Friday, June 19, 2015


I always struggle to put into words how it feels when your child dies. It is life-sized whiplash. One day you are at the top, moving forward, your life is planned out, you know what is coming. You're suspended for a moment, but you don't even know it until it's over. Suddenly you snap back, you find yourself at the bottom, lower than you ever dreamed the bottom could be, and you stare and strain upward, trying to glimpse what you thought was your reality. Surely this isn't real? The denial takes months to lift, and even a year later, your mind has moments of stubbornness and refuses to believe.

Eventually you climb your way up, up, up, but you never reach the top. You can't. The top was for Before You and you will never be that person again. 

As I end cycle 4, feeling that it has also been unsuccessful, I am a little melancholy thinking of Before Me with her baby alive and kicking, her nursery set up, baby clothes hang-drying on the rack, the bassinet sitting smugly next to the bed. What I wouldn't give for an hour in her shoes, not a real care in the world.

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