I think there’s something every day. Issues, issues, ah the issues I have…

This morning when Sweetie woke up she pointed to my son’s ashes in the bedroom high up on a shelf. I squinted at her and told her, “River’s ashes,” but today I didn’t know what else to say.

Yesterday pushing Sweetie in the stroller, we had to circumnavigate the abortion activists with their horrible signs, and the “life is a beautiful choice” thing. “LIFE.” It kills me every time they’re out there and I see them. They protest a lot. Don’t they know how many babies are stillborn in this country!? One in every one hundred and fifteen. Why aren’t they out there protesting that!? Don’t they know that midwives killed my baby? Why aren’t they out there protesting that!? Don’t they know that those signs just cut into our hearts – those of us who have lost babies – those of us who wanted our babies so badly and they were ripped away from us!? Why do they have to stand out there with those heart-wrenching signs? Don’t they know how they are pouring searing acid in our eyes and noses and hearts and mouths and gaping wounds?

After we avoided the lifers (as I call them), Sweetie played with Mila. River would be the same age as Mila. Mila and River resided within pregnant bellies side-by-side in prenatal yoga at Breathing Room, Mila in Winter’s belly, River in mine. Mila was born, and River died. Then, as Mila grew, I was pregnant again for another year with Sweetie. It has been hard for me to see Winter and Mila, but Mila was with her daddy yesterday and somehow that was easier. Winter is pregnant.

Jennie is pregnant too. My daughter and Jennie’s son were born a few days apart, six weeks and a year after River died. Jennie had a son. That is hard for me. Jennie is pregnant again. That is hard for me too. I know I should be happy for these people, but these things just push my loss into my face. I do not have my son. I am not pregnant again. I am a mother of two who is mothering one.

Everyday it’s something… something that tears at me every day. I don’t have my son, I don’t have my son, I don’t have my son.

Everyday I see Sweetie grow and learn and change and I wonder and wonder and learn what I am missing with my son. We see other boys out in the world and I learn and I wonder what I am missing. I see what was taken away from me – from my husband – from us – our family. Our family was taken from us. -and from my daughter…

Everyday we learn.

We see a two-year-old and learn what we may be doing in a parallel universe.

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