It’s been 6 months; 6 whole months. Shouldn’t it get easier? Yet, somehow this month is even more painful. My body feels empty. I should be watching it grow and change, but instead there is nothing but emptiness and longing. Month after month goes by and no new life has come to soothe the heartache, to put a salve on the wounds by bringing a new joy to our life.
Our family is incomplete. People ask of me, “Is this your only child?”, referring to Miss E. I respond with a yes, because it would be too much for me to tell them that no, there is an angel in heaven that belongs to our family whom we never had the chance to meet properly. But people would never understand, for I get the impression that unless a life has fully entered the world it is considered a sub-life and, therefore, my loss shouldn’t be as great or as painful as if I had laid eyes on this child and then it were to leave me. But a mother doesn’t need to see the child to feel the love. The knowing that she carried that soul for however brief a period is enough to fuel a love so strong that even time doesn’t diminish its intensity.
Time marches on, life keeps going and I keep moving along with it, but the passing of time cannot make a mother’s heart forget, and today the memory and the loss is exceptionally raw and painful.