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December 30, 2019

The Bassinet

.

The Bassinet
       

the bassinet 
seemed a more suitable option
rather than him taking you 
in a black bag 
 
they said that’s what happens
but I had time to prepare 
and make it feel friendlier 
so I bought the one
with pink polka dots 
 
and months later,
I went to the hospital 
bassinet in hand, with the sunrise 
belly swelled too full 
 
the greeter at the desk smiled
gave an approving nod 
“it looks like today is the day,” she said 
but my room 
was not like the rest 
 
at the end of the hall 
away from normalcy 
the crying babies
the common concerns 
their naivety 
white flower at the door 
to warn others to be serious
because you would not 
be okay 
 
and when days had gone by 
and time told us to leave
for new things 
me in the wheelchair
you in your bassinet 
across my lap 
 
I was careful to attach 
the matching cover 
wanting to avoid the catastrophe 
of someone peering in unexpectedly 
 
on the way out, let me have 
just a touch of pride
for all I had done
which was the same 
as the other mothers, 
but much more 
 
give me the crumbs 
at least the illusion 
a sham of new beginnings 
while strolling 
past the onlookers 
 
But she steered me out 
another way, the back way, 
the sterile way, the cold way
past the autopsies 
the way death exits
the way shame feels like
to a black car waiting
with a man in a dark coat 
 
and I held you 
alone 
in the back seat 
while you laid still 
in your bassinet
no car seat, so strange
 
I took off the cover 
and listened to the music 
watched the cars outside my window
life buzzed around
holiday decorations   
 
and I looked back down at you
and said I’m sorry
and pretended 
we were just going home 

About the author
Erin is the mother of 4 children. Two sons, one daughter who passed away, and another daughter through the gift of adoption.
Her first daughter was born in late 2014 after she chose to continue the pregnancy despite a fatal prognosis at 20 weeks. She now recognizes how unbearably difficult and traumatic this time was, and has immense compassion for any choice made when a baby is diagnosed with poor or fatal outcome. She recently wrote this piece, remembering her experience planning for the birth and death of her daughter with a new pink bassinet. While everyone else was blissfully celebrating the holiday season, she just wanted a piece of normalcy as she left the hospital with her baby for their one and only stop—the funeral home. Perhaps this lacks inspiration, but it is real. Life goes on even in our deepest despair, and sometimes we cannot even create a semblance of a warm narrative. Sometimes, sitting with what is real is the best medicine of all.

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Founded in 2012, Still Standing Magazine, LLC, shares stories from around the world of writers surviving the aftermath of loss, infertility - and includes information on how others can help. This is a page for all grieving parents. If you grieve the loss of your child, no matter the circumstances, you are welcome here.
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