Late Night Thoughts

To the Childless Mother in the Drive-thru

A year has passed and for you, I save a moment in my prayers. Sordid details implanted in a womb's memory might still string a weary traveler's heart along, smothering any trespassing hope that may wish to layer. There's, of course, no method in the madness. Postponing the grief cannot be abided, so the only result is another step into the graceless future's promise.
I cannot think of a reason why you were beaten with this harsh loss. I think of you quite often and the wetness in your eyes, which a month before I met you might have given to your child. I only hope my expression gave you comfort. If not, I cannot apologize enough. My pain was not of importance, and my naïveté was of the young.
I cannot think of a reason as to why you found your way there; in the drive-thru of an overpriced restaurant with a wavering voice and messy hair. I only hope the food gave you some comfort, and that you found the price's worth. If not, I hope there was something else that did. I hope you've found happiness in another's berth.
When you stated his death in a matter of fact tone, I heard your warm tone tilt high. When your tremblings hands took the paper bag from mine, I wanted so badly to hold them. But it was Mother's Day, and I was needed on the line.
I cannot think of where you might be or if you've been a home to another. I only hope that you've found some peace in the knowledge that you're still a Mother.