Childbirth as Therapy

When Phoebe was born, I found myself missing my mother and father so much. In the first few days after her birth, particularly during late night/early morning feedings when it’s quiet and I have time to think, I could barely make it through a feeding without weeping all over her tiny head.

I never knew that the hormones would be this crazy nor that having Phoebe would open up so many old wounds. She reminds me of my parents and other loved ones in so many ways and during the quiet of the night, I look at her in wonder and love and think about all those people who would love her so much if they were here.

It seems like having her has ripped the band aid off of things that I thought were healed but in reality were just scabbed over. Do we ever really heal from the death of a loved one? Or do we just kind of get used to their loss?

While I am able to think about my parents and remember the fun and aggravation of both of them, it’s during the late nights that I think about how much they loved me and how much, were they here, they would have loved Phoebe.

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