The Unbearable Weight of Nothing


11 weeks and 6 days

I carried you, like a promise.
I felt you depart.
A sudden awareness of absence.
The wanting and the wishing, all that remains.
A reluctant member of the semi-secret sisterhood of loss.
Your father, like a rock, an anchor to sanity and strength.
Your family all around you.
Barely here, but already gone.



To read the full story of our miscarriage, start here.


(a Portuguese word meaning an ineffable longing for something lost in time).

Does a place ever call to you, like it has fingers reaching out to you from across the miles and memories?

Has your soul ever found root in the damp rich soil, or between the cracked concrete of a place now long out of reach?

Does the breeze ever waft with tales of people and days long forgotten?

Do you ever close your eyes, breathing in the rich cadmium sunlight, and think to yourself, “to return to there, would be to return to my soul,”?

Image by Ready Set Sarah
Saudade Р on the (image by Ready Set Sarah)