The Pain of LIfe

I hate the bruises,
But I look at them.
I own them.
They are mine.

I watched the nurse
Take my blood.
I told her where it was best
To drain me of a little life.
I was trying to be helpful
Because I don't bleed easily.

I sat there
And answered the mundane questions of:
Why are you here?
My baby died.
Do you feel safe?
I suppose, but life scares the hell out of me.
Do you drink?
Well, I didn't. I was pregnant, but I might start now.
How many children do you have?
Three.

Three. Two sons and a daughter.
She had a name.
A beautiful, perfect name.
But, she's gone now.
Please give me something for the pain.
Can I have my husband now?
I need him. Desperately.

And then it was over.
The life drained from me.
And I don't even recall the pain.
Thank God.

And now, I  watch my children study my bruises,
And wonder why Mommy is hurting
But I can't explain why the physical
Will never hurt as much as the mental.  
So, I hold them close.
And at night, when the softness of dreams is the only sound,
I touch them.
Ever so gently
And I am so thankful I have my precious children here on earth
To heal my broken heart.