Just as I think sleep may be ready to take over, my grief comes rushing in, wild and burning and alarming in its ferocity. My sobs rip out of me. My baby, my baby, my daughter… Please don’t take her please give me back my life, please give her a chance. Who am I pleading with every night in the dark, who other than the perpetrator, Death, who made me his victim, entered me and violated my most sacred places, raped me viciously and tore my dreams to shreds?
Every night that parallel reality runs close to me, the one where I am fat and sleeping with my hand lovingly placed over my belly, her kicks and turns, her life itself, filling every dark void within me. There we are, in this bed and house, all around me and yet separated forever by a thin veil of finality. Death penetrated me, left me to rot, and I can only return again and again to the night of this transgression, weaponless and utterly powerless, as I will always be, to change the outcome.
Mother of All Things 