The nurses would always stop and ask if I wanted the volume turned off.
My answer, the same every time.
Laying in my hospital bed, I was lulled to sleep each night by the sound of three beating hearts.
Despite the constant scares of impending delivery, their rhythms gave me hope.
They were very much alive and hanging on.
Just one more month, week, day.
I wished with everything I had that those hearts would never skip a beat.
There was a time when I hated thinking of my weeks in the hospital.
My body had failed and I wasn’t able to give my babies the time they needed to grow.
But now, I remember and wish for every moment back.
The bitterness and resentment I used to feel has been washed over by gratitude and warmth.
I was given 10 weeks of space and time and hope.
My daughter did not live a full week.
But I could tell you the whole life I dreamt for her
between the beats of three tiny hearts.
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