Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Requiescat in Pace

(Today, November 14, my daughter Heather would have been thirty.)

I never saw her, my daughter, my Heather
I felt her prenatal kicks;
I patted my belly
Named her Little Harry Eagleclaw
She liked my rocking chair, I think
Kicking when I would pause to stop
She died, bones crushed by the weight of her own body fluids
A mystery, they said, so sad, they said, you'll have another, they said.
I nodded, always the acquiescent essence of a good girl
Not willing to bother anyone, for a matter so small.

Until one morning, when the sun came up a little slanted
Illuminating the white hot fierceness of loss
I moaned and wailed and beat my fists upon the walls
Demanding retribution, demanding an accounting
Demanding God to show himself, to strike me dead
And when I was done, God being silent
I lay spent, alive, yet not, pieces of my soul released and gone forever
Buried with my perfect monster child, my daughter, my baby, my Heather.

Tempus animae medicus.

Until Next Time …

Note this post first published online, November 14, 2007, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The News-Messenger Online

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