Revenge.

Doing this shit anyway.

So take that, grief.

Grief that told me to stay in bed and put Vesta in front of the TV. Grief that made my living child’s calling to me today the most irritating sound I’ve ever heard. Grief that won’t give up: that despite my placing myself strategically in the storytime room, brought a newborn and her big sister directly in front of me, a pregnant woman to my right and a happy mother with her baby in the same car seat we have for Harvey and her older daughter happily doting on her baby sister to my left. Grief that connects me to my dead baby but attempts to separate me from my living child.

I’m here anyway, despite you. Despite your insistence to accompany me every where I go. Despite your heaviness and persistence.

We’re doing this shit anyway.

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