Does it tell me what I want to hear, does it show me who I am or who I want it to? That was the thought on my mind when I pulled back a strand of my hair and smiled at the reflection of the lady, today was one of the good days I thought? As I rushed back to take one last glance. I noticed the rumpled dress and then the dull eyes, it took away the smile and then I felt unhappy, truly unhappy. I knew I had made my hair into a perfect bun. How did I leave out this one? Unable to tuck it in without having to loosen the entire updo, I pulled out the band and as my hair drops to my back I notice a button had fallen out on my blouse. Now fully irritated by the way the day was going, I hiss again, pull off the blouse and begin to search through clothes which were mostly rumpled.
Now totally exhausted and unable to find a perfect replacement, I grabbed my needle and thread and begun to attempt to replace the button. Standing before the mirror I looked up and saw the scar, yes that scar that reminded me of my loss. How I had waited to be called Mum, to hold my own baby in my arms. What was the point of a scar with no Baby, no job. How I had been asked to resign because of the troubled pregnancy and was out of work most part of the first 4 months. How could I accept I had gone through so much loss, pain, nausea and waited 9 months to meet a dead baby?
My mirror had become my frenemy, pulling back memories I so wished I could wipe away, Maybe someday, I will look into it and it will mirror a whole woman dancing with her little angel.
Image: Jeppe Hein