Monthly Archives: July 2013
One month from today we will be in the new house. A house we wanted, we searched for, we found. A house that will hold our wildness, our coziness and our space.
A house where you were not born. Were we didn’t labour. Where you weren’t born. I don’t know if I can comfortably rest my head on my arm, while I sit on the toilet and grab the sink with my left hand. I won’t walk with you halfway out my body, from the bathroom to the couch. And the couch won’t be in the exact spot were we laid down, you dead and me alive, both of us together, cuddled close.
The chair were my water broke won’t be exactly and inexplicably in a direct line from the toilet were we later reached full dilation, where our beautiful Aythami caught your legs. The tall wild grass, dry as hay, won’t be the same. It won’t remember our last pictures as a physical family of five.
I hope a month from now I’ll have figured out that you are not in the bathroom, on the couch, on the dry back yard. I hope in a month I will have finished believing that you are in me, in our love, in everything we are.
In a week, even, as we scatter your ashes and set your body free, just like you did, I hope I will have finished believing that we are not letting go of you. Rather, that we are returning your body to nature, to the stars and the air and the oceans and the sand. So that when we look up or breath in or just live on earth, that you are part of us, and we of you. I hope I remember that I believe that you didn’t need your body anymore. And that we don’t need your ashes anymore. Because you, like I said I believed, are already in our hearts.
Six months from now? I hope I will be a good mom to your rascal, sweet brothers. Hopefully, your father and I will have figured out how to dote on each other like we did when we didn’t have sons that drank water from freshly made puddles on the living room floor. Maybe we’ll have fully figured out how to make love like before my body held you and let you go. Even better, maybe we’ll have figured out how to continuously make love like before my body became the seeding ground for the lot of yous.
Maybe in six months I’ll figure out my camera and still love it. I’d like it if I keep writing and build my baby loss website.
Maybe in a year I will have finished (or started) writing our book. I hope to have become the doula you groomed with your body and your light.
Mostly, in a year, I hope to be the mother of a fresh new baby. Hopefully it will be alive, and grow as healthy babies do, nurse and play and all the sweet things in between.
I will have had to figure out how to host new life where before there was you, and how to love another baby, while you are still and forever my baby girl.
I am Grateful for
Me and love
your dad, the one we chose
your brothers, they pull us to life
very dear friends
what I hadn’t in 35 years
learned me in 26 weeks, 5 days
and forever always
You you you
to have held you on my chest
felt you inside my body
our bodies in birth
that place inside my heart
I am grateful for you.