I bought pink peonies on Thursday to mark five months. ‘Five months is a long time,’ a friend exclaims on the phone. Yes, it is, I think. No, it’s not, I think, too.
The peonies are still lovely, five days later, but all blown out and nearly done, another reminder that time keeps passing, putting more and more days between me and my daughter. I have hardly any words. I want to come here and write my love, my sorrow, my hope and my fear, but words won’t find me. I have imaginary pregnancy symptoms and a negative pregnancy test stashed in my closet. I have been five months without my baby. I have been five months without my baby.