Anofria

A deeply personal piece.

My grandfather is the guardian of my child now in a place where I cannot enter and where I may never enter.
"My father walked this earth for seventy-four years. Your baby was only a hope."
It's funny how two losses, head-to-head, can be distilled down in two devastating sentences. A miscarriage of communication as well as life. A miscarriage of love.
A weekend of pain and fear and blood unravelling in a sad, inert little body that I thought was beautiful, and yet I couldn't kiss it. I remember vividly the noise of spattering and the damp splats of crying flesh on the bed-pan, the alarming redness.
I remember, once, I felt faint.
We did not make love for a long time after that. She claimed months later, amid a flood of tears and mucus, that she had felt our baby's heartbeat stop between her thighs. I was not present in that moment. She is grateful I wasn't.
My grandfather walked this earth for seventy-four years. My baby was only a hope.
I was able to kiss my grandfather's face but not my child's.

Reviews

[iamimaginary]

I hope writing helps
Very touching piece