I know mothers who have lived a nightmare.
The mother who fears her adopted baby will be taken back.
The one who waits and waits and no adoption ever comes through.
The mother whose baby never wakes in the crib.
The one whose baby dies in childbirth.
And others, mothers who could say, “I am a mother”
With no living proof.
This was my worst nightmare. For a child of mine to die.
I think about my ancestors, those strong Nebraska farmwives, those unknown Texas
housewives, who watched baby after baby, child after child, succumb to all
the fragile limits of mortality.
Now I have a new nightmare—that theirs could become
my own, one more stone on my chest.
I hope this is the only worst day of your life, my mother wishes me, on the day
I give birth to our baby boy
who had already died.
© Burning Eye