Hormones, Grief, and Valentine's Day

Clutching the memory box the nurses carefully put together, I was wheeled down the quiet hallway. Tucked at the far end of the maternity ward in the room reserved for such tragedies, it was decided I would be brought down the back exit. I kept my head bowed since it felt like the cherubic babies in the Anne Geddes portraits were watching me. If I looked into their eyes, I would turn to stone....more