My eyelids slowly blinked the sleep away, groggily struggling to greet the new day. Foggy shapes started to find their edges as the soft blue glow of morning light peeked in from behind the closed curtains. There was always this fleeting moment of comfort as my mind lingered in dreamland. But as reality came more clearly into focus, an electrifying jolt of shock would inevitably strike my heart. Once again, I’d be jarred awake to the living nightmare that was now my life.
I would not awaken to find my one-month-old daughter sleeping peacefully in her pink bassinet beside the bed. I would not hear the gentle sound of her nasally breathing or her small cry for milk. Instead, I would live another day as a mother without her child.
I dreaded waking up in the days and months following her death. Our empty house felt like a tomb. Facing the days without my baby girl filled me with a new type of morning sickness — a mourning sickness that really felt more like a soul sickness.
No one wants their worst fears to be realized. No one chooses to wake up under a weighted blanket of dread. Yet, there I was.
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