My Lonely City

Today was very hard. For a few reasons. A cardinal flew full-tilt into the window at my grandmother’s house where we were visiting, breaking its neck. I watched it die, its wings quivering, its body convulsing and then, within a moment, growing still. My young cousins came over to gawk at it, looking through the glass like a television. I asked my grandma if she had a shovel to bury it with, but she said to throw it over the fence.

I did; it was her house. It fell awkwardly, hitting branches and landing with almost no sound. I hope it finds rest.

After leaving there – my family’s Thanksgiving – we went to my husband’s family’s. And the cousins were all there, with their endearing, hyperactive, generally delightful children running amok.

I miss my baby so much. We would have been parents by now. Tomorrow we have a final Thanksgiving meal, with another cousin (I seem to collect them the way other people collect teapots or ceramic roosters) who is pregnant. I am happy for her and her husband, but I don’t want to hear about her symptoms, or name ideas, or … anything, really. I just don’t want to hear it.