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Molly Swiderski


Molly Swiderski

Maureen (title of poem)

I grew up knowing the story.
It was just fact, no emotions.

There was a name and a grave stone
in the back left corner, close to the corn field so that when we would visit we had to clear away brush that had blown over.

I grew up knowing the story
but not ever understanding the feelings; the loss, sadness, devastation and shock that had to accompany that moment.
I never thought about that aspect until I was eight months pregnant.

To have gone through all those days and months
and then have it taken away.
To have endured morning sickness, middle of the night bathroom trips, maternity clothes, people wishing you luck,
preparing your 2-year old daughter for the arrival of her sister
and then have it taken away.

To have had a name picked out
only to engrave that name on a tombstone.
I never thought about what my mom had gone through until now.
Now I feel such empathy for her, such sadness.
I can’t believe they went through that and came out “unscathed” to my eyes.

How often did the questions replay?
Was it the burning brush?
Did I run too fast or too far?
What did I eat last week?

How do you think about anything else
for the first days, weeks, months and year?
And then being pregnant again
how do you not worry every minute of every day?

I grew up knowing the story but not ever feeling the story until now.