For months
You look forward to
A new beginning.
You don't know exactly what it will look like.
But you imagine
And plan
And collect information
To be prepared
For the new beginning.
Then you wake in the dark
Early one morning
And learn that what you were expecting
Is gone.
And you struggle,
Clawing at loose gravel,
To grasp the new reality.
First it does not compute.
Surely
It is a mistake.
You are dreaming.
So you pinch yourself
Or try to go back
To sleep.
But you know that it's true.
And you cry
Out of fear,
Sadness,
The shock of the unimaginable.
Then you think back
To the previous evening.
There were signs
That all was not well.
Signs that you did not want to see.
They didn't fit the story.
They didn't fit your experience
Or expectations.
So you pushed them away.
Now you turn the bits of recollections
Over
And over
Until they're worn and no longer
Trustworthy.
But by now you've sown the seeds of self-doubt:
I should have done something.
I coud have done more.
And then your mind short circuits
A little.
And you are forced to rest
In the fog of grief.
Once rested, you reach out
Cautiously.
You find that others have felt the same
Ripping away of hope.
And the same fear
And anger.
So you share
With them.
And slowly time resumes
And you heal
And love.
And there are new beginnings.
But there always remain scars,
And you are forever changed.
I did not expect a presidential election to remind me of stillbirth.
