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.