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At the Edge

I sit here at the cliff, my feet are dangling over the edge and the skies far seem cold and devoid. Just like me. For a second the thought crosses my mind and I smile.

I think of the pain wrenching within me. It’s loud and piercing but still I push it aside. I hate thinking about it, thinking that she wouldn’t be here anymore. That my hands are empty … none of her warmth nor bubbles would play in my eyes.

Her burps used to irritate me you know; I couldn’t stand them but today I would give the universe just for those times to return. I remember the last time I saw her, her blue eyes weren’t shining like always. My heart felt amiss. I was agitated the entire time. My sanity was slowly slipping. The doctors words wouldn’t sink in.

I could hear their whispers. Their sorrys. “Ma’am we’re sorry, we couldn’t save her.” I wanted to scream. To rage and send the pain within me at someone but I was too weak and so to my knees I sank.

My world felt cold and drained.

Doctors said it takes time but I know no amount of time would ease the pain. Sometimes I would seem okay, like I’m healing and then a small thing happens and the pain returns afresh again.

I remember the first month without her. I would wake at 3a.m and wander to her nursery. I would move to her crib looking for her and when I couldn’t find her I would become inconsolable.

The pain was heart wrenching. I couldn’t take it and so I began weaving. I would make tiny socks just for her. I would carve an ‘S’ for her name.

It’s unique what happens when you’re in pain, you know. For hours I would stare. A cry of a baby would hurt my eardrums. I would scream … then came the numbness.

For hours I would sit in the dark, I hated the light. Hated their presence. The care and concern. Why do you ask if I’m okay? How can I be okay? Would you be okay if your child suddenly wasn’t there anymore? Would you be fine?

For days I hated the sight of people. I hated the questioning looks and the care … all I craved was just silence. Hysteria came next. I would talk about her for hours. I would sing lullabies while playing with her crib until they took it away.

So many times I contemplated dying. I didn’t want to admit it but every hour, every second was just death for me. I wished it would all end. That silence would drain me away and I would cease to be.

Her room was my anchor. I needed to adapt to live without it, the doctor had advised but I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want to listen

And so today I sit on this cliff, just staring. I can’t help but wonder; what truly is next?

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