We took our miscarried baby which had been wrapped gently in a handkerchief and placed into a container, and buried it in the cold light of dawn. We said goodbye amongst tears, shivering sweat, and a broken shovel. We marked the spot with a stone and walked back, bodies touching, loss echoing through us. In that short time we named a baby that would never be. Our bond shattered and mended tighter than before. Our lives changed forever–we had buried a child. For most around us, time went on the same…but in that cold, still light of dawn, WE would never be the same. Our surviving children woke a short time later, oblivious to the sweat on daddy’s brow, the pink in our cheeks, the tears in our eyes, and life.. marched.. on.
As you said, things go on.. and you’ve gone on without the little one. I’m sorry you had to.
Hugs to you, Jill. This is something you will carry with you to the end of your days. My mom is in her mid-70s and is still mourning. He’s not in the very front of her mind anymore, but hovers in the corner of her eye – always and never there.