A Mother's Pain

"You can't keep dwelling."
"You have to get over it."
"He's in a better place."

These words like knives slice open my grieving, aching, screaming heart.

"How many kids do you have?"
"Don't your other two children make up for the loss?"

These questions like swift kicks to my empty, hollow, scarred womb attempt to erase the sweet, fading memory, to silence the suffering of a mother whose child never took his first breath.

"Why didn't you go to the hospital sooner?"
"Maybe he would still be alive if you would have just gone in."
"It should have been you."

These words like bees with stingers at the ready sworm every inch of my mind, creating a colony, expanding--ever expanding, their buzz at all consuming, inhumane decibels reverberates.

"What is wrong with you?"
"Why can't you be stronger?"
"Why aren't you better yet?"

These thoughts like a fatal cancer attack each of my cells making me violently sick, debilitating me entirely--till I give up.