From A Should-Have-Been Mother To Her Miscarried Child

For six months after I got the news, I still self-consciously found myself laying my hand on my stomach

As if you were still resting there

Like an accidentally swallowed pit from a peach.

I would go into toy shops and buy soft plush teddy bears and rattles for you

And all of your clothes are still hanging in my wardrobe.

 

Your father told me that I was deluded

And that I should have got professional help

But sometimes make-believe is better than reality

And it felt kind of comforting to pretend that you were still growing inside of me.

 

Now I will never get to see you grow up;

I will never get to hear your first words or wave you off to school or watch you getting married and having children of your own.

 

You could have found a cure for cancer;

You could have been the Prime Minister one day

But even if you didn’t do anything miraculous or if you weren’t even successful

It wouldn’t matter because at least you would be alive.