I knew of you before it was even possible. My mom said I was mad, only one day had passed, yet I know my body and I knew it was different. Changed.
I felt you, every little tug. Every breast ache, every mild cramp. And when that first line appeared, I thought I would die, I was so happy, so excited. You had burrowed into my heart along with my womb, and so, so fast. I marvel to think the depth of the love that would have grown with you.
And then the bleeding began. 'Don't fret' said my friend. Implantation bleeding they call it, it's normal, it's ok. But then it got worse, life was draining out of me like so many teardrops. And then you were gone. No more lines. Nothing but those pictures I took of them to show proof of your existance. A small bundle, tiny as a a poppy seed, but big enough to fill up my heart.
A month has gone by, and it's silly because you were nothing but a cluster of possibility, yet to me you were the wispy clouds of dreams materialized, the growing life that would arrive to turn mine and your dad's upside down. He was sad too, you know. He touched my belly like it was something sacred, like it held the secrets to the universe, when he saw those lines. But he'll be ok, he didn't feel you inside like I did.
I'll be ok too, thanks to you. They say some of the cells of an embryo migrate to the mother's tissue wherever there is damage, to heal it. I like to think you are still growing inside my scars, making me stronger.
Goodbye my baby. I'll let you sleep forever where the soul rests.
