This Is Not About Komen.

Her lymphedema made the thoughts worse.

What was worse – the pain of swelling, having to hold her arm above her broken heart, or the loss of her first child’s suckling grace – mound of milk she tendered to his mouth thirteen years ago?

The world is so full with pain that some people just don’t know what to do.

The clinic services stopped racing six months ago.

She sank. She sank down into the bed. Melted down into it.

Not to cry nor to disappear nor to sleep.

She sank, so she could return to where all good things return: to motherhood – dark secret depth of creation’s light.

To mother herself was to give new birth, was to endure new labor pains, was to see both death and birth in ways nobody ever showed her.