I lay here on my hotel bed, with my hospital socks, listening to Norah Jones. Contemplating. Maybe it's Ms. Jones, maybe it's the silence that's still heard behind all the noise. Being alone makes people think, forces them to look at things closer.
So here I am on my hotel bed, with my hospital socks on. It has just now sunk in that I am a woman who is about to be 25, I am a woman who has seen a positive pregnancy test three times and given birth to two children. I am also a woman that now has no children to raise. I am a woman who might of once wished for something like this, just not in this context and with this kind of permanency.
I am essentially alone, for the moment at least. I still have her, but she is in a jail cell right now. It is possible she is thinking about some of the same things I am. She was never capable of being a biological donor to my children but she has given her heart to them just the same.
The tears set in, the doubts assault me, the shakes in my very soul take over. I have to keep reassuring myself that this is not my fault, I did not cause this. It's going to take a lot of repetitive convincing arguments, if I know myself at all then I know I am stubborn.
It doesn't matter really though how I got here, how she got there, how I don't have them to kiss goodnight anymore. It matters that we are here, that we all recognize the consequences of our actions,acknowledge the ripple effect that has been set in motion.
This will be a hard journey, a long journey, a painful journey. Before any of us can begin to dream of healing we must face our demons. Look into their unforgiving cold eyes and name them as we slay them, or at silence them.
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