Reflections: who I was and who I am.

Over the last week I have opened up truths about the last year to a new friend. It wasn’t painful to be honest for once, it was refreshing. But something was painful.

I decided to write a short play for an event, which I did. Then I thought I should get back to the play I started writing last year. I found it and read through it again to remind myself where I needed to write more. That’s when it got painful. I threw my soul into those words and they bit me. I felt melancholy and close to tears the rest of the day, only feeling better when meeting the earlier mentioned friend.

Yesterday, I played the song I wrote almost a year ago which defines the miscarriage for me. I’ve played it a number of times but, this time, I started crying. Maybe it is just tiredness or maybe everything is feeling raw at the moment.

My husband thinks that it is the time of year. It is a year since I started writing again and I started learning to recover. Looking back on who I was then is like looking at a different person most of time time. I can sometimes see that anger though, glinting back up. I walk with my nephew and people smile at me. I don’t have that in the rest of my life.

Being a mother changes the way the world views you. Being a mother without a child changes the way you view the world.

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Poem 75

One year ago.
One. Whole. Year.
One whole year since I first saw a faint line
And my life changed.
I’m not who I was
No longer that girl
The one with endless hope and smiles
Free from heartbreak.
Now I’m broken
And re-formed
Pieced back together, day by day, hour by hour.
Longing for that different life.
Tested and challenged;
Triumphed and defeated;
Discovering new limits and realms of me –
Destroyed?
Recovered?
Just being.

Never met due date

Today should be a day we celebrate
A day filled with joy, and pain
A day we meet a new life
And our life has some gain
But instead today we miss all things
The beauty of new life
Sadness overwhelms
Why can’t I have that life?
A pair of lungs that screams and screams
Until comforted by me
They settle info rhythmic rasps
With synchronicity.
Your time, it was not meant to be
Unhelpful as that knowledge is
I must go on, but I will remember
Your life that was never lived.

Poem 62

“You’ve never failed before”

The words were spoken

“At least not when it mattered”:

Unhelpful remarks to a damaged girl.

The empty womb a reminder of

A fail? Compare my loss.

It wasn’t of my doing

I failed not – it wasn’t me

That caused my life such ruin.

Words like such restrict the healing

Well intended though received in harm

You have failed to express your true meaning.

Failure?

I have failed none.