I have taken the time to mourn my losses
Appreciate my gains
And the chance to live past my fears
I have scrubbed the house clean of reminders
Nursing pillows, bras, pads of all kinds
And tossed them out like yesterday’s trash
I even cleaned out my hope chest
Put away those hopes
And discarded wishes for babies that will never come
The binkies were easy.
The bottles are gone.
But little pink clothes, so soft in my hands, lingered on
I always put them away before. Way back in the closet
Maybe next time, I hoped
But now I know next time will never come
My breasts are gone. I could not feed her.
My ovaries are gone. I could not create her.
My cancer history would stop adoption.
The little girl I dreamed of is not to be.
She will not come, all pink and new
She was only a dream, a hope, a wish
And I will remain a mother of boys
For as long as I remain
My future intertwined in theirs.
And this, this sealing of the little pink box
Mailing it to a faraway friend
Is the end of the mourning process.