:: The S.I.C.L.E. Cell ::

my view from the prison of a SICLE (Self-Imposed Child Loss Experience) due to debilitating maternal disease
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:: Saturday, July 31, 2004 ::

It's 5 AM and I am not sleeping. I have been awake since yesterday morning. The house is black and still. I am alone in all the world. I stumble upon Billy Joel's Goodnight, My Angel, and I am dying. I perish in my heart and soul.

I call to mind the faces of my son and little daughter. I know their every freckle, every nuance. They make me see. To the forefront comes my first child and then fading, fading away.

In sibling shadows I visage my first, and thoughts of how deeply s/he was wounded flicker dangerously about. Like oil through a sieve they deluge all at once and disappear. I can't catch them in a cup or I will cease to exist.

Momentary notions of Planned Parenthood T-shirts, political platforms, deranged liberal advocates, inane arguments... bounce around in stinging barbs of laughter when I have fallen down. Meaningless all. Hollow evaporation.

Goodnight, my angel...
"Someday we'll all be gone
but lullabyes go on and on;
they never die.
That's how you and I
will be."

Tears stream down my face in unending rivulets.

I am there sitting here.
Its weight is upon me.

I listen to my infant daughter sucking her fist in the dark of the adjoining room...
I am overcome with love
and scarlet mourning.

:: ashli 8:00 AM # ::

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