This morning I am writing to you from the ward. It is 5:30am and my first shift back is nearly finished. I’m not doing fabulously but we’re on the home stretch. All in all, I’m glad I’m only starting with one shift and I’m glad its a night duty. Less pressure. Fewer people to see me cry.

It would be a little easier if I wasn’t so sick. My nose and eyes and sinus are plaguing me and I still have my cough. Do you know the letter the hospital sent to my doctor says I have pneumonia? They didn’t mention that when I was in there.

So I’m sick and I’m tired and I don’t feel ready to be back, but I have no sick leave left and think its time to start getting back to my normal life. All of which means, here I am.

8:30pm- Home again. Still sick. Still tired. Horrified by the idea that I’m supposed to work next Sunday on Mother’s Day. I don’t think I feel the need to do that to myself.

I came across a website this evening created by a woman who lost a baby. She takes submissions from people to write their lost baby’s and children’s names on the beach at sunset and take a picture. I thought it was a lovely idea. I didn’t really understand why you wouldn’t want to do it yourself. Then I realised she charges money for this. I understand the reality of time invested and maybe printing photos (but I think they’re digital files). I just don’t know if I can feel okay with that.

I don’t really understand regardless of money. You’re mine. I wanted other people to celebrate you and then mourn you but I don’t feel I could ever put your memory into someone else’s hands. The garden I’m building for you is a labour of love and something I feel very possessive of. Our place. Because I will always be yours and you will always be mine.

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