She’s Not here.

Hug your babies a little tighter, hold them a little longer, give them millions of kisses, read that bedtime story one more time, then ONE MORE time, accept that gift of a rock as if it was a precious gem, and listen to their long, nonsensical stories. You could be mourning and longing for them at any moment.

Four years later and I am so emotionally fatigued, I can not make myself do much of anything today. A dense fog has settled in my head and all around me. My chest hurts.

Empty Crib2

Where is my beautiful four-year-old? She’s not home with me. She’s not blowing out candles. She’s not playing with her siblings. She’s not throwing her arms around my neck. She’s not giving me sweet kisses. She’s not bringing me gifts of rocks, leaves, weeds, sticks and flowers. She’s not telling me long, drawn out, silly stories that make no sense. She’s not singing songs she made up when no one is looking. She’s not playing with her siblings. She’s not squealing and laughing while she scrambles up the stair because Mommy Monster is gonna get her. She’s not begging for one more book at bedtime. She can’t. She’s not here.

miscarriage-sculpture

~Blogger: Ashley Seymour Felix in Memory of Lorelei Grace (4-30-12)

 

 

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