My daughter won’t stop screaming and crying in the middle of the night. I visit her and ask her to stop, but it doesn’t help. My husband thinks I am crazy. He has never heard her. But I do. I hear my baby. She has been calling out for me since the day I lost her. I want to hold her. I want to comfort her. I want her to know I am here but it is like she doesn’t hear me. I want her to hear me.
It has been a few years since I lost her, but I have never forgotten her. She has always been with me, in some way. I was not given a choice, the decision was made for me. They told me there was no way I could take care of her in my condition, there was no way she would grow up to be happy. They told me it was better this way when they forced me into a gown and onto a hospital bed. They told me she would never have to suffer. I will never forget how they held me down, and when I wouldn’t cooperate, they held a mask over my face to put me to sleep. I never went to sleep entirely, though. They say that’s impossible, but I know it to be true. I was there for the whole thing. I saw them take out that bucket in such an ungraceful way it made my heart ache. It still makes my heart ache when I think about that. She did nothing to deserve a treatment like that. She simply existed.
I miss her every day. I miss her presence. I miss her heartbeat. I miss her soft chuckles only I could hear, her gentle movements only I could feel. I miss her. I had picked out her name the first time I felt her movements, the first time I heard her soft chuckle. Before anyone could even see she was there, I knew she was.
When the smell of coffee became too much to bear, when the smoke blown up in circles from his cigar made me choke, when the bitter taste of my morning tea became too strong and I had to add milk for the first time in my life. When the smell of exhaust in the city, the smell of flowers on the countryside became stronger. It was the smell that made me want to live. She made me want to live.
Now, I cry with her at night.
Sometimes, memories come back to you in the most unexpected way.
Great but incredibly sad story
Incredibly powerful for such a short piece. I'm really left reeling from reading it. You're a very talented writer.
Beautifully written. I've had 3 miscarriages myself, so I can truly say that even though nobody else hears the crying, it's very real. It's a painful subject, but I wish more spoke of it. Keeping the pain silently makes it seem invalid or unacceptable in society. As though the babies lost weren't real... And that is a terrible way to make another person feel.
Wow - that was so sad. Beautifully written.
So says this father of a special-need son who turns 40 in October.
I wish I had Words for all I want to say now.
Right now, I can´t.
This is such a powerful Story, such a sad one. And still, so much Love.
It makes me feel both empthy and graceful for every Person dear to me, just because they are there.
It resonated with me .