Others, too.

No mother should ever have to bury her child.  Yet, we do.

I am so exhausted.  Achy, sore – in my heart, my chest.  Sore from digging the grave of my baby.  Sore from holding R’s baby – lifting, carrying.  I wanted to smell him, hold him, even as waves of sorrow rose and fell with every inhalation of his milky, infant scent.

I feel hollow.  Spent.  Perhaps, the worst is over.  Perhaps, now I will sleep.  This happened.  It hurts.  It has happened to others, too.

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