There was never a clear explanation. On their death certificate, words that sounded official were used, but they did not tell me why my little girl had passed away.
I hated the doctors for not knowing.
On the 12th day, Maggie passed away.
I hated myself for believing them when they said they still had options.
Above all, I hated people who told me that Maggie was “in a better place,” because I knew exactly where her best place had been.
At home. With us.
Paul and I never had another child.
Most of all, I hated people who told me Maggie was “in a better place.”
Two years after Maggie's death, Paul asked me if I had ever thought of trying again.
“I can’t,” I said.
He nodded. “Then we won’t.”
So we became a family of two. It was not the life we had planned, but in the end it became a life.
