I don’t really want to write about this. But i will. I will because i need to get it out. I need to say it, to feel it, to allow myself to remember.
Todays a big anniversary date. It is the anniversary of our best friends babys birth. The day that phoebe was born, and killed. Killed at the hands of evil people. Killed when she was only a few minutes old.
I feel so raw. I witnessed that whole birth, and death too. Witnessed every single minute of it. I cant begin to let you my readers know how absolutely horrific it was. I think its the sound of the babys cry, and the smell of the burning that stays with me. It never leaves you, ever.
Our best friend was 12 when she gave birth to phoebe. 12 years old. Its not right. She was only 7 months into her pregnancy when she was forced to deliver her baby. Her frantic screams will never leave me either. The agony she was in. The evil laughter of those evil men is another thing that just wont go away. They didn’t care. I think they had no conscience. They cared only about evil and the doing of it.
We don’t ever talk about that night, our friend and us. It is just an unspoken thing between us. Its a wonder our friend isn’t dissociative, but to the best of my knowledge she isn’t. How she copes, i’m not sure. She has two kids now and she did say to me that their births were very difficult, reminding her of the baby she lost, and triggering all the trauma of that terrible night all those years ago.
Today, i want to honour phoebe. She lived. She breathed. She is thought about today by us. I want her to know she is loved. And she is not just a statistic or another death.