Well heyyyy, it's five after midnight and whaddaya know! I'm having myself a li'l "Dear God in heaven, I killed my child!" freak out session.
I'm telling you, I read everything in the abortion facility's literature and this was just not in the brochure.
I needs must retire. My children (you know, the living ones) need a well rested mother tomorrow. Would one be willing to come over? Because I will be zonked.
Humor, humor. Comic relief. Talk me down, man. TALK ME DOWN.
Breathing deeply. Telling myself the moment will pass.
It's something of a panic attack, but not a real panic attack, the kind that don't make sense. I had those during my fourth pregnancy. They come from nowhere. They leave a residue of impending doom. Total flight response. Nothing to wrap your head around. This is different. There's a sort of panic, but not wrought by impending doom. Rather precipitated by retro doom. Someone else's demise and my blasted survival without him/her. Tomorrow looms... a sense of living another day without the would-be 8-year-old. My child.
Presently, if I flew into my darkened room, crawled into bed... I'd be asleep in less than ten minutes, and yet I persist. I am slightly afraid of dreaming tonight.
C'mon, Mother. This is nothing new.
There's a wee one at my church. She was born on my tummy mummy's exact due date. I look at her and think of my own. I look at her and die.
...a moment passes. ...a moment more.
Ah, the lifelong instant departs in the sense of immediate emotional urgency. I will let it go until the next one. As with contractions I will breathe in the interim.
God finds me here looking at my hands, longing for the love they decimated.
:: ashli 3:30 AM # ::