Hurting, Again?


Why do I do this to myself?  I keep reaching a place where the pain subsides and I think, "Ah.  This is it -- I am finished grieving."  Why do I keep thinking that grief ever finishes?  And even if it does, why would I expect it to reach it's end so soon?  It's only been seven weeks and three days since I birthed our daughter, dead.

Today I woke up afraid.  Afraid that Eve was our one and only child.  That she really was a miracle baby, that my body cannot bring children to life, ravaged as it was by an eating disorder.

Also -- afraid that we will not be able to adopt.  That agencies will learn of our stillbirth and reject us, thinking that I am too sad, too broken to love another woman's baby.  Or that we will be asked to wait years and years, that I will be forced to be an old, old mother with a too-young child.

Or worse, that we have been called to be childless.

I don't want that calling.

What will become of me if this it turns out to be true?


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