I thought I would call you again
when I could speak of something other than death.

 

I still think that some days.

 
 
From of this, we will not speak by Angie Yingst

Who can I talk to about my son? Who can I talk to about my son’s death? Will I ever be able to talk about anything else?
 
Any new parent wants to talk about their newborn baby. I am no exception, even though my newborn baby died.
 
Are people scared of me? Or is that my own fear, reflected back in their eyes
 
Are people tired of hearing about my life, now that it’s become so complicated and wrought? Or is that my own fatigue, after months of living through this?
 
Am I making everyone sad?
Yes, yes I am.
 
But, no: this awful thing that happened to Sacha and me, that is what’s making them sad. I did not ask for it and I did not cause it. I could not have prevented it.
 
Life happened to me.
 
Who cares about that? Who wants a story that isn’t wrapped up with a pretty ribbon?
 
I cannot speak of something other than death. But I am blessedly surrounded by people who are willing to listen.

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