The Miracologist

A boy who looks for miracles wants to be a mirocologist. Jess Redman’s book The Miraculous comes to me now, almost six years after I witnessed my daughter’s brief life. An 11-year old protagonist with a dead newborn sister named Milagros. A funeral. A witch. A magic tree. My heart…

I want everyone to read this book that tells us what Sister Evelyn told me when my aunt was terminally ill. “Look for the miracles. There are small miracles in the tragedies, but you have to look for them.”

This summer I look for miracles in my son’s face, in the purple rose, in my young neighbor’s handmade birthday card that says “I love you too much. You are the best neighbor ever.” Life is slowly moving, yet somehow I feel suspended on a bridge. What awaits us on the other side? Ten years ago when I left my mentally ill first husband I felt like I was walking on a long bridge not knowing what life would look like on the other side. I pictured fairies and mist in those dark days. It took a while, but I stepped into a new life better than I ever imagined.

For many years I dreaded summer because bad things happened to me around my birthday in July. One year my aunt was diagnosed with meningioma, I left a 19 year relationship another June, someone rear-ended me and gave me a concussion in a hit and run accident one August, and then one summer I waited for a baby girl I wanted so much to raise. I waited. I waited and I loved her enough to let her go. I whispered those words in her ear as her broken, tender, weak body rested in my arms.

Reader, humans go through unexplainable, unimaginable and unbearable loss. Many are going through these losses right now, losing jobs and loved ones. Let’s hold hands virtually and reach out to the ones put in our path. Let’s hold space for the tender and broken hearted.

Jess Redman writes
They would stay and reach beyond their sorrow, beyond time, beyond death…
Here was a place where the dead weren’t really gone.
Here was a place where miracles happened. (306)

The bunnies have been eating my sunflowers. One sunflower grew up with an allium surrounding it, and it has several buds about to open yellow, open bright. One allium repelled all of those bunnies and gives me the gift of these blooms. Tonight I am grateful for one onion bulb and flower.

I have begun to make videos reading my work. Somehow, with little sleep, I am managing to finish two manuscripts this summer. My poetry manuscript which was written before I left my first marriage is finally coming together. I will be taking a class with Lidia Yuknavitch on the palimpsest to get ideas on finalizing the novel. I want to help you create beautiful things too. If you have not yet signed up for my new mailing list to learn about my classes and offerings and to receive a video of my first chapter in the novel as a sneak preview and bonus, please sign up here:

My Greek ancestors have been with me these days and I offer you this brief video of two poems from my poetry manuscript.

I will be launching my new classes on Sunday night with special discounts for a limited time. I hope that you can join me soon. Your presence means so much to me. Blessings to you from Colorado… Let’s become miracologists together.

Author: Dianna

DIANNA VAGIANOS ARMENTROUT is a published writer, teacher, workshop facilitator and poetry therapist. She graduated from Adelphi University’s Honors Program and earned her MAW from Manhattanville College. Dianna’s pregnancy with her daughter, Mary Rose, who died an hour after birth of trisomy 18, changed her life completely. Her blog, Walking the Labyrinth of My Heart, was launched in April 2015 as a way of offering support to others going through pregnancies with life-limiting and fatal diagnoses.

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