in the south we don’t say “you’re a dumb fuck” we say “bless your heart” and i think that’s beautiful.
the more mind-obliteratingly stupid we find you, the more descriptive we get. “bless your precious, sweet, mama-loving heart” means we’re not 100% certain how you possess enough intelligence to draw breath.
This is a raw, unedited story. It deals with themes of miscarriage, pregnancy loss both past and present, and a crisis of faith. It is personally, acutely, very intimately painful.
Unfortunately, it also sets up the story arc that’s been burning my brain the last few days. Rose Athena wanted it out there. It’s out there. This is where everything starts, but it’s not where it all ends.
Please forgive any grammatical or pacing errors. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to reread this and edit it. It needed writing, though. It’s part of Rose Shepard’s story. It’s part of a lot of women’s stories. If this touches on any personal pain for anyone reading this, please know my prayers are with you. You’re not alone.
I sobbed. Hard. It hit me like a gut-punch. Especially today, of all days, when the numbness of yet another unwanted Shark Week is happening. I was feeling rather despairing and alone, since the hubby’s out of town. Thank you, that had to hurt like hell to write.
This is why I will always cure the Genophage. An entire species, no matter how fictional, doesn’t deserve what I have had to deal with my entire adult life.