Prologue
Ever since my stillborn birth, people have been approaching me with a rather patronizing attitude. I can tell that they really don't care. As if I am not fully capable of processing the loss on my own child. The fools, they insist I'm in need of their fake sympathy. It's been like this every single day for the last year. People become friendlier and seemingly caring when baby topics are brought into a conversation.
"You would have been an amazing mother" or "I'm sorry he was robbed from you" "May he rest in peace" "I'm sure the next one will be healthy."
I guess it's because of my dedication in keeping the nursery I had built on my own when I found out I was carrying. It felt disturbing to throw everything away, and in a way made me feel good to know I had child. Had…
This year, this year was different. Today is the anniversary of my dead child. The nursery that I had locked away remains untouched. Everything in the same place I had left it in. The silly stuffed bear sits there in the awaiting crib, still waiting for its companion to warm the small bed…Morning comes too soon for me, it's my day off and I'm on leave for two weeks from work. The rain hits the windows with a calming pitter patter of falling raindrops. I sit there in the nursery for the first time in a year, I sit there in the rocking chair with my arms empty. No child of a year old, no laughter filling the room. A single tear streams down my cheek as I stare out the window. The room is dark and cold, not what I imagined the nursery to be.
I hold the bear I had bought for him, the bear to be his favorite toy, now it's my favorite…because it will always remind me of him.