I wish you knew my grief

SOURce

I wish you knew my grief,
the pain of the past eleven years.
A river of anguish, staining everything it touches with its crimson flow.
I wish you knew my grief, I said silently when people spoke insincerely,
or if their words made my grief seem impertinent.
my throat constricting, swallowing screams that never escaped.
I wish you knew my grief,
All the moments of fear when my baby wasn't moving.
I wish you knew the agony of the hospital visits that amounted to a simple, “baby is fine” before being sent on my way.
I wish you knew the deafening silence as my trembling hands pressed against my swollen belly.
And even though no one had said it yet, I knew something was wrong.
Something was different, shifting, and nothing would ever be the same again.
I wish you knew my grief, the moment my soul broke,
when my heart shattered into two, the crushing weight of dread settling deep in my bones.
I wish you knew my grief, the agony of holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't true. She wasn't gone. She wasn't gone.
I wish you knew my grief, that physical pain of having my chest ripped wide open.
I wish you knew my grief, how it felt to see people at the cemetery, concerned but detached, while my soul was left twisted and contorted.
I wish you knew my grief for a life that never lived.
But I felt every hiccup, every somersault, every gentle nudge against my ribs.
She was real. She was mine.
I wish you could understand all that I felt in those silent moments
while other babies cried and screamed while I died little inside.
My milk coming in, my body betraying me, by preparing for a child who would never nurse.
The hollow ache in my arms, yearning to hold her just once.
I wish you knew my grief, all the years without her being mentioned, 
without even a single thought until July rolls around each year.
The guilt of smiling, of forgetting for even a moment.
The anger at a world that keeps turning while mine has come to a halt.
I wish you knew my grief when I heard those words no mother should hear:
"There is no heartbeat, I'm sorry."
The world crumbling away, leaving nothing but a void where my daughter should have been.
My grief, a living entity, breathing and growing unlike the child who never will. 
I wish you knew my grief, because all my life, I’ve always tried to know yours.
In hindsight  I wish you never know my grief.

What do you wish people knew about your grief?