A year ago I was full of hope. I didn’t yet know I was pregnant, but I was already so excited to meet you. Did I want you too much? Is this part of my punishment for reaching beyond? What did I do wrong?
We talk a lot about blame. Everyone says it’s not my fault. Does it really matter? Are you any less gone? I think about the moment before I dropped your sand dollar, when I held it in my hand and thought about how it could be preserved. Now we are broken together.
I will never get over losing you. And a part of me will always hold the blame, continue to play out alternate versions of the reality I wish could have been. Should still be.
Just one year ago, I was full of such hope. How in the world will I ever understand that you’re actually gone?