I wonder if my voice might disappear. Replaced by great gulping sobs. Or pathetic little whimpers. When someone asks me if I want anything, they mean a refill of my ginger ale or maybe a cracker. I choke on my answer because what I want--all I want--is my baby.
There's a website called Glow that I'm not ready to read. There's a woman named Kate who lost her son at six weeks. She spoke recently at a walk for bereaved parents.
I looked up the word bereaved in the OED. Do you know what it means? I always thought it meant sad, grieving.
This is the dictionary definition:
Deprived or robbed; taken away by force; spec. deprived by death of a near relative, or of one connected by some endearing tie.
We are bereaved, David and I. We are stunned and saddened and heartbroken. We are bereaved parents and I still don't know how this is possible.
This is a link to Kate's speech.