I know everyone is going to say what my mom tells me almost every night: none of this is my fault. But I am swimming and sinking in a sea of my own guilt, because I failed. I failed my daughter, who was healthy and beautiful and active and so full of life. My uterus failed the placenta, and she had to die because of that. I failed to keep my daughter safe, I failed to give her life, I failed to allow her a chance to experience this beautiful and often awful world.
I failed my mother, who wanted a granddaughter SO BAD. I failed my sisters, who were dying for me to have a daughter to play with her cousins. I failed my grandma, because she’s getting old and sick and all I wanted was to have her be able to be there when I gave her the next generation of women.
I don’t care how many times people tell me I didn’t fail… or didn’t have control… obviously if I’d had any control, any prescription of things to do or take or eat I would’ve done them. I would’ve happily stayed in bed every day and hour until she was viable. But my body failed ME, betrayed me, gave me my most precious dream for just the shortest time and then snatched it from me for no reason whatsoever