling ill. One of the biggest initial shifts, besides feeling energized and having extra cash, was knowing that I would show up for something and follow through. In early sobriety I used to make plans or tell someone I would have something done by a certain time and part of me would think: "Will this really happen?" After time, I began to trust in my capacity to follow through.

Miracle Three: I learned how to set boundaries.

I learned how to communicate my truth clearly and compassionately and let go of the outcome and response of others. I learned that I can't take responsibility for other people's feelings, and reactions. All I can do is be truthful and keep "my side of the street" clean. This one is not easy, and I am still practicing it. The first couple of conversations I had that fell under this umbrella were terrifying. I was, and still am, blessed with angels in the form of my sponsor, therapist, soul sisters, and spiritual running buddies who guide me and illuminate the trail that they so bravely and gracefully blazed before me.  It gets a little easier each time I have to be direct to someone about what does or doesn't work for me. As I walk through the uncomfortable feelings and the fear, I dive more deeply into my power and my truth. And now, I get to be one of those Angels in the lives of the lovely souls just embarking on their path.

Miracle Four: I cultivated a true relationship with Spirit.

Call it The Divine, Higher Power, Universe, or as author Tosha Silver writes in Outrageous Openness, "The Force that keeps the birds aloft in the sky." My relationship to this Higher Power is the single most important piece of my recovery. I learned how to make conscious contact with this Force in my life through daily prayer and meditation. I feel Divine connection within and experience sychronicities, coincidences, and "God shots" often.  I learned how to turn it over, offer it up, surrender and trust.  Even when the storms of life do arise I feel supported, connected, held and never alone.

My favorite of the many slogans I have heard is: "Stick around for the Miracle." For me, there has not been once single moment where the sky parted and I was healed and transformed. There are, however, small but consistent shifts into a new way of being. My willingness to do the work, follow suggestions, and prioritize my spiritual practice are like little miraculous specks of kindling that fuel a Devine fire that keeps steadily burning within. The obsession to drink has been lifted and I can thrive in sobriety in many situations from the most tame of cocktail parities to (yes), even a Phish concert.

I wish you all a fun, connected, and miraculous start to your summer.

Namaste,

Carolyn Jean

I am a certified Life Coach and I also teach yoga in the San Francisco Bay Area. http://ift.tt/1DIEuBj

Need help with substance abuse or mental health issues? In the U.S., call 800-662-HELP (4357) for the SAMHSA National Helpline.

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The Criminalization of People With Mental Illness in America: A Matter of Human Rights

It proved to be a bittersweet Mental Health Awareness Month this May 2015. As mental health advocates posted articles and assembled educational community forums, Human Rights Watch shocked America with the truth. A 127-page investigative report describes a criminal justice system in America and its use of excessive force, even systemically brutal and malicious. The report, "Callous and Cruel: Use of Force Against Inmates With Mental Disabilities in US Jails and Prisons," charges in no uncertain terms that, "Jails and prisons staff throughout the United States have used unnecessary, excessive and even malicious force against prisoners with mental disabilities."

According to Jamie Fellner, U.S. program senior advisor at Human Rights Watch and author of the report, "Force is used against prisoners even when, because of their illness, they cannot understand or comply with staff orders." The report is essentially a compilation of the multitude of individual cases and class actions, Justice Department investigations and interviews with over 100 correction officials and use of force experts. The report includes the death of Damen Rainey, a 50-year-old inmate who was locked in a shower, which according to the Miami Herald, "had been converted to a torture chamber at Dade County Correctional Institution." Additional alleged atrocities uncovered by The Herald describe a pervasive culture of mental and physical abuse, which includes a starvation squad, racial beatings, sexual assaults and threats of retaliation if complaints were filed. The Department of Justice and FBI are investigating.

One can understand why Broward's pioneering Mental Health Court was established as a human rights model. With the release of this latest Human Rights Watch report, it is more than fair to say that all mental health courts should embrace a human rights framework. So what does that mean? It means that although, for example the U.S. has not ratified the U.N. Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities those fidelities can become aspirational values and embedded within the court process. That dignity is promoted and due process and equal rights under the law protected. It means that individual substantive constitutional rights are preserved and all statutory entitlements and legal protections against abuse, neglect and harm are advanced. Further, a human rights orientation respects individual choice and ensures these principles of dignity and self-determination are braided through all operational and procedural constructs of the court process. More importantly, there is authenticity and urgency to the court's therapeutic mission of diversion from the criminal justice system to community based system of care. Of course, public safety and victim's rights are paramount judicial considerations which must be balanced.

America stands at a crossroads. As the Human Rights Watch report informs us, jails and prisons are unsuitable substitutes for psychiatric hospitals or residential programs. They can be dangerous and potentially deadly. In America, hundreds of thousands of people with serious mental illness are being housed in our nation's jails and prisons. Many due to untreated mental illness, stigma and severely underfunded and fragmented state-wide systems of behavioral health care.

It is true, prison guards and jail correction officers are not trained social workers or mental health practitioners. The use of excessive force and other abusive practices must be investigated and perpetrators held accountable. The criminalization of people with serious mental illness has been a source of epic human suffering, victimization and economic loss. It is worthy to note that Florida, the 3rd largest state, has defiantly rejected Medicaid expansion funds and stands at 49th funded in the United States. The correlation between failed governmental policies of deinstitutionalization and the resulting criminalization of people with mental illness is well settled.

It is beyond time to reject criminalization as an acceptable substitute for the funding and development of qualitative and recovery focused community based systems of care. It is time to recognize that America's human stain -- is one of basic human rights.

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The Pain I Didn't Think I'd Survive

April 25th is the birthday of my third son. His name was Roger, because that was the name one of my other little boys, who loved Roger Rabbit, gave to him. He died before he was born, and I gave birth to him knowing that he was already gone. My partner and I held him in our arms and said goodbye for a while, and then they took him away and we didn't see him again.

We hadn't planned that pregnancy; we were hopped up on hormones and new love and an overly-optimistic belief in the diaphragm-plus-rhythm method. My partner was pretty young, just at the start of his career, and we hadn't been together long, so it was very scary for him. Still, we welcomed and loved our baby and got very, very excited about adding our own child to the little family we had with my boys.

Everything seemed fine. Then I got a terrible "flu" that I couldn't shake. My temperature was raging and I knew it was worse than a flu should be. I went to my general practitioner, but she dismissed me angrily, saying I ought to know what the flu was. She told me to take paracetamol and said my baby and I would be fine.

The flu-like symptoms cleared up and I went and had a routine blood test. The hospital called me up on a particularly happy and hopeful trip in the country with my partner and the kids and asked me to come in for a scan. I had no fears at that stage, but when I got to the hospital, the doctor looked at the monitor and told me, very kindly and gently, that our baby had died in the womb, that they would try to find out why, but often, it "just happens," that they would give me a pill to induce me and then, because I was already at five months and he was big, I would give birth to him in a couple of days.

I've always tried to be in control, especially in public places, but I howled and cried uncontrollably for a while. Then, my partner and I tried to get on with things. We told the boys, who had been so thrilled about the baby, and comforted them. We did the house painting we'd planned just for something to do. We watched endless episodes of "Spaced" to try to laugh and snap out of it. We did what we could.

I passed the ensuing days in a tuned-out state and went to the hospital feeling numb. My boys had been born by caesarean, so it was my first natural delivery. Because there was no need to protect the baby, they gave me morphine when the pain became great. It meant that when I was holding him, I was half-drugged and dreamy. But I still remember. The hospital staff at UCH, who could not have been kinder to us, encouraged us to take pictures with our baby, as apparently, it would help. I have to say that later -- strange as it may seem and as tragic as those pictures were -- it did.

Then began a strange time of waiting for results. It mattered in case it was something that would affect another pregnancy. They found nothing. I had to wait for my results in the baby wing, looking at pictures of happy babies, until the nurses found me crying and hustled me somewhere else. They thought I might like to see him again, and I had a desperate desire to do so, but then they came back and said that he had changed and it wouldn't be a good idea. They gave me tiny doll's clothes for his funeral and they arranged it for me. I went home feeling completely lost.

I then threw myself into planning his funeral. It seemed so silly in some ways, but it meant a huge amount to me. I invited my best, most beloved friends. I planned the music carefully. I still can't hear the Barber Adagio without feeling weepy. Somehow I wanted the funeral to take the pace of the christening that should have been, to commemorate Roger. He was cremated and after some time I collected his ashes, alone in my car, and brought him home.

We planted a cherry tree in the house we had in the country. I poured out his ashes in the roots. I wanted the tree to grow and to blossom every year. The tree would be a living manifestation of Roger. Over the next weeks, that tree became such a comfort to me. I tried to get on with normal life, but I'd find myself at a party in London and just be seized with the need to get away, to get to Roger's tree, to water it and make sure it was thriving.




UCH had a church service for all those parents who had lost babies in the womb, like Roger, or who suffered a miscarriage. People read poems. I cried a lot. It helped.

Then, after a few weeks, I got worse. I stopped coping. I'd been trying to get back to being fun, jolly, to make myself attractive to my partner, to drive us all past it. It stopped working. First, I was assailed by fears: that my partner would leave me; that the baby had been the glue that stuck us together; that Roger's death was, in a thousand ways, all my fault; that I was a failure and unlovable. I could see that though we had been close before, my partner was drawing away into his own ways of coping with his friends, which didn't involve me. And, then, even worse, I was continually and unexpectedly hit by waves of pain, thinking, feeling, shouting inside my head, "where's my baby?" I had thought my divorce a few years prior had been painful, but I would cheerfully relive that pain a thousand times again to have my baby back. I had horrors. I had dark dreams. I had never experienced anything like it. I swung between managing to fool myself that I was all better and the plunging into the blackest, weeping despair.

My relationship did indeed break up, in the way of all self-fulfilling prophecies. The doctor gave me Prozac and it made me swell up like the Elephant Man and end up in A&E on a drip. I drank a bottle of tequila, despaired and called a help line. I called the Samaritans. They were amazing. But the darkness didn't go. I became very worried about myself. I was very, very alone with my little boys, trying to pretend for them that it was all OK in the day, then falling apart after every bedtime.

I was lucky. My sons were due for a summer holiday with their father and my mother took a couple of weeks with them too. I got myself a backpack and went off on a low-budget, grassroots group tour of Indochina. The first night I broke down crying in a Bangkok bar listening to Eric Clapton's "Tears from Heaven," about the loss of his son. A nice chap in the group said, OK, spend this evening telling me all about it, then try to put it all away for the rest of this trip. I did that. It got better.

I was then consumed with moving, traveling, seeing things and being with people. I fell into a highly unsuitable passing relationship with a funny surfer guy; swam for my life against a riptide and then nearly drowned in diving accident; got pneumonia and spent days on a drip in a hospital in Phuket. It was all kind of crazy, in so many ways, but it was living again, and focused me on how much I wanted to survive.

When I got home, my partner was waiting for me. My boys were well and happy to see me. We were among the most fortunate. We had another baby, a beautiful daughter so incandescent in her wild and creative way that I can't believe I produced such a magical creature. Life went on and became, after a few more minor bumps, very happy indeed.

When we sold the house in the country, we dug up the tree and its roots and the earth around it and brought it to where we lived in London. We planted the tree in the garden and for a few years, I prayed for Roger there every year on his birthday. The children know it's his tree. But the sad, or perhaps the happy, healthy thing, is that now we forget. We forget his birthday. We forget that we lost him. Day to day, he's left us, and our focus is with the living. While sometimes I feel guilty about that, I think it's perhaps a sign that we are designed to heal, to forget, and get over even the worst pain. I know there are people who suffer much more than I have done, who lose children they have known and loved. I cannot imagine that pain. But I have felt a pain that I thought I couldn't survive and in my own -- perhaps rather odd -- way, found a way to do it.

Only after I felt able to talk to other women about my experience did I learn that sudden antenatal death syndrome is common. Since experiencing it, I've seen it discussed on "ER" and "Grey's Anatomy" and that helped me, too. I think we need to talk more openly about these things. To share our losses so we don't feel so alone and to share the ways we've dealt with it. It would have helped me, and my partner, if we hadn't felt so alone in our loss, and if we had been able to find, in others, a compass to guide us back to normal life. This common loss, this secret pain, is better when brought out of the darkness and into the air.


Need help? In the U.S., call 1-800-273-8255 for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

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