The plop after the pee. Paralyzation. The sobs are quick and furious. The grief surprises me as I reach down into the toilet...
As far as my hand can go. To retrieve that which I thought would be born in October. Squishing the dark red mass in between my fingers. Blood sprinkling the seat, the floor, the walls. I'm loathe to wipe it as it's all that I'll ever have from this particular promise. Eyes straining thru tears for anything recognizable.
This scene repeats itself, like the animated flip books from my childhood. Sometimes slowly, sometimes quick, but the last page remains the same.
In the bathrooms where I welcomed life, I welcome ragged orbs of flesh. Every color red imaginable. My oldest would be delighted with the wide array.
Three hours have passed, my solitary bathroom waltz to be replaced by the more routine rhythms of an "ordinary" weekday morning. Turkey bacon to be broiled, oatmeal to be microwaved. Hugs to be dispensed.
Tears to be hidden.