Blood

Lie for a while with your ear against the earth
And you'll hear your sister sleep talking saying your hair is long
But not long enough to reach home to me

-Jordan Lee Ireland/ Rohin Luke Jones

I like to think of her blood still being with me.

For six months, we shared a circulatory system, and I know that scientists say fetal DNA can live on within the mother for decades after birth, hiding out in organs like the pancreas and the heart.

I really hope hers is still there with mine. It gives me some comfort knowing I get to carry a small piece of her.

 So when my arms ache because there is no baby for me to hold, or when my breasts leak and I find myself actually crying over spilled milk, I clutch at my torso and imagine my daughter’s blood inside my body with me.

 I never bled when I was pregnant with her. No cramping, no undue fears of miscarriage. I had no complications that I was aware of.  I was surrounded by women who moved through pregnancy and delivered healthy babies. Why should I be any different? She was here, kicking, wriggling, swirling inside of me, and then just as suddenly as I felt her movements start, she was gone.

 Now I bleed incessantly. I’ve bled for a week and a half, with the expectation to bleed for at least another three. I don’t necessarily mind, because it means she was real. My flesh and bone, my blood, my daughter.

 I just hope I get keep a little bit of her blood inside of me.