How My Mother's Strength Helped Me Say Goodbye to My Son
When she took my dying son from my arms, I let her. I held my breath until I felt myself leave my body, only coming back because my baby needed me. I ignored the chemical smell of the hospital and instead focused on how much my son’s hair curled like his father’s. I watched my mother whisper prayers to him and adjust his newborn hospital hat making him look presentable, as if he were getting ready for a special meeting. She took a tissue from her purse, wet it with her spit and wiped the blood from the punctures in his little hands and arms.
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