I Am So Sorry

15 Feb

I did not know you were in me, even though I craved orange juice and salmon for weeks. I only met you, in pieces, when it became clear that something was very, very wrong. In the weeks leading up to it, I had my suspicions. The tests kept coming back negative and with each single line, I drank so much. I did and did not want you to be.

When you left my body, we were driving to Grand Rapids from my parent’s house. I remember the deep twinges inside me as we drove. I tried to sleep. And when rest was not an option in the hospital, I curled up in a ball all by my lonesome. Your father left me there by myself.

They weren’t sure what to call you at the hospital, but I knew.

I dreamed of you last night, of my big belly and the burning of you coming into the world. I woke up alone and I missed you and I sobbed in an ugly way.

I am so sorry that  I didn’t take good care of you. I am so sorry we didn’t love you enough to make you live. And sweet, sweet baby, please know that I am so glad you were never born. I am so glad I never got to disappoint you.

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