Writing for Grief

I don’t know what to do with my hands…

At four and a half months most moms would be looking for a break. Just a five minute break so they could shower, or take a nap, or remember who they were before they became a mom. Here, all I have are breaks. My hands are empty, I have no one to hold. No one to stay up all night with. No one to juggle my tasks for.

At the hospital I was scared to say out loud how much I wanted to hold her. I think deep down I knew if I held her it meant the doctors had given up and it would be my last and only time.

I keep drawing her initial on my wrist, below my empty hands. Tomorrow I’m getting it tattood on. My hands are still empty, and no matter all the busy work I do, they can’t be filled.

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