Empty
This feels so wrong, this spot in my body where the baby was.
Then there is the spot in my arms where he should be. And he isn't. And I feel like I have left him in a basket to float down the river alone,
hoping like Moses's mother that he finds something,
only the something he needs is to breathe.
Each day he does better and worse so often that I can barely keep up. For now he is doing much worse, and his whole body twitches terribly, and the nurses try to turn off the alarms quickly when I am in the room.
Today three people have tried to hug me. I can't do it, though. One arm comes up, and the intimacy of the act turns me sour.
So, I come home to more emails asking when he is coming home and if anyone can do anything,
but I don't know,
and I can't do anything-
anything except empty my milk and store it in sterile containers until the day that he is strong enough to have it pumped into his stomach.
Then there is the spot in my arms where he should be. And he isn't. And I feel like I have left him in a basket to float down the river alone,
hoping like Moses's mother that he finds something,
only the something he needs is to breathe.
Each day he does better and worse so often that I can barely keep up. For now he is doing much worse, and his whole body twitches terribly, and the nurses try to turn off the alarms quickly when I am in the room.
Today three people have tried to hug me. I can't do it, though. One arm comes up, and the intimacy of the act turns me sour.
So, I come home to more emails asking when he is coming home and if anyone can do anything,
but I don't know,
and I can't do anything-
anything except empty my milk and store it in sterile containers until the day that he is strong enough to have it pumped into his stomach.