Dear Noah,
I’m not much fun to be around. I don’t want to talk about the weather, or work, or the holidays, or anything but you. They say that couples who experience still birth are 40% more likely to break up. Part of me understands why. I don’t like being around me much right now either.

I have to wonder what the break up rate is for friends. How much longer they will be patient with me not calling, not answering the phone, or cutting them off too soon. We talk,and you are always first. They try. They let me talk about you, but when I’m done (or before, because am I ever done?) they move on to their lives. And frankly, I usually just don’t care. You can’t find parking? Don’t know which phone to buy? Tired because your child won’t sleep? Don’t care. My baby is dead, remember? How can I care about anything else?

And then there is family. “Chin up, it will get better.” (How? Are you coming back?) “Hopefully soon you can focus on your living son” (Am I not now? He is here. I love him, but he doesn’t replace you.) “You’re going on with your routine, right?” (It’s been two fucking weeks. Is that all you would mourn your children?)

I’m not very nice. I get angry with everyone. I get angry because their lives go on, and yours does not. You are a part of me, so my life stops I fits and starts. My body is here, but yours is supposed to be inside of me. We are supposed to be one, and you are gone. A part of me is missing, and I get angry that they don’t see it.


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