It’s no secret why I started blogging. I’ve not exactly hid the fact that my almost five year old son dropped dead suddenly, leaving me adrift in the middle of an ocean of grief.
I started blogging at first, as a way to document my grief for my kids, so they would understand when they were adults why their mother is bat shit crazy.
But I quickly realized if I kept documenting my grief I was ignoring the light that was trying to shine through and lift me from the pain. So I swiftly shifted gears and switched my focus from examining my pain to reveling in the delights of life.
Cuz there is nothing more delightful than vaginal waxing gone wrong, nipple rings being ripped out and public nudity. Oh, the joys.
It’s all dildos and dead kids, and I’m cool with that, because that is my reality now, whether I want it or not. Welcome to my life.
(Feel free to run away screaming. I do it on a regular basis. Heh.)
I never actually started blogging as a ways of reaching out to others. But I won’t lie to you and tell you I wasn’t delighted to become part of this large, fluid community and find the support I was unable to find or feel in my real life.
These relationships, some deeper and truer than others, have done what time alone, couldn’t. They’ve helped heal my fractured soul and helped remind of the person I once was, the person I hoped to one day become once more.
Of course I realize I can no longer be the Tanis I was before Oct.21, 2005. She no longer exists. She was buried along side her son.
But I’m no longer the shell of the person I was, huddled in fetal position, staring at the sky and wondering if the pain will ever dissipate long enough for me to feel joy, to feel blessed.
Blogging has become a huge part of the Tanis of today. It has tested my boundaries, my creativity and some times, my intelligence.
The words I’ve read have amused me, educated me, enlightened me or even annoyed me. But what ever it was, it made me feel. I was no longer a numb carcass, pretending to go through the motions of life.
I have made some of the best friends of my life while hiding behind my computer screen. Friendships that will last the test of time and distance. Friendships that would never have been possible if it weren’t for Al Gore giving us the internet and a couple of geeks building a box known as a computer.
However, that said, I also have spent more time in front of my computer screen than pulling weeds in my garden, cleaning my house or running naked through the woods.
It’s hard to find a balance. I worry my kids will grow up remembering their mother’s image as nothing but the back of my head reflected in the soft glow of a computer screen, instead of my laughing smile aimed at them.
I also worry that my laptop will grow permanently attached to the tops of my thighs and I will have to waddle into the emergency room, pathetic and embarrassed and have to beg them to carve it off. Nothing more prominent to point out your internet geekiness like having a laptop welded to your legs.
Gives a whole new meaning to walking bow-legged.
Heh.
I blog now, for my amusement. To kill time while waiting for my family to expand. To whittle the hours away while I sit at home, watching my children argue over who has to wash the dishes and who gets to dry, waiting for my Boo’s return home to take his rightful place as ruler of this kingdom.
I keep blogging to reach out to the parents out there who are afraid of raising a handicapped child, or fearing the unknown of what the future holds for their kids. I blog to let parents know it is okay if the unthinkable happens, if one day they have to stand before a granite marker and weep.
They will survive. I did. It’s not always pretty, and it’s not easy, but it is possible.
Nothing is impossible.
Well, nothing except for the possibility of me becoming more famous than Dooce. Hell, it’s not impossible, it’s just highly unlikely.
I blog to remind myself and everyone who stumbles across my blog, there is nothing more important in life than love. To keep loving even when you feel you can’t. To always remember to find joy in your day. Whether it’s getting a nice email, a million blog hits or finding a five dollar bill crumpled in an old coat pocket. It’s all joy.
I want people to know to that sometimes all you can do is put one foot in front of the other and try not to stumble. But joy will find you. In the most unlikely places.
Like a little blog on the internet.
You, all of you, yes, even you Danny Evans, are my joy.
Thank you for that.
Public service announcement done for the day. Go forth and find joy. I know I am.
112 Comments
Thanks, you. I needed to read that today more than anything.
[Reply]
Very poignant. I myself have been feeling a lot of joy from blogging. I am hosting a give away for peopl who share stories of someone who has touched their lives or done something nice for them when they really needed it. I’d love for you to share a story. Being vulnerable and sharing your journey with other people I am positive enriches people’s lives. I look forward to reading your blog if that means anything.
[Reply]
I so needed this today. Thank you my friend. Thank you for sharing yourself so honestly.
[Reply]
I am relatively new to your blog, so I had no idea about your loss. I am so sorry. Your writing is beautiful.
[Reply]
I’m happy that this blog has been what you needed it to be, and your previous one as well. That is what blogging should be about, the community, the catharsis, the … the… the whatever else would make this sentence end right.
Now, as far as bloggy friends I have this to say about the future: It’s my turn to enrich your life. And your pants.
[Reply]
Well, I think you just said what I was feeling, too. Thanks for being more poignant than I could.
[Reply]
T,
I love you. Entirely. I had no idea this sort of connection was possible and yet it’s one of the truest things I know.
So thank you for you.
[Reply]
I love reading your blog. You freaking crack me up! Just do me a favor and keep the clothes on for awhile. The neighbors are starting to camp out from what i hear.
peace
#2
[Reply]
It was so good to hear this today. I love your blog and now it has a much deeper meaning for me. Please keep it up…you are an inspiration to a great many of us…who are still struggling.
[Reply]
It was so good to hear this today. I love your blog and now it has a much deeper meaning for me. Please keep it up…you are an inspiration to a great many of us…who are still struggling.
You rock!!!
[Reply]
ooops
[Reply]
*sniff, sniff*
I love you, T.
[Reply]
just wanted to take the opportunity to tell you that I love your blog and your amazing writing. Have not been brave enough to click over to missing my bug, but you are an inspiration to me. (and make me want to move to canada!)
[Reply]
Wow. That is my first overwhelming feeling. Like everyone else, it is just what I needed to hear TODAY. Thank you!!! Many a nights I lay awake wondering and fearing what may come, and hating and regretting what has been my reality of unfair life events. (Cancer sucks!!!) Anyone can sit and feel bad for themselves. But being able to take a deep breath and stand up out of the pile of heartache and actually find you joy is monumental and is the bravest, strongest thing anyone could do - I commend & admire you! We are not promised tomorrow, and I’d hate to think I will waste even one more minute not enjoying today while we have it.
Life is short, play naked! =)
[Reply]
I’ve been writing a post very similar to this all day in my head.
Now I’m not sure I even want to attempt it. LOL Maybe I’ll just throw up a link and said “yeah, what she said.”
[Reply]
I read the whole post like a bobble head. SO TRUE!!
You are loverly, chicka. I’m so happy to know you.
[Reply]
Well said… i’m gald i got to know you on a more personal level at BlogHer…
[Reply]
Dear Tanis, I have no idea how you do it. I just don’t. When my daughter was born I plunged into the deepest, darkest depression, all I could think of was that I wasn’t going to be able to protect her from the big bad world. Or that she wouldn’t make it, would stop breathing, etc. You are an inspiration! You just got bad news abotu the adoption and instead of writing about how much the world sucks, you are grateful. That is unheard of. Your children are so lucky to have you! And thanks so much for sharing with the rest of us mortals
[Reply]
Pledging to be here every October 21st and beyond.
[Reply]
Love you, honey.
xoxoxo, A.
[Reply]
I’m going to bookmark this post to read again and again and again. xo
[Reply]
God bless you for having the courage to share your story. And for being so stinkin hysterical while doin it. Cause crying gets old without some giggles to mix things up. My little girl lost her battle with cancer a year ago. Even though I wish that no mother would have to bury their child, I appreciate talking with other moms who haven’t just read the grief manual, they are truly owner-operators. So thanks again for putting it all out there. And by “all” I do mean ALL.
[Reply]
I lurk a lot. I just wanted to say thanks for writing this
[Reply]
You just made me cry so much my teeth are chattering. That’s what happens when I get really emotional…teeth chattering.
I am so lucky and honored that I get to be your friend.
[Reply]
You represent so much of what is good and right in this world, lady.
Don’t ever forget that.
[Reply]
Great post. I love reading your blog. You are open and honest and real.
[Reply]
I’ve lurked for a while, but wanted to come out of the shadows and say you make me laugh out loud regularly but you also speak straight to the heart. I love your blog and I’m glad it makes you spray unicorns and rainbows occasionally, so you’ll keep it up for the rest of us!
[Reply]
Lurve you tew. And your boobs. OH YOUR BOOBS.
[Reply]
Beautiful. The perfect writing for why we blog. It’s not about narcissism, it’s about life and touching others who in turn change us.
Thank you Tanis.
[Reply]
Phew!!! From the way you were talking, I was getting worried that I was going to get to the bottom and read that you were quitting! I love your blog, and I’d miss you every day if you stopped.
[Reply]
So damn glad I found your blog. You are more popular than Dooce, than you think cause I had to look it up….
Eeeks, do I get banned now?
You inspire me with your words, your story and your life… thanks for it all.
[Reply]
Ugh. Really, it’s not THAT far a drive from my house to yours.
Big, tumbling, drunken hugs.
[Reply]
I was afraid, the entire time I was reading that you were going to close with, “and so I’m not blogging anymore.” I almost wept.
A beautiful post. I think you’ve aptly captured what a lot of bloggers have been feeling lately. I wish I could say it as eloquently.
[Reply]
this was awesome. not as awesome as you are, but close.
[Reply]
I was scared you were leaving us. Thank you for sharing all of what you have for us. We love you for it.
[Reply]
Wow. I was just over at your site about Shalebug. I used to read you over there! I even looked for comments that I had left regarding my friends who lost her little girl, but I didn’t find the comments anywhere. Baby, you have come a long way!
Also saw your picture kissing whoorl (?) which I found via Shannon! You guys sure had a great time! Maybe, one day, I can actually go.
[Reply]
How is it I can love you more after this post? I thought I already loved you forever, now I’ve got to times that by infinity. I found my joy - right here.
[Reply]
I also came to blogging under different circumstances, but those circumstances gave me the chance to find the blog me, a voice I didn’t know I had. I love it too (although, I can’t believe it took me so long to find all you mommy bloggers, guess I was too caught up being self absorbed, go figure).
I hear you on the lap top thingy… I’m a little embarrassed for my kids when the bring their friends over and both their mother and father are engaged, mouths agape with dry drool, staring at their respective lap tops. We’re there when they come in and still there when they leave.
Bad, very bad.
[Reply]
That was beautiful Tanis.
And just FYI? You do know that Al Gore did not give us the internet, right?
http://www.snopes.com/quotes/internet.asp
[Reply]
I just recently subscribed to your blog and I did not know about your son. God, I’m so sorry. There’s nothing else to say but I had to say it as tears stream down my face. This is the kind of thing that makes me think about all the wonderful things I’m taking for granted. Big hugs from a stranger!
[Reply]
Yes. I do *know* Al Gore didn’t really give us the internet.
But I still think it’s funny to say he did.
Giggle.
[Reply]
I big bloggy love you right back.
[Reply]
it really is an honor to get to know you, girl
[Reply]
i think i like you more every time i click over here. you are awesome.
[Reply]
You’ve reminded me again why I love you. And why I really hate geography.
Don’t get my meaning? Because you’re so DAMN FAR AWAY. But we always have email and I’ll always have the memory of what you look like first thing in the morning and your morning breath.
smooches
[Reply]
I only wish I could get the chance to meet you one day. xx
[Reply]
I know we just met, but do you mind if I tap ya on the shoulder and ask for a hug or a grope or if you’d braid my hair all pretty like that?!
So far it’s been short and it’s been sweet. I look forward to being a part of your fluid community and getting to know you better (in a way that’s totally opposite of ’short’ and ’sweet’ heh heh heh…). Honestly, thank you for the laughs you’ve given me in just this brief window!
[Reply]
You scared the ever - lovin’ shit out of me Tanis. I thought you were going to be done with blogging to spend more time with your kids and then I instantly felt shame and guilt at thinking that because we need to spend more time with our children so that they don’t remember us as the parent with the computer - glow halo.
You are a strong woman and will continue to be strong and get stronger as time goes by. I am deeply sorry for your loss and my admiration for you runs deep.
preTzel
[Reply]
We’re lucky to have you, Tanis. Thanks for the shout out, and for writing one of the most entertaining and poignant sites on The Al Gore Memorial Web-ernet.
[Reply]
It pleases me to no end to read that you are indeed finding some joy and peace. I know this hasn’t been an easy process, but you give others hope.
[Reply]
Woman, YOU are part of the great joy I’ve found here in Al Gore’s pants.
Salt of the earth, you are. I love ya.
[Reply]
*standing, clapping & whistling wildly*
[Reply]
*giant grin*
I’m glad you’re in the blogosphere.
[Reply]
I have to tell you girl, that you are such an inspiration to those who suffer, those who are enlightened and to those who just need a good laugh everyday or so. I look forward to meeting you one day. Perhaps you’ll never be as famous as Dooce, but there are those of us who achieve to be like you.
[Reply]
I am very thankful you continue to blog. You crack me up on a daily basis and I love your outlook on life.
[Reply]
Yeah…what would we do without the community of the internetz…me..I would go batshit crazy. Or crazier.
But my house would be clean.
The support and friendship I have found have been amazing….
It brings Joy..you are so right.
[Reply]
I love you.
[Reply]
You know how I feel. Everything you said, and more, times a trillion.
XOXOXOX
[Reply]
I’m not trying to be critical, but your latest entry tells me — as a novice — that you need support. Because your latest entry seems troubled and filled with angst. Stuff that you have not delt with. Me, I’ve had my issues wih my (loving) wife of 18 years who dief of melamonia, but, I do not think in your case you have moved on about your son. No disrespect… Stand back, stop being a blog star for awhile, and get yourself together.
For what it’s worth. I think you need more healing.
[Reply]
Ron,
I’m sure anyone would appreciate a caring comment that shows concern about whether they are having a hard time healing emotionally after a great loss. But no one appreciate you sitting on your pseudo-psychologist’s armchair and leaning forward to give your unsolicited advice on what is and isn’t appropriate for someone to feel about things they have experienced. People who think that we should all deal with grief in the same way and on the same timetable are ridiculously moronic.
Don’t be ridiculously moronic, okay?
[Reply]
High Fiver to Lotus with the virtual SMACKDOWN!!!!!!!!
For the record: I would have said the same thing, with a lot more fucks and shits and asses in there.
Stuff it Ron.
[Reply]
Woo Hoo! You go girl! I’m uber impressed with the way you handled Asshat Ron.
[Reply]
Yep, Lotus summed it up pretty well.
Step back- from friends, from people who love her, support her and would do anything for her?
As Lotus said, Ridiculous!
[Reply]
Ron, did you actually READ this post? She kind of just said, repeatedly, that she writes this blog BECAUSE of the support. SO that she can heal.
And, dear, she’s never going to move on about her son. It wasn’t a JOB she lost. You don’t move on when someone who grew inside of you dies. You PRESS on, you don’t move on. Tanis is pressing on as hard as a mother could.
[Reply]
Ron,
Umm, this is part of her healing. Writing, reaching out…all part of it. I know this woman personally and she is pretty damn together - more together than someone who would think it appropriate to jump onto a web site, read a lovely heartfelt thank you and interpret it as someone simply trying to be an internet rock star.
[Reply]
Ron -
You’re obviously barking up the wrong tree… clicked the wrong link… or whatever.
Tanis wears her Big Girl Pants quite confidently and I think she knows what she needs a little more than you do.
The next time you go speak to your therapist, I highly suggest that you bring up your inability to identify the needs of others. Oh, and also your inability to mind your own fucking business.
Much Love,
Dani
[Reply]
Douchebaggery of this level has no business here. Ron can just suck it!
Tanis, your words are beautiful as is your amazing story. You are inspiring.
[Reply]
Ron…
As a mother who lost a two year old EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO in a tragic pedestrian vs. truck accident, I can assure you, no, I PROMISE you, you NEVER MOVE ON.
You move forward.
But you NEVER EVER move on.
Losing a wife, whilst a horrible loss and I’m not trying to demean that painful loss in any way, is not the same as burying a child. You bury yourself with your child. A part of you, no matter how much moving forward you do, will never be reclaimed, yet will always lay at rest beneath the soil, with your child.
One of the most unnatural things in the world is to bury your child.
The pain never leaves. You just find ways of coping with it so that it doesn’t drag you under. You find meaning in new things to cope with the senseless loss that had no meaning.
I take personal offense at your comment whilst not directed at me.
Tanis doesn’t even know me (although I’ve lurked here for the better part of a year), and probably doesn’t even know my blog exists nor has she probably ever read anything else I’ve written over the years. It matters little to me because in her voice I have found a kinship of grief, loss, pain, sorrow and a friendship that no other mother who has not suffered this loss will never know…hopefully ever!
How dare you, HOW DARE YOU contradict yourself and say ” no disrespect” and then slam her not a breath later and tell her to stand back and imply that her status as a gifted writer, friend, confidante, and so many other things, is some sort of facade because she isn’t/hasn’t/wont deal with the loss of her son. You have a very warped perception of the human coping mechanisms if you think she wants to be an internet “rock star” in order to avoid dealing with the loss of her child.
There is no such thing as Cliff’s Notes for dealing with grief. We all do it in our own way, on our own timetable and in whatever way gets us from one day to the next…for some of us it’s from one minute to the next.
Tanis, I’m sorry for pissing all over your blog. This sort of ignorance and lack of compassion touches a very sensitive nerve, as you can imagine.
On a personal note, your words about your journey with your beautiful son have reached deep inside me and touched a part of my soul which still aches with missing my Joshua.
I’m immensely grateful that you’ve opened up that part of your life. I am only just now able to openly write about the pain and the loss. I’m deeply appreciative for voices like yours, filled with love, humour and a rich sensitivity that speak to mothers like myself, who carry the loss of a child around with them like a permanent tattoo across the heart and soul.
[Reply]
Tanis, I love your freakin’ honesty. You inspire me because of all that you have gone through you still find the joy in life. You are contagious and I truly love reading your blog.
Having said that, do you want me to kick Ron’s ass? ‘Cause I so will.
[Reply]
Ron,
Everyone grieves in their own way. Tanis chooses to write about the pain, humor, angst, love and terror of her situation, it’s how she deals with it. Stepping back worked for you, great. It doesn’t work for everyone. If Tanis shows just one person that it’s OK to reach out in this manner and deal with grief in this way, then she has contributed more in these simple words on this screen than all the therapists in the world combined. And as is apparent by your baseless and crass words, certainly more than you.
Should you ever find yourself in the Heart of Dixie Ron, feel free to stop by. We can play a nice rousing game of hide-and-go fuck yourself. Or I can make you squeal like a pig. Your choice.
(Sorry T, I couldn’t help that last part.)
[Reply]
This was one of those days where you feel whacked over the head with a frying pan of grief out of the blue.
Thanks for making me smile during it.
Love you, woman.
[Reply]
I love reading your blog for this very reason.
[Reply]
Thanks for baring your soul to us. And your ass to the neighborhood. hehe. And thanks for letting us know that it does get better. We big bloggy love you, too!
http://notesfromthesleepdeprived.blogspot.com
[Reply]
Thank you. That was beautiful.
Best wishes for the adoption to move along smoothly!
[Reply]
Tanis,
Gracias, Chiquita.
Namaste.
[Reply]
I knew there was a reason why I keep coming back here. You are a wonderful writer and, more importantly, a wonderful person. Do whatever it is you need to do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. If this blog helps you to do that, then we ALL win. You’re one of my very favourite reads.
Your beautiful little bug died on my daughter’s first birthday. Just that date alone has struck the pain of your loss even more deeply into my heart. Despite one very close call, I still have both of my children and it’s a precious gift that I try very hard never to take for granted.
Thank you for writing from the heart - something so difficult to do that I often shy away from it just to stop myself from feeling everything so deeply. I wish you every happiness and the strength to keep moving forward.
[Reply]
I’m only sorry that I didn’t start reading you sooner. Where the hell was I? I hope this isn’t too forward but I think you’re kinda neat-o.
[Reply]
Tanis I lurve you! Thank you for your writing and your reminder to find joy in life. It can be all too easy to get caught up in day to day drudgery and forget that it is out there waiting to be savoured. I’d sign up for blogher just in the hopes of meeting you.
ps. You are hawt!
[Reply]
Confession: First time blog-reader
Luck: Found yours in the wee hours while doing some work-related research…
Actually it was your “Missing My Bug” blog, which I read, I think, in its entirety from start to finish…and was a sobbing, heap of a mess with impaired vision from the tears and snorkeling/chortling nose so loud that it woke my pooch who was snoring away in another room. After numerous “runs to the bathroom to splash my face off with water”…and using the better part of a roll of toilet paper…I had completed your blog. (Thank God none of the kids or hubby got up…they may have had me carried away!) While I haven’t yet mentioned the purplish sploches on my face around my eyes…they did go away by morning, which came much too soon after hitting the hay at 3 a.m. I went to work looking like I had been punched in both eyes. Once I got drawn in, I could not stop.
Your BUG was precious and just BEAUTIFUL and PERFECT beyond our understanding, and I can see how very devoted you were and continue to be to him! He was lucky to have you, as it is clear you adored him. I know that you were lucky to have him, too.
Funny, but I have a BUG, too (that is what we have called him since the beginning, and the name fits more than anything)…not with the same issues your BUG had…but we do manage to spend the better part of some days getting MRI’s and echocardiograms (due to a few wiring “glitches”, which we found out about by 9 mos. of age)
You have such an incredible gift to reach in and grab people’s hearts. Your honesty is refreshing…I found myself reading Redneck Mommy with an equally intense emotional response…only with gut-splitting laughter! You are truly the QUEEN of BLOG!
What a healing journey your blog has taken you on. Only, in helping yourself, I believe you have benefited others to an even greater degree. So, Shalebug continues to impact lives from beyond…his legacy continues. My condolences on your loss…he had more chutzpah than some that live into their golden years. His time was short, but his message not so!
Hugs~
Wendy
[Reply]
It’s ironic… I’ve been thinking about you all day.
I won’t pretend to know what you’ve gone through, because I don’t, but 2 years ago today we were told by doctors our youngest son may have leukemia. When I sat down today to write about it, I couldn’t… my mind drew a complete blank, and I wondered how in the hell you did it.
He’s fine now, but I had a glimpse of what life would have been like otherwise, and I’ll never forget the hell we went through.
I am so sorry for you, your family, and most of all, your Bug. I admire your strength, your honesty, and your courage… you are an inspiration to us all.
[Reply]
Chick, today I needed this post more than ever. Girl, you made me cry.
I love you.
[Reply]
Yeah, me again… went back to read the comments. And day-um. Why is it the dicks that think they know everything, NEVER EVER leave a blog to visit?
I had one today. The tool left his blog addy. And my biatches are visiting in droves to kick some moron arse. Turns out he is a 14 year old kid. *snort*
Ron, perhaps before commenting on someones level of healing or mental health, perhaps you need to read more than one freaking post. T, if you have his email addy, I would like to have a chat with him.
[Reply]
Hey - I’m new here. Not sure how I stumbled onto you, but glad I did. I totally enjoy your raw honesty. It’s quite refreshing.
And holy hell, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. THAT is a mother’s worst nightmare. Your blog will give others hope that a new day will come and they will still breathe. . . even though it doesn’t feel like it. I applaud your bravery for being so open and sharing your heart.
I’ll be back for sure. . . on a regular basis.
You’ve got another new fan. One new fan at a time and you may reach Dooce popularity afterall. “Nothing is impossible.” I think I read that somewhere.
[Reply]
You are a beautiful person, inside and out. I can’t understand what you have been through, I won’t pretend to. I was just drawn to you and your Bug. I stumbled on to your Bug web site about a year ago. I don’t know how. Then recently I stumbled on this website and I was like OMG here she is! Thank you for reality
[Reply]
The world needs more people like you. Your graciousness astounds me.
[Reply]
Tanis,
Your honesty and ability to share something so painful has helped more people than you’ll ever know. Enough Said?
Many thanks.
[Reply]
Whew. I was afraid you were checking out on us there. Another blogger I read has thrown in the towel after returning from BlogHer. I was afraid you were next. I thought it was a new wave movement. Thankfully, I was wrong.
[Reply]
I’m so glad you do what you do, T.
[Reply]
All dildos and dead kids…
OMG, only you can make me want to cry and give a hearty guffaw at the same time.
You have skillz.
[Reply]
Thank you for that great reminder…life gets incredibly heavy and that was much-needed.
[Reply]
Much, much love to you dear amazing lady.
[Reply]
Delurking to say I have read and bloggy loved you from afar for a long time. Thanks for sharing your joy with us.
[Reply]
Just a big, emphatic nod and a lump in my throat.
So true, love, so true.
[Reply]
That was pretty moving. I know how important it is to stay positive, especially for others.
As a new father-to-be, I will make sure I keep your words of wisdom i the front of my mind…
Thank yiou again for sharing!
[Reply]
This is so freaking awesome. As far as I am concerned, be a blog star. You’v earned it. And because of people like you, not being afraid of raising a handicapped child, I can do my job easier, because I have to raise a handicapped child. You are part of my support system because you make me feel normal. If there is such a thing.
[Reply]
:). I really like it here.
[Reply]
Mwah!
[Reply]
Dear me… this started off with such a lovely post and then I made the mistake of reading some of the comments…
To focus on you, Tanis… love your work girl. You make me smile, give me insight into a painful world of grief and help arm me somewhat for standing by those around me walking a similar road. Your humour and humanity and sheer ability to take the piss (out of yourself) is disarming and wonderful. I love that you are living, not just existing. Power to you!
I enjoy. Thanks.
BB
[Reply]
Healing is a long painful road and thank you for allowing us to travel it with you. You’ve made me laugh and made me cry. Take care sweetie.
[Reply]
I love you. And I have to admit that I’m very sad I didn’t get to see your boobies at the spa thing.
[Reply]
Dooce who?
[Reply]
all darling I could think of was my little one saying wide eyed ‘is that reeeeaaally her?” staring at your picture of a Russ Meyers fantasy picking up a car. And me saying….’yeah…I had lunch with her and she really looks like that…’
I love blowing my childrens minds. Thank you for that my dear T. thank you for letting me blow their minds.
its the little joys that get me thru my day.
[Reply]
T, I needed your voice today, more then anything. I actually started reading this post the other day and I couldn’t finish. We still don’t know what all is wrong with Ninja baby, but.. well, hell, you make the bumps in the night less scary woman. And I thank you for giving it all a voice. And a nightlight.
And I’m sorry.. what a frickin low blow. You shouldn’t have had to read that load of crap. Love you lady.
[Reply]
Glad to be part of your joy, T.
People like you are a large part of mine.
[Reply]
I sometimes ask myself why I spend time surfing blogs for hours at a time. It’s like panning for gold. It’s hard. It’s tedious. But when you find it, it’s worth it. Thanks for this today.
[Reply]
I consider you a friend T - really I do. Weird huh? I’m not a psycho or anything but so many of us put our thoughts out there to fullfill a need. I’m still wrestling with exactly how to put more honesty - more of me out here and I need to find what need I’m filling exactly, but you and other bloggers help me to discover that!
You help me see a different side to life; full of ups and downs but always honest and sincere. Thanks T, you are a light that shines brightly!
[Reply]
Once again you convince me of the good in the world. My life is richer having you in it.
[Reply]
Wow, that’s not at all what I expected to come here and read, in a good way. You brought tears to my eyes.
[Reply]
And so say we all.
[Reply]
Hey, as a mama to one of those aforementioned disabled kids, who we know will have a much shorter life than goddamn necessary, thanks for being a voice out there reminding us to do it right the first time and have a good life, no matter for how long. I’m sending good juju out to you and your (I’m sure)very missed nubbins.
Rebecca
(blogger on major mama hiatus)
[Reply]
oh, Tanis, this was just perfect.
i’m so glad to know you. you are one of the good ones.
thank you for sharing your Bug and your boobs.
[Reply]
All that big bloggy love right back at ya, my friend.
[Reply]
One Trackback
[...] of the Redneck Mommy, “Joy.” Sarcastic Mom, “I shall have her back again.” Black Hockey Jesus, “X [...]