My bones feel heavy
Misunderstood in their intention
My soul begs for paralysis—
Please Time, just go on without me.
Let me rest
Let me sleep as long as it takes
To wake up outside of this nightmare.
No, it does not work like that, they say.
My eyes must stay open
My lungs must fill with air
My brain must keep replaying that moment
Over and over and over again
Until I can believe it:
She is gone
I cannot hold her
She is not coming home
I do not need this pink blanket anymore.
It is a weary exercise
To coax my left foot to move in front of my right foot
And coax my right foot to move in front of my left
When I can’t imagine going anywhere now
without her.
What was once so natural—hope, peace, faith
has been buried alongside her 3-pound body
and the knitted white blanket I wrapped her in.
and the knitted white blanket I wrapped her in.
And that’s where all of it will stay
until God can show his face to me again.
Less Than 1%: Surviving My Stillborn 