by Tara Lazar
I want to talk about today in the past tense. The babysitter has arrived, my husband has warmed the car, and I sit quietly in the kitchen, unable to drink a glass of water, the one thing I am allowed to have in my stomach. I rub my belly, feel it shift beneath the weight of my hand, and try to say goodbye. She will not live, they told me, she cannot live. Have this done, they said, and you can move on. Move on to the child who will come next, whose fate is sealed after today.
Tara Lazar, author of PTA Newsletter, writes for the sheer joy of creating. You can find her not-so-anonymously here.