The other night as I lay snuggled up to My Beloved, I wordlessly, in fact silently, apologized for not being able to bring our son safely into the world. I've apologized before - out loud - but he won't have any of it. He absolved me of any guilt months and months ago. Actually he never once pointed his angry finger at me in blame - he's been nothing but loving and supportive from the start, and has repeatedly told me that none of this was my fault. He's quite adamant about it.
But the guilt remains.
I know it wasn't my fault, but only in the sense that I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't set out to have an abruption that would kill Thomas and nearly kill me in the process.
But the fact remains that my body couldn't do what it was supposed to. It failed me, My Beloved, and most of all, our Thomas in the worst possible way.
And for that I'm so desperately sorry.