Dear River,
While due dates are theoretical, yours is cemented in my heart forever. October 18. I should be holding you in my arms right now. But instead of smelling your newborn breath and stroking your soft, fuzzy head I am left alone with the haunting memories of your short-lived life, with the joy that was plucked from my womb too soon and a life that was robbed of you. Yes. I am missing you tonight.
Exactly five months have passed since I delivered your still little body and looked in horrified awe at your perfectly formed features. For one small moment to me it seemed you were just asleep. A tiny babe still sleeping. And for the past couple of months it seemed my bottomless grief and loss--my emptiness--had finally grown quiet as well. But as the weeks and days of this date have drawn near I have felt their stirrings within me. The sadness has not died. It was only sleeping.
I do not grieve because I am afraid I will never see you again. I know I will. I do not cry because I don't understand why you had to go away. And I do not think Heavenly Father will count it against me that my mother-heart still aches to hold and know you. I know about hope and faith and The Resurrection. I know about love and trust and patience. But I also know about heartache and emptiness and healing.
My tiny son, you might have been laid to rest five short months ago, but clearly you have not been forgotten. Thank you for teaching me that life is precious, painful, short, sacred. You were my gift that no one can take away.
Love Always,
Your Mother
While due dates are theoretical, yours is cemented in my heart forever. October 18. I should be holding you in my arms right now. But instead of smelling your newborn breath and stroking your soft, fuzzy head I am left alone with the haunting memories of your short-lived life, with the joy that was plucked from my womb too soon and a life that was robbed of you. Yes. I am missing you tonight.
Exactly five months have passed since I delivered your still little body and looked in horrified awe at your perfectly formed features. For one small moment to me it seemed you were just asleep. A tiny babe still sleeping. And for the past couple of months it seemed my bottomless grief and loss--my emptiness--had finally grown quiet as well. But as the weeks and days of this date have drawn near I have felt their stirrings within me. The sadness has not died. It was only sleeping.
I do not grieve because I am afraid I will never see you again. I know I will. I do not cry because I don't understand why you had to go away. And I do not think Heavenly Father will count it against me that my mother-heart still aches to hold and know you. I know about hope and faith and The Resurrection. I know about love and trust and patience. But I also know about heartache and emptiness and healing.
My tiny son, you might have been laid to rest five short months ago, but clearly you have not been forgotten. Thank you for teaching me that life is precious, painful, short, sacred. You were my gift that no one can take away.
Love Always,
Your Mother
