Emily

Rivers don’t always flow.

Swirling whirlpools form due to irregularities in the riverbed, constrictions, and differential current speeds.

I am spinning in slow circles in one of those whirlpools.

My friends and family flow on by.

They turn into mothers and fathers.

I’m caught in this loop of grief forever.

They flow toward pregnancy, birth, holding their baby for the first time, feeling little arms around their necks.

They flow toward parental exhaustion and sleepless nights.

They flow toward tangible milestones, as their lives become forever intertwined with a younger life.

I swirl slowly, stuck in one place. My womb is empty. I will never give birth. I will never feel little arms around my neck.

I swirl slowly, stuck in time. Too much time. How do I fill all this time?

I have no tangible milestones. My life is not connected to anyone younger.

I age in my slow whirlpool.