Wasteland

I thought apocalypse jokes were funny before I was in one.

Knock knock, who's there?

No answer.

I don't have answers for anything anymore because for me, the world that I knew ended last April when Rachel's baby died of an umbilical cord accident while she was in labor.  It was an accident that no one could have prevented or predicted.  

Rachel's baby's death was an accident like a meteor falling on your head and killing you dead as you were going out to get the mail. You could not have prevented that.  There isn't even anyone for your loved ones to rage against in the aftermath. Who are they going to hate? God?  The Universe? That doesn't work. Your loved ones aren't simpletons.

So all the disappointment and pain and disbelief lay waste to everything anyone felt was true about safety and security and purpose.  You can plan and do the right things and make all the wise decisions and still you could end up in a wasteland.  Choose your own adventure. But sometimes you don't get to choose. Not when Oliver died and this summer that was supposed to be the summer of a newborn boy is the summer of desolate nights and me reaching across the parched earth for my friend Rachel who didn't deserve this.

Things go wrong in pregnancy.  Children die of stupid things for no reason.  I knew this.  I'm grown.  But for it to happen, though.  For it to happen.

Nothing to say about it.  Nothing to do for it.  Nothing but reaching across the sad ground for my friend. Giving the wasteland the finger. Wishing our arms weren't empty.

Wishing for life.