In our lives a short time, in our hearts forever.
After much research and thought, we made the heartbreaking decision to end our pregnancy. I delivered him stillborn at 24 weeks, just 3 days after my 32nd birthday. This was to be our first child. He still is I guess, although we will never see him learn to walk, or go off for his first day of school, or graduate from high school and then college, get married and have kids of his own. We named him Nathan James, after Rob's two grandfathers who had already passed away. We imagine them in heaven, taking care of our sweet angel baby for us.
Although we have been trying ever since then, we have yet to have another child. Most of the intense grief has passed, but some remains, and I suspect always will. Not having a child in my life to love adds to that, and I sincerely hope that having a baby, whether through biology or adoption, will help to heal my heart.
By Nana
This structure is unsound.
The tiny boat you piloted has floundered,
leaving you stranded in dark swells.
We can see you drifting just offshore.
Through our spy glass
we can follow your progress
kicking in the deep
swimming for your life.
At this distance you seem no bigger than a fish,
some creature from the depths
not yet of this world
so rare and precious to us.
Had we a net we could pull you to safety
hold you curled in the palm of one hand
annointing you with tears.
You are everything to us.
You are all that we dreamed of
all that we hoped for
those months ago
when you first set sail.
How can we tell you how shimmering you seem
starlight on water
so delicate, so perfect, so pure.
Only the vessel is flawed
making landfall unlikely.
We've consulted mariners
ship builders
sailmakers
men who have toiled on the sea for years.
None of them could guarantee safe passage.
We've cast our lines into the surf.
There is no way to reach you
except with our prayers.
We can see your mast befin to tilt.
We can see how battering storms
have weakened your hull.
You list
taking on water.
Winds tear at your shroud.
Know, Little One, we have done
all that we could.
Keep faith.
We will build you a new boat
fashioned with sturdy planks
seasoned timber
canvas newly rigged
to carry you through rough waters.
For now we can only make you this covenant
tossing you this promise
to which you can cling
while we labor on your behalf.
Wait for us.
Hold fast.
You are not abandoned.
We have not given up hope of
harboring you among us.
This structure is unsound.
This vessel has floundered,
but yours is a soul we cherish.
We will come back for you
all of us
starting anew
building again
bringing you home safely.