- I will still blog about adoption, but not just adoption. Adoption is a big part of our family and my life, but it's not the only thing or the biggest thing. And it's not all I have to write about.
- I won't be speaking for "us" anymore. Reading through past entries I realized how much I have spoken for my husband and myself in the process of blogging here. I don't regret that, and Andrew is fine with it. In fact during our trips to Georgia last year, especially the first one, this blog was a great place from which to issue joint statements about how we were doing. Originally I started A+A Adopt with the admittedly faint hope that Andrew might occassionally blog here. But from here on out this is unabashedly my own space, and I will only be speaking for myself here.
- I'm going to write about whatever I want, at least for a while. Blogging about and through our adoption process has been amazing for me. After a few stops and starts in other formats this has been where I have really found my public blogging voice. I may eventually end up with another focus, the way adoption was the focus for the past couple of years, but for now I'm going to post whatever strikes my fancy to write about and see what happens.
- I'd love your ideas. Given that I am going to write about whatever I want, is there anything you'd really like to see here?
Are you wondering about the name? It is from a poem, by Mary Oliver. I'll reflect more later, perhaps, on just why this poem resonates especially with me at this particular phase of my life. But for now, I'll just offer it to you.
When Death Comes
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.