When you lose your baby, it is hard to believe a day will come that you don’t cry for her. But it comes sooner than you think.
It’s a little like a baseball pitcher in the middle of a no-hitter. Don’t mention it to him, don’t let him realize he has a no-hitter going, or he’ll blow it.
When I realized I hadn’t cried yet yesterday, I started to try to cry. Let me dig through my memories and find a particularly good one and dwell on it until tears form.
But tears, like laughter, have to come from a genuine place. They’re best, most therapeutic, when they sneak up on you.
Then came the guilt. How can I think of my baby and not cry? What’s wrong with me? Isn’t this too soon?
There is no right or wrong way to feel in a situation like this.
There is just the way you feel.