It’s just a shoe, a pink baby shoe, but it shatters me like glass on the road where I walk, and I can’t go on…can only cradle myself against a tree as I would have cradled my child, the one who bled red from me.
There was nothing truer than that child’s life, than my muscles making room for the link of limb, and now I feel false, a woman with an empty womb and it’s all I can do to pull myself home.
friends, i am over here at The High Calling today… please, visit. and please note, this miscarriage happened prior to Aiden… i had a dream, in which it was a beautiful girl, and i cannot wait to meet her, one day in heaven. i am also hosting, as per usual, imperfect prose on thursdays (link up, below). love to you all.
1. link up a post (old or new) that you feel is ‘broken’ or ‘imperfect’ or somehow redemptive
2. put the ‘imperfect prose’ button at the bottom of your post, so others can find their way back here (see button code in right-hand column of my blog)
3. read other’s offerings, and encourage them!
Learn more about imperfect prose here.
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Image by Kelly Sauer (http://www.kellysauer.com/). Used with permission.