While I certainly don’t feel healed, peaceful or well at the moment, I’m glad I felt enough clarity to write something that will share Henry’s life with a wider audience. Now I shall return to my dark corner and lick my compounded-grief wounds.
My body misses you today and everyday, but especially today.
The sky is grey and it’s cold outside. You would have been about six months and growing today. And when you were ready to be born, it would be a lot colder, but spring would be right around the corner. I would have taken you outside to exercise your legs and introduce you to bugs. And inside, I would have shown you how soft the bunnies are, and the cat probably would have regarded you skeptically. The house would be a disaster, and we’d be tired, but we would have been very, very happy.
Instead, there’s a constant numb pain tugging at my heart, because I’ll never know what you would have looked like, how your voice would have sounded, or what you would have felt like in my arms.
“We are failing to segregate morons who are increasing and multiplying... a dead weight of human waste... an ever-increasing spawning class of human beings who never should have been born at all.” - Margaret Sanger