15
MADELINE
A young woman named Tara sat beside me at support group on Wednesday night. Like me, she’d given birth to a stillborn child. But she hadn’t hemorrhaged to the point she’d ended up in emergency surgery and lost the ability to carry a child again.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she shared her story, and not knowing a thing about the woman, I reached for her hand and squeezed. She clung to me until finished with her tale of grief.
I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and encourage her that every day got better. That some moments hurt with sorrow as fresh as first learning of your loss, but they became fewer and further between with each passing month.
Her daughter’s name had been Mia.
Ours had been Maya Joy.
Even after the group time ended, Tara and I lingered near the exit,
