Lindsay Bane

Wishing my child would be born

Is very similar to wishing a deceased loved one would reanimate or return from the dead.

I pray, call, talk to them out loud, as if they’re here, I’m pleading- please be here.

And they never come. I never hear a word. Never hear a cry, not a single sob.

My baby will not be born. My beloved dead will not return.

And there’s no amount of prayer or magic or science that seems to change these things.

My sadness in this silence is the same, a sadness for a child, a sadness for a kindred.

Memories skewed and dreams unlived, time is now heavy with loss. For what I wanted and what I needed, blown away into a callous wind that didn’t even ask my name, impersonal as it was.

No matter what reproductive science advised, I never conceived a baby. No matter what supplements I took, no matter what surgery I had, the baby would not come.

And no matter what I did to try and save my beloved’s life, their life would not be saved. No matter how much I loved her, supported her, praised, admired and respected her, she would leave me, she would die.

They will not stay with me

They will not come to me

I have to go to them