sadness

‘I threw my baby in a dumpster. No goodbyes, no tears.’

“My hands shook as I grabbed a Dixie cup and gently scooped this little piece of flesh, my heart, my blood, from its watery grave. A moment later, I left the bathroom. My little burden wrapped in paper towels, and put it in my purse.”

‘I pick up a pink sock from under the couch. Suddenly I sink to my knees. I try to smell her on the sock, hold it to my heart and scream, ‘COME BACK TO ME! I LOVE YOU! PLEASE!’

“I find myself softly chanting ‘daughter, daughter, daughter.’ I lose count as I hold that sock and rock it. Minutes pass, I don’t know how many. I finally pick myself up off the floor and I put her sock in her bedroom. I shut the door, stand there for a moment, my hand still clutching the doorknob as tears stream down my face.”

‘He said, ‘I know she can’t go home,’ and was quiet the rest of the ride. Dad couldn’t get his coat off fast enough. He sat beside her, so happy to see her, saying how much he loved her.’

“She was staring straight ahead. That didn’t matter to him. He was back with his Mary Jane. I noticed it was quiet. I look over and Dad is laying on her shoulder sobbing – not crying, sobbing. After my tears started, I went in their bathroom wanted to scream. So these are the golden years?”

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