Though one in four pregnancies ends in loss, miscarriage is shrouded in such secrecy and stigma that the woman who experiences it often feels deeply isolated, unsure how to process her grief. Her body seems to have betrayed her. Her confidence in the goodness of God is rattled. Her loved ones don't know what to say. Her heart is broken. She may feel guilty, ashamed, angry, depressed, confused, or alone. With vulnerability and tenderness, Adriel Booker shares her own experience of three consecutive miscarriages, as well as the stories of others. She tackles complex questions about faith and suffering with sensitivity and clarity, inviting women to a place of grace, honesty, and hope in the redemptive purposes of God without offering religious clichés and pat answers. She also shares specific, practical resources, such as ways to help guide children through grief, suggestions for memorializing your baby, and advice on pregnancy after loss, as well as a special section for dads and loved ones.

First published in 1996. This new book gives voice to an emerging consensus among bereavement scholars that our understanding of the grief process needs to be expanded. The dominant 20th century model holds that the function of grief and mourning is to cut bonds with the deceased, thereby freeing the survivor to reinvest in new relationships in the present. Pathological grief has been defined in terms of holding on to the deceased. Close examination reveals that this model is based more on the cultural values of modernity than on any substantial data of what people actually do. Presenting data from several populations, 22 authors - among the most respected in their fields - demonstrate that the health resolution of grief enables one to maintain a continuing bond with the deceased. Despite cultural disapproval and lack of validation by professionals, survivors find places for the dead in their on-going lives and even in their communities. Such bonds are not denial: the deceased can provide resources for enriched functioning in the present. Chapters examine widows and widowers, bereaved children, parents and siblings, and a population previously excluded from bereavement research: adoptees and their birth parents. Bereavement in Japanese culture is also discussed, as are meanings and implications of this new model of grief. Opening new areas of research and scholarly dialogue, this work provides the basis for significant developments in clinical practice in the field.

Patterning is fun, easy and relaxing. It is a great way to add interest and texture to any design. Whether you like to journal, draw, doodle, design, or craft, you'll find a world of inspiration here. These decorative borders, frames, shapes, and alphabets will appeal to a spectrum of tastes and styles.

The purpose of this Letters to My Mom is to keep all your various heart feels and thoughts organized in one easy to find spot.

NATIONAL BESTSELLER • Soon to be a Hulu Original series • The internationally acclaimed author of Wild collects the best of The Rumpus's Dear Sugar advice columns plus never-before-published pieces. Rich with humor and insight—and absolute honesty—this "wise and compassionate" (New York Times Book Review) book is a balm for everything life throws our way. Life can be hard: your lover cheats on you; you lose a family member; you can’t pay the bills—and it can be great: you’ve had the hottest sex of your life; you get that plum job; you muster the courage to write your novel. Sugar—the once-anonymous online columnist at The Rumpus, now revealed as Cheryl Strayed, author of the bestselling memoir Wild—is the person thousands turn to for advice.

"A deeply personal landscape of revelation and loss that guides the reader toward catharsis." -- M. "Breathtaking." -- R. "These are some of the most beautiful poems I have ever read. I find myself reading them aloud, and I pause after each line. They resonate as when water droplets drop into water, outwards then inwards. I am crying right now." -- T. A few months after my mother died, I changed my name to Elyria. It was a rite of passage suggested by a dear friend who had lost a parent some years earlier. I wish my mother could read these poems. I know some of them would have made her cry, and sometimes that would have been what she needed. But more than that, I want you to read these poems. I know some of them will make you cry, and sometimes that will be what you need. I want you to read them, remember how to heal, learn to live with the hurts and the losses you carry -- take a deep breath -- and go on living. We are all alone in our grief, sometimes. But other times, we can take comfort in sharing our sorrow with those who understand loss. We come away stronger for it. That is my hope for you. all my love, Elyria

Inclusive and comforting. The last story I wish I could have read to my daughter before she entered heaven. A story filled with enchanted endurance gracefully given by a caregiver and the lesser known tail of lovingly letting go.