Humanist Thought of the Week: 9 23 2008
Living with Grief
I don’t know what color my daughter’s eyes were.
I never saw them. She was stillborn at 36 weeks into the pregnancy.
That was 5 years ago.
I cried a lot when she died. And as time went on, I cried a little less.
Now, as the mother of a handsome 3-year-old boy, I barely have time to think about my daughter.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t.
I think of her every time someone asks me if my son is my only child.
I think of her every time someone asks me if we are planning to have another.
And sometimes I think of her just because.
Like today, when I was thinking of how beautiful my son’s eyes are and I realized I don’t know what color my daughter’s eyes were.