Many years ago my little daughter died.
She was not ready to be born, but her spirit moved away before I could hold her in my arms.
It was early morning when I went to hospital, knowing I had to give birth to a baby that wasn't alive anymore.
The misty waves crept between trees and shrubs, the traffic went slow and some trafficlights didn't work for unknown reasons.
The feeling of surreality stayed with me when I entered the huge hall of the hospital, carrying a secret no one could see and no one would see.
The long corridor was sliding away under my feet, like time was slipping through my hands.
I was going to give birth, without happiness, without life, not knowing how this would change my life, transform me.
Oh, the nurses were kind, almost unseen.
The gyneacologist a friend, who was afraid to look me in the eyes.
But it was not his fault part of nature left me on a dark lonely evening.
He was only the observer.
While the morning sun swept away the moisture of the night, I waited with a drip in my arm, a book unread on the table.
Hours went by. Soft feet. A few hesitant smiles.
The contractions started.
A new doctor counted my pulse and started to speak words that were meant to comfort, but he sounded like a hoarse crow scraping it's throat in the early morning.
I was not in for a fight to keep my own feelings dictate my actions, I didn't want to be polite and take the feelings of other people into account.
Not today. For once, not today.
So I asked him to leave, never to come back.
I didn't need to be told that most pregnancies end well.
Being a mom of 4, I already knew.
Being a mom of a deseased baby I also knew the grief to come.
No boy of 24 with acne and trembling hands while counting my heartbeat could easy my pain with booklet words and wisdom.
All what was conforting was that many women before went through the same and survived.
I knew I would become a better mom for my other children, and more aware of nature, of life.
The clock counted the hours, until we counted how long the contractions lasted.
Then she was born.
She was beautiful on my hands.
There was no room for tears, because even in death this little baby brought serenity to my life.
Half an hour later I was rushed to the OR.
I was nearly bleeding to death and there was no room available.
The 5 minute wait was almost too long.
Later I was told it was a miracle I was still alive.
To me that was science, a good gynaecologist and the gift of donorblood.
The miracle was that this little dead baby has changed my life.
Now reason, no war, nothing can be an excuse to kill people,
because the silence of death lasts longer than any war ever will.