When Grief's Legacy is Fear

 Exactly one year and six months ago (yesterday), my husband and I said hello and then goodbye to our daughter, Eve.  When the doctor told us that she’d died inside of me, I didn’t see how I was going to survive her birth, much less the days and weeks and months of life-without-her that lay ahead.

In fact, I hoped that I wouldn’t survive.

In the day’s wait that lay between me and the induction that would bring Eve’s body into this world, whenever my benumbed mind managed to grasp at any shred of hope, it was that I would not survive to face her birth, her dead body, and whatever sort of life we could manage to patchwork together in the wake of such devastation.

I wanted to die.  And continued to want to die for some time thereafter.

But I didn’t.  Instead, I lived . . .

Today I am writing over at Still Standing Magazine!

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