December 10, 2003. Baltimore Maryland. 6lbs 7oz. 7:30pm. No pulse. No breathing. No movement. Dead on Arrival. Blue skin. Purple lips. Silence. monitors sound. Doctors try to revive her. still no pulse. Time of death 7:31. Try one more time. A voice of desperation. Try one more time…
Some may ask, well what happened. Who was it? How did the parents feel? Did the baby die? Did the doctors try again? You can’t just leave us on a cliff hanger like that. Where some see birth as a moment a life is born. For some it’s a moment of grief. Some a moment of fear. Some a moment of happiness. Some a moment of death. But whose story is it to tell? Is it the baby being born or the parents who endeavor that pain or that happiness in that moment. Who is it to say that a baby doesn’t want their story to be told? They have no say with their own story. The world can’t write its own story with no pen. Yet there’s world history. People can’t tell their own story with no voice. Yet there are echoes that never fade. The art of story telling isn’t always just about WHAT story you’re telling. It’s WHO’S story you’re telling. Take the pen out of other people’s hands. Write your own story.
…December 10, 2003. Baltimore Maryland. Silence. Sound. Silence again. The story doesn’t end- it just waits for someone to tell it. Maybe it’s already been told. Maybe you’ve heard it before. Or maybe…it’s still being written.
Unruly Bodies 
this is beautiful, absolute chills. This is such a powerful message, as it is so easy to tell another person’s story, but it is much more difficult to write your own, to have the vulnerability to share with others.
Wow. This is so powerful. I appreciate the vulnerability with this post. As mybodyisaforestfire said, it is difficult to tell your own story sometimes, compared to telling another person’s.