It still takes my breath away when I think about what happened, what I lost. The memories are different now, fuzzier around the edges. I think about it sometimes almost like watching a movie. I remember each detail but in a softer way.
All too often I find myself remembering and feeling sorry for that poor poor woman and then it hits me again like a brick wall.
That poor woman was me, is me.
I gave birth on that day to a beautiful little boy with dark hair and big feet. He was perfect and he was dead.
I loved him.
I love him.
It takes my breath away.
4 comments:
I know. The further away it gets the harder it is to believe it was me. And it does knock the wind out of you. It does.
Perfect. And dead. The juxtaposition is enough to drive you immediately insane, isn't it? HUGS. I'm so sorry :(
And I think it always will.
xxoo
Fuzzy around the edges is right. I don't tend to feel like it happened to someone else, but there is so much about the whole thing that takes my breath away, just like you say.
I love him, and I miss him, and it sucks so bad that these have to go together.
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