Today is my eldest son’s birthday. I need to specify, because I have another child on the way, who is assumed to be a boy. My son Henry was stillborn one year ago. I miss him deeply. I feel his absence every day.
Putting the feelings around his birth and our loss into words is difficult. It’s a nearly impossible task. I can say it’s sad. I can say it was, and continues to be, deeply traumatic. But none of those words do it justice. Writing about it is very hard. Normally, writing comes much easier than speech for me. When talking about Henry, neither comes easily.
I feel a deep, physical aching in my arms when I write about it. The emotions are embodied. They cannot be properly put into words.
So why write about it? And why share it publicly?
Writing is therapeutic for me, among other things. Despite what I’ve just written, I can usually express myself and my feelings far better in writing than in speech. But with Henry, there is something more to it than that. Writing about him, writing his name and his story, is the only way he gets to go out into the world. And so, every so often, I must write about him and name him and share it with the world. He needs to be known. In this small way, he gets to have life.
What does all of this have to do with a picture of a magpie fledgling? About a year ago, sometime after learning Henry would not be born alive – possibly even after he had been born – I was opening the front door to let in my mother and daughter. They were still getting out of the van and when I opened the door a fledgling was on the front steps.
One of our cats started out the door, hungry for magpie. I scooped up the cat and threw it back in the house. When I turned back, the magpie was gone. It had jumped off the stairs and either hopped or flew to safety. Saving the bird’s life after losing my own child seemed very important to me and it has stuck with me.
Yesterday, which was a year to the day that we went to the hospital to induce labour (it was also Father’s Day, last year), my wife and daughter were sitting on the front step. I was standing in the doorway. We saw a magpie fledgling in the front garden. After a moment, the bird hopped up our walkway and up each stair until it was on the deck with us.
It walked around for a bit, before jumping off and going about it’s day (all the while, its parents were screaming down from the trees).
At the time, it just seemed like a neat experience with nature. Later that afternoon, I remembered the bird from last year and the two experiences came together and felt significant.
I know a magpie is just a magpie, but there is something a bit mysterious and mythological about them. They’re a powerful symbol and it felt a little like Henry had stopped by to say hello.
Spain is set to become the first European nation to bring in a universal basic income in response to COVID-19, with a statement that the plan is for it to be a permanent thing that remains in place after the pandemic has ended.
According to the Independent:
Minister for economic affairs Nadia Calvino told Spanish broadcaster La Sexta on Sunday night that the move was intended to help families during the pandemic.
But Ms Calvino, who is also deputy prime minister, said the government’s ambition was that UBI could become something that “stays forever, that becomes a structural instrument, a permanent instrument.”
This is an exciting development and it will be very interesting to see if other countries follow suit and whether or not the Spanish government lives up to their stated commitment to making UBI a permanent institution even after the pandemic.
It is not macabre opportunism to debate what society looks like after the gravest crisis since the war: it is a necessity secondary only to overcoming the pandemic itself. This is a social and economic crisis, so who will pay is a question that must inevitably be asked and answered.
The column is focused on the United Kingdom, but the broad strokes apply to the rest of the world. We must change our society in the wake of this pandemic, which has highlighted and exacerbated the social and economic issues facing much of the world after decades of dismantling the post-WWII welfare state.
Whether the change will be for the better depends on who is willing to stand up and fight for what they believe in.
It’s day one of my employer’s work-from-home protocol. Everyone who can do their work from home, outside of certain “essential staff” is to do so.
My spouse started working from home on Monday and our daughter has been home since then, as well, as all the schools and daycares in the province are closed for the foreseeable future (schools will be operating remotely starting sometime after spring break, so the official word is that classes are cancelled for now; the daycares are simply closed, though).
Trying to work from home in an uncertain time, and also keep our child busy with an ad hoc “home school” is certainly an interesting challenge. My wife has been doing it for two days already. Our dining room walls are quickly becoming covered in D’s paintings. We’ll soon run out of space for new art!
Tricks or tips for working remotely while also caring for a child would be much appreciated!
This year, I decided to participate in Dry January. For those unfamiliar, this means abstaining from alcohol for the month of January.
People do this for a lot of reasons: to get “back on track” in terms of health and wellness after the holiday season’s excesses, to re-evaluate their relationship with alcohol, or even just for the sake of a personal challenge.
When I decided to do it, I figured it would be good for my health after the heavier-than-normal drinking that came with the Christmas holidays. But I was also starting to think about my relationship with alcohol in light of the death of my son.
I don’t think I had a drinking problem in any traditional sense, but I was drinking more than usual. I think it was becoming a coping mechanism and that didn’t feel good, so I decided to go dry for a month.
There might have been a few moments near the beginning of the month when it was hard, because pouring a drink after a long day had become sort of a ritual. But it was ultimately pretty easy (which is definitely a privilege that people who struggle with alcohol addiction don’t have; “sober curious” and “sober out of necessity” are very different things).
I haven’t really missed alcohol. In fact, I feel great without it. I sleep better. I’ve lost weight. My mental health has greatly improved. And I think my family dynamic has benefited quite a bit, as well.
What I do miss, is the flavour. There are some great alcohol-free drinks available that aren’t sugar-laden soda and juice. There are non-alcoholic spirits, and both craft and big brand brewers have started to embrace non-alcoholic beer, so “near beer” is no longer the foul-tasting stuff of old. But the availability of these drinks in Canada is still somewhat limited.
We have Seedlip, but not the aperitifs of their sister brand Æcorn (though I’m told they’re coming). Many of the best non-alcoholic beers are only available in Europe or the United Kingdom and, to a lesser degree, the United States. Hopefully, that will soon change. But right now, getting the particular flavours that come with alcoholic beverages in an alcohol-free format can be tough — there’s no replacement for whiskey, for example, although I’m sure someone is working on it.
In light of the unexpected benefits I’ve received from not drinking for a month (the improved mental health being the most notable), I’ve been thinking about becoming a teetotaler — though not a joyless one, I hope. But, for now, I won’t go so far as to say that I’m giving up alcohol. I’m not giving away all the bottles in my liquor cabinet or dumping the contents of my beer fridge down the sink. But I’ll be drinking booze far less often. And when I do partake, it will probably be in smaller amounts and I’ll be much more conscious about when and why I’m making the decision to drink alcohol.
I will be drinking non-alcoholic beer more often than the standard variety. And I’ll reach for Seedlip or Sobrii before I reach for hard liquor. Alcohol will probably continue to be a part of my life. But the role it plays will be much smaller.
I’m not “sober,” but I am “sober adjacent.” I hope you’ll raise a glass to that, regardless of what you decide to fill it with.
I’ve been becoming more and more “sober curious” over the course of Dry January, so I’ve started following a lot of alcohol-free accounts on Instagram. At first, this was mostly limited to beer accounts (it turns out, there is a lot of really great non-alcoholic beer being produced; unfortunately, most of it is in Europe or the USA, but I’ve had some good luck with some Canadian craft options – notably Partake Brewing (Calgary, by way of Toronto) and One for the Road Brewing (Calgary) – and a few European imports).
After a while, I started wondering about non-alcoholic spirits. Right now, the main player in this market is Seedlip out of the UK. They’re the market leader simply because they were among the first and the market is very much in its infancy right now. I enjoy all of Seedlip’s offerings, but they’re all very unique and don’t seek to replicate existing alcoholic beverages.
This is probably a wise move on their part, because it means customers don’t have a point of comparison and can’t say, “This tastes like watered down gin/whiskey/rum.”
Some brands, however, have attempted to replicate existing alcoholic spirits. I’ve read about two products: Ginish and Rumish. I think you can guess what each is trying to do. Currently, neither is available in Alberta.
What is available is Sobrii, a non-alcoholic gin from DistillX Beverages in Toronto. Late last week, it became available nationwide through Well.ca. Impulsively, I almost immediately ordered a bottle. It arrived this afternoon and I opened it shortly after getting home from work.
I believe Sobrii is primarily intended to be used in cocktails and highballs, but I wanted to see what it tastes like neat. The answer is: disappointing. It tastes reasonably similar to gin, with a lot of botanicals and a little pepperiness that hit you right away. Unfortunately, the lack of alcohol means it doesn’t quite land. Removing the booze really alters the flavour profile when you’re drinking it straight up.
I’m happy to report that it’s much better in a gin and tonic. It’s still not quite the same as gin with alcohol, but I think replacing that warming sensation of alcohol is hard to do (Ginish, mentioned earlier, apparently does it by adding capsaicin, the chemical that gives chili peppers their heat).
Overall, Sobrii makes a passable gin and tonic. I’m currently mixing it with a pretty cheap, store-brand diet tonic water. I’ll try it again later with something a bit nicer, like Fever Tree Indian Tonic Water, and see if that makes a difference. I imagine quality tonic makes a bigger difference when alcohol is taken out of the equation. I’ll update this post after I’ve tried Sobrii with a better quality tonic water.
I bought a 750 mL bottle, rather than the smaller size that was also available, so it’ll likely last me several months. By that time, who knows what other options might be available. The market for alcohol-free spirits is new but seems to be growing rapidly. Only time will tell if Sobrii becomes a stable in my liquor cabinet.
Update (Jan. 31, 2020): I still haven’t tried mixing Sobrii with a higher quality tonic, but I made a highball with this last night, that was quite good. The recipe follows:
Squeeze of lime juice (fresh and garnished with a lime wedge would be best, but I used ReaLime since it’s what I had on hand)
Note: An earlier version of this post identified Partake Brewing as being based in Toronto. In fact, the brewery is located in Calgary but the company originated in Toronto and has offices in both cities.
was the day my son was supposed to be born. Instead, he was stillborn
on June 17 – the day after Father’s Day. We found out a little
over four days earlier that he’d died. We have ideas about exactly
when his heart stopped, but don’t know precisely. Whatever the
exact moment he died, his mother1
– my wife – was admitted to the labour and delivery ward at the
Lois Hole Hospital for Women on Father’s Day, June 16, 2019. Our
son, Henry John Kelly-Snider was born, still, in the very early hours
of June 17.
is the day he was supposed to be born, alive, and the fact that it’s
Thanksgiving is something we only realized a few weeks ago. What a
thing that would have been to be thankful for – a beautiful, health
baby boy. Instead, I’m writing this the day before you’ll read
it, with tears in my eyes.
I have never shared this so publicly before. Most of the people in my life know, although there is an outer circle of colleagues and acquaintances who may never know that “how many kids do you have?” is a very complicated question.
We thought about going away this weekend, to try and distract ourselves from the sorrow we’re going to be feeling. We ended up staying home on Sunday, but allowed our family to think we were out of town (uh, sorry about that, everyone). It seemed easier to just keep things low-key at home, rather than making a big thing out of Thanksgiving this year. Subsequent years will probably be hard, too, but Thanksgiving won’t always fall on the 14th, so maybe we’ll be able to separate the date from the holiday. I’m hoping I can do that for Father’s Day next year, if only for my daughter’s sake.
now, though, things are tough. We had a little mini version of
Thanksgiving dinner with just the three of us – chicken (with
compound herb butter made from stuff my wife and daughter grew in the
garden this summer), duck fat baby potatoes and roasted vegetables.
It was good, and we had pumpkin pie (because I love it but only eat
it around Thanksgiving to make sure it remains a special food), but
it didn’t really feel like Thanksgiving. There was no turkey or
stuffing and no extended family. But maybe that’s OK just this
once. It’s hard to know for sure anymore.
is one of the last “firsts” since Henry’s death. There’s
still Christmas, but most of the big milestones have come and gone,
so maybe tomorrow will be a better day. Maybe each day will be a
little easier than the last. More likely, it’ll be like it’s been
since the day we learned he died. Some days are better than others.
Sometimes it feels like a million years ago and that everything is OK
again, and then the next day it feels like there’s no way things
could possibly get worse. Grief is a funny beast and it doesn’t
follow a linear path.
part of why I’m writing this and putting it out into the world. It
helps with the grief. Putting the emotions into words is healthy and
I’m far better at communicating through writing than speech. Some
people talk things through; I work through things by writing them
down and, often, by sharing them even if I’m not necessarily
also writing this down to help other grieving fathers. Stillbirth and
pregnancy loss is already something that’s not talked about enough
(though that seems to be changing; we’ve heard many stories from
people in our lives since this happened to us – but they’d
probably never have shared them if we hadn’t gone through something
similar). When it is talked about, fathers are sometimes overlooked.
But this experience touches us, too. The father loses a child too
and, with that, a part of himself. I don’t have any words of
wisdom, because I’m still in the midst of it, but I want other
fathers who’ve lost a child to know they’re not alone.
these words are to honour the memory of my son. Mere words can hardly
do him justice, especially not ones written in the depths of grief,
but they’re all I have left to give him. Together with his mother,
I gave him a name. And I can give him words and a place in my heart.
I don’t get to give him anything else. So I’ll give him what I
can and hope it’s enough.
fact that my wife is mostly absent from this story is not an
oversight. It’s not my place to tell her story, so I won’t be
doing so. This will focus on my own thoughts and experiences, which
are understandably quite different from those of the person who
carried our son in her body for five months.↩
I recently finished reading Rutger Bregman’s book Utopia for Realists. It was quite good and a surprisingly compelling read, given that it’s full of charts and graphs.
Rather than attempting to write my own review, I’ll just send you to a review Neil Howard wrote for openDemocracy. It points out the highlights and covers many of my own criticisms of the book, and does so much succinctly than I’m able to.
Read the review. If it sounds interesting, read the book.
In the low-carb group, some participants lost 40 to 60 pounds while others gained 10 to 20. And in the low-fat group? Just about the same wide variation. Neither diet was better, and researchers had no success in predicting who would do better on one versus the other.
All of this suggests that your co-worker who won’t stop yapping about how keto will change your life might be completely right. Or he could be entirely wrong.
This much we know: No diet will work for everyone.
The few things that do seem to work for everyone are to reduce or eliminate added sugar, reduce processed and refined carbs, and eat healthy fats. Everything else seems to be a toss up and depends on personal metabolic traits.
Trial and error will probably be necessary, but by avoiding processed foods (itself a vague term — do bread or pasta count, if we’re being careful to make sure they’re made from whole grains?) you’ll probably be off to a decent start.
Did you know that the cult classic movie, Logan’s Run, was loosely based on a novel of the same name? I had no idea, until the book came up in the search results when I was trying to find the movie in my local library’s collection.
The book is quite different from the movie and, in many ways, a lot sillier. It doesn’t really rise above a pulp sci-fi adventure story, but it’s a very entertaining read. It’s quick and punchy, and at only 167 pages it’s a pretty quick read even for a slow reader like me.
Where the movie has a pretty straightforward plot, the book is wild. It’s still a linear plot, but it goes all over the place with a bunch of bizarre characters and subplots along the way. It’s got murderous children, a mentally unstable cyborg ice sculptor, and a giant maze of pneumatic tubes that rapidly take cars to all known parts of the inhabited world, including a mostly abandoned underwater city.
It’s hardly a masterpiece, but it’s very entertaining. If you like weird, sci-fi adventures, I recommend it.