Two Weeks After Our Baby Died, My 8-Year-Old Whispered, “Mom, She Isn’t Gone—I Saw What Daddy Did at the Hospital”
“Mom, she’s not gone,”
I would sit beside that version of myself.
She was still physically healing.
Still bleeding.
Still waking at night expecting a newborn cry.
About to discover that her husband had hidden a goodbye she desperately wanted.
I would tell her:
First, listen to Toby.
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