Clemson wedding

My name is Sarah, and I’m 32 years old.

Bobby & I have been married for 7+ years. The first three were really good – we lived in Charlotte, NC, made and spent lots of money, and had a fabulous time. The last few have been hell on wheels. Which, of course, is when this blog begins… after all, who wants to write incessantly when everything is hunky-dory? Not me.


The Sisters Three

We have a 1920’s bungalow that we love dearly and a Japanese Chins named Oscar, who we love most of the time. We very much want to be parents to non-canine children as well, but getting (and staying) pregnant has been a little more complicated than we thought. We’ve had three miscarriages, all of which have been documented in this blog. Infertility sucks.

I’m the oldest of three sisters – Jennifer (in the purple sweater) is the middle child and Susanna (with curly hair), is the youngest. Susanna has shacked up with Bobby & me since Nov 07, but moved to Charleston, SC in Jan 09 to attend the College of Charleston.

On Sept 17, 2007, my mother, Sarah Denise, died of breast cancer. Even now, that sentence seems completely surreal to me… it’s hard, sometimes impossible, to believe that she’s gone. She was an incredible force – her laugh, her smile, her personality, her passion, her stubbornness and determination, her refusal to accept anything that didn’t fit into her plan. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t feel her absence – sometimes I cry, sometimes I cuss, sometimes I’m just numb and resigned. It’s a process, this finding of my new normal.


Jen, Mama, Me, & Sue

Some of the things I write here in this blog are happy and silly and shallow. But sometimes, they aren’t. I’m striving to be honest – with my journal and myself. If you choose to read, I ask you not to judge. I began this blog (as an offline journal) before Mama’s diagnosis, took notes after talking to oncologists, wrote about her funeral and how I wanted to die with her. There were a few months of a sisters-only online journal, because even between sisters, sometimes writing is easier than talking. Then came the therapy (with an actual therapist-person, not just my self-analysis), the gradual reemergence into the “normal” world, and newfound anger issues. Followed by the three miscarriages, my ever-changing relationship with my father, and the constant progression of my family as we learn to live without Mama, who was the center of our family and our world. It’s been a bit of a bumpy ride.

I’m glad you’re here, and hope you’ll visit often.