My ravens are less noisy now.
They don’t shout at me quite so often.
I don’t catch them speaking through my mouth as frequently.
They’re still perched there, black, hunched, brooding.
But they’ve had to be quiet. It was too exhausting otherwise.
Most days now, I am ok.
Most days I do not cry.
Most days I do not think about what might have been.
But when the reminders come, the pain resurfaces.
We had lunch with friends while we were in Oz. They have a daughter a year younger than E. They’re due again in September.
They’re due when we should have been.
The woman on my birth club, the only one of the three of us who didn’t lose her September baby, posted a selfie the other day. She was giant and glowing.
I logged out and remembered why I had stayed away from the birth club for so long.
I feel like I am ok, like I am coming to terms with things, like I am moving towards a place of acceptance of the fact that E. will, in all likelihood, be an only child.
And then I am forced to remember that it could have been otherwise, and I am reminded that, deep down, I’m not ok at all.