A Pair Of Hospital Pants...


I keep a pair of ugly hospital pants in the bottom drawer of my dresser to remind me of that day- the worst day. 

I should trash them, but I can't help but hold on to the memory they belong to. 

I think back to that time often- 

The fear, the hope, the helplessness, the heartbreak. 

Losing a child is a feeling like no other- even when that child didn't resemble anything human- it was only a small pile of flesh with black eyes when it left my womb- but it was a child nonetheless.

My child

There are people who suggest, people who simply state, "have another one." 

Words sting. 

I did have another child. A healthy beautiful boy, who grows stronger and bigger by the day, my rainbow, the third... or rather fourth of my offspring-

But those people- they don't understand the pain that still lingers- the blame I put on myself, "maybe if I didn't stress so much...maybe if I had known I was pregnant sooner."  

But what hurts most is not knowing. 

Not knowing who the baby would have been, what their personality would have been like, the joy they would have brought into the world-- my world and the worlds of others around them.

A lifetime of possibilities to be had- but what is now- forever unknowing. 

Forever blaming. Forever a memory frozen in time. 


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