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A fragment of the Garden of Remembering

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The discomfort of the people around the parents whose child died is a fraction of the pain of living after the death of your own child. That pain is magnified exponentially every time another person ignores that your child ever existed. Someone literally asked me once if I counted my son (when I was pregnant with my third after my son's death) since he died at 17 months old, or if I considered my current pregnancy my second child. I almost asked her if she counted her living 13 month old as her child. This whole attitude is absolutely ridiculous.