Almost Empty

On the morning of my heartbreaking hysterectomy.

Laying in bed, and one last time 
I find my hand cradling 
The bottom of my stomach, 
once a lifeline.  
The same place that bloats and swells 
with cramps and pain 
Requires removal, 
as it risks more than strain. 

It’s the place babies passed through,  
It’s a place where 
some babies even grew. 
I hate it, I loathe it, I once loved it,
It’s all so complicated.
The loss of my deepest dream 
clings tight, harder to release 
than I’d anticipated.

Today parts of my body 
will say goodbye 
And I will do all I can 
Not to continuously cry
When they transfer my body 
to the cold operating room table 
I promise I’ll try to think about 
all that this can enable.  

Last night I remembered a belly
once full and round, 
A delivery day, her first cry, 
the most beautiful sound. 
Noise, celebration, joy and gratitude, 
A miracle of which I didn’t right away 
recognize the magnitude. 
I’ll think about the other time 
this belly once swelled 
I’ll forever remember the night 
two babies were spontaneously expelled. 

It’s held me hostage, 
it’s ignored my pleas 
My uterus has to go, 
but it’ll never be a decision 
I made with ease. 
My body needs attention, 
I need it to survive 
But my heart feels shattered -
A reminder that I’m still 
very much alive. 

Goodnight moon, 
and your silver glow
Goodnight world, 
quiet and slow. 
Goodnight empty uterus, 
for the very last time 
Goodnight to my fertility 
A loss I can’t define.