I should be better

/
I should be better

I should be better at letting go. I’m not. I should scatter her ashes, dive into a wave and there, beneath the surface of the water, release her. Free her from the prison of my anger and resentment. Free her from the agony and tangible sadness that engulfs my soul, release her before it’s too late before I too fade to dust, and she’s left in a box in someone’s bottom drawer or an attic, forgotten. The child that should have been.

Read More

Reflections of a decade

/
Reflections of a decade

In the words of an unknown author: “Do not judge the bereaved mother. She comes in many forms. She is breathing, but she is dying. She may look young, but inside she has become ancient. She smiles but her heart sobs. She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she is but she is not all at once. She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.”

Read More

The intense and the ugly

/
The intense and the ugly

Six years and it’s all come full circle. I remember it all and the tinge of sadness that constantly lingered has erupted into a volcano. I find myself doing the usual retracing of steps, reading of emails, counting of days. I can go on and on about what was, and it still won’t change what is. So, the tears remain at the base of my eyes and the ache grows inside me, because surely it has been long enough? Surely.

Read More

Who is she anymore?

/
Who is she anymore?

She questions who she is in this world. Is there a place for the broken? Wherever they go, they either stick out like a sore thumb or fade into the background. So, who is she?

 It becomes hard to explain the pain as the years pass. She is no longer the woman who just lost a child. The milestones of commemoration are passing, and yet, she is sad. The tears come, and she howls into the night for the baby. But she cries alone.

Read More