You‘re dying.

You‘re dying.

And here I was thinking this would be the best day of our lives: the birth of our daughter.

But you‘re bleeding. And it won‘t stop. And you‘re looking at me like you know what’s going to happen. Oh, I know you know. I know I know. And I would kill myself immediately if I knew you could live for it. But I have to stay. For you. For her.

Our newborn daughter sleeps in her bed, while I can only kneel in front of yours, holding onto your hand, praying for–

I don‘t even know for what.

Losing you feels like a ridiculous dream. You. My wife, the mother of my child, the love of my life. I‘d give everything to keep you.

Yes, I want to scream. I want to insult God and the world and want to kick around me like an angry toddler, I‘m just so desperate to do anything, but there‘s no way I can help you, other than holding your hand, kissing your forehead and being there for you for the last few minutes of your life.