I remember going to Walmart a week after they released me from the hospital. I needed sports bras, Kleenex, and a new journal. And I remember walking through the aisles and thinking as I dodged a little old lady, these people have no fucking idea what I’m going through right now. I’m not sobbing uncontrollably, and I’m responding to all of the social cues. I said hi back to the greeter, excused myself when I accidentally bumped into a shelf, and I remembered to look both ways before stepping into the hazardous crosswalk. I even smile occasionally. Yet every part of my body throbs with the pain of losing her. And these people have no clue. They don’t know that I gave birth a week ago, that my daughter was silent and beautiful. They don’t know that my breasts leak through these pitiful bras. They don’t know that I cry when I step in the shower, blood running down my legs, my arms cradling the empty skin of my stomach. No one in the store has access to these intimate moments. My grief is my own, to bear privately. -CM

Oh, how strongly I relate to this from the book I sit here reading. I had the same thoughts at Target when I had to go buy tight sports bras to minimize swelling, nursing pads to soak up the milk leaking from my breasts, and pads for all the bleeding. This, just days after I delivered you. And I especially relate to sobbing alone in the shower and cradling my empty stomach, aching for you.