Thursday, October 21, 2010

Sweet and Sour

At fourteen i was betrayed by someone who stole my heart, my innocence, my body.
Someone who should have known better than to walk away and end his life after destroying mine.
At fifteen i brought into this world a miniature replica of my past.
I saw his nose echoed in the soft, still forming peak of that small face.
The outline of his lips in that demanding rosebud mouth.
The soft black hair on that tiny head.....
My heart broke again when i gave that memory made flesh into the care of other, more capable arms.
I still feel the trickle of ghost tears on my cheeks.
I still feel an empty space under my heart where i once carried love.
I still feel.

Emma, Lincolnshire UK, Mother

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Sweet and Sour

If you asked me if I wanted to relive the first 2 months of my son’s life, I would reply, "Never again!" Two months of almost divorce, always crying, never sleeping (both of us). I loved when he nursed, it meant quiet, a break for me, I’d watch TV, he might even fall asleep! Otherwise, I had the apparently only child that cried in the stroller and wanted to be carried. People would look if I let him cry, so I’d carry him in one arm, pushing with the other, getting unexpectedly very tired arms. Setting him down oh so gently to keep him asleep – and it wouldn’t work and starting over again.

He is almost five, a character, so social, always negotiating with me! We watched a dvd of him at 2 years, last night. We found it by accident. My god, how sweet, how sweet to relive those moments and see them from a different perspective. Pudgy, curls in his hair, that baby-speak, that frantic running to get a toy, stepping on a children’s chair, on tippy toes to turn lights on and off! Is that him? Wow, an angel, my sun, my world. I can’t believe he will ever understand how I love him until he has a child of his own. I never did.

Pamela, Portland, OR and Jakarta, Indonesia, NGO Worker

Sour

I was pregnant for three months but only knew for five days. The father held my hand when while we faced giving up the rest of our carefree twenties to be parents. Neither of us could face ending the pregnancy so we named her: Birdy Valentine Turner. I loved giving her his last name although we weren't married. I loved having his child inside of me, even though I had never wanted to be a mother. I ate coconut and slept with one hand over my stomach and the other over his heart.

We decided we would paint her nursery with seahorses and cowgirls, in shades of red and turquoise, like the sands of the desert town I grew up in. He gently touch my face that first night and ask if I felt anything. I wasn't sure, I said, but that was okay. We smiled in the dark and knew our baby was going to be beautiful.

Four days later we lost her. There were tears and screams echoed in the clean tile of our bathroom. I had never wanted to be a mother before and then, betrayed by my body, I wanted nothing more.

It's been three years since I lost her and just two months since I lost him. The holes in my heart are twin shapes, one larger and raw, the other mostly healed. He is out in the world with new mothers-to-be and I am at home, with my seahorse stencils and empty bed.

Casey, Oakland, CA, Barn Ghost