Fawn

Fawn

I saw a 

dead

baby deer 

on the road

today. 

And 

with tears in my eyes,

wondered,

if his mama

missed him

too.

Names

Ever since

I found

out 

I was

pregnant 

again,

I've been

trying to find

the perfect 

name 

that represents

all

that you

are.

You are

hope, 

gratitude, 

and

answered

prayers. 

You are

comfort, 

love, 

and 

everything

good. 

You are

a miracle, 

a godsend,

a blessing. 

 

Our lives were

so dark

until you 

came along, 

but

you 

are

a bringer of 

light.

Luke.

Lunch

There are times

where I don't 

want 

to talk about

my dead 

baby. 

Like in the faculty room

at lunch. 

You

continue 

to push

and 

ask

personal

questions, 

as I quietly

look 

down

at my 

food. 

I tell myself

you're probably 

trying to be

thoughtful

and

helpful, 

but

I don't 

understand

how you can't

see

that me

repeating the same response

three

times, 

is me, 

begging

for this conversation 

to 

end. 

Blanket

 I finally

made a

blanket for you, 

just like 

I made one 

for Owen. 

It was

one of the hardest

things 

I've had

to

do. 

I had been putting

it off

for months

because

 

I didn't 

want another 

useless

baby

blanket

and 

another

dead

baby. 

Strange

It's strange

to 

think 

that 

you'll be

my first

living

child, 

but not 

my 

first

child. 

Unlucky

I'm not

very 

lucky. 

My first baby died

because of a 

genetic 

condition,

and instead 

of 

the peaceful, 

normal

second pregnancy

I thought

I deserved,

I'm on 

bed-rest. 

Worrying

and 

trying

to keep

both

of us

alive. 

Same

You can be 

such a 

stinker, 

during mommy's

ultrasounds.

The nurses try to

catch you, 

but you always 

manage to

swim

away. 

It reminds me of 

your big brother, 

Owen. 

He liked to play

tag

the very

same

way. 

Two

 At my ultrasound 

appointments, 

nurses often ask

"Is this your

first?"

And I always say, 

"No,

I have 

two."

Second

I knew

I was 

pregnant

with my 

second 

child, 

before

I saw 

the test. 

My baby's 

big brother

hugged me

and let me know

I could

finally 

rest. 

He told me

he had 

sent 

his younger

brother

and everything

would be

okay. 

And that he would

comfort me

and protect

him 

every

step 

of the 

way. 

Arms and Legs

Who 

would have

thought, 

that I would 

sob

with

joy

when I 

saw the length

of the bones

in your

arms 

and 

legs? 

Half

Sometimes I feel

like 

half

of a

mother. 

I had half 

a pregnancy

with 

Owen, 

Then, I was given the 

harder half

of motherhood, 

and now I 

feel 

half the

 joy

during my

second pregnancy. 

But ironically, 

the fear

has 

doubled. 

Hug

I was playing

in your

nursery

with our 

new

puppy

When suddenly

I felt

invisible arms

around me. 

My eyes filled 

with tears,

my heart

wanted 

to 

burst, 

And, 

in that quiet

moment, 

I knew

it was

you. 

Miscellaneous Poems

Did I 

lose you

because

I wanted

you 

too 

much?

----

It's gotten harder

to tell

if I really am starting

to feel

happy again

or 

if 

I'm just 

numb. 

----

Sometimes

I wonder if 

strangers can 

see

the silent 

scream 

behind

my 

eyes. 

----

There is nothing

as horrible

as the screams

and 

sobs

of a mother

whose

baby

died. 

Pieces

I know

I lost

a piece

of

me

when I 

lost

you. 

But I'm still

trying to 

figure out 

which 

piece of me

that 

was. 

Screensaver

I changed my phone

screensaver

for the first time

in a

year.

It used to be your 

ultrasound

photo. 

Sometimes, 

I feel guilty

when I notice

it's 

gone. 

Helper Dogs

The other

day, 

my class read

a story 

about

seeing eye 

dogs. 

A student 

raised their hand

and asked,

"Would Owen

have needed

one of 

those?"

Motherhood

It's strange that

my first experience with

motherhood

was helping a life transition

away 

from this earth

rather than

bringing a life

into

it. 

Puppy

My therapist

recommended

getting a

puppy

to help

give my life

a new sense

of purpose 

and

to help me

not feel

alone. 

As I've been looking

at dogs, 

I can't help, 

but feel

guilty. 

Why that is

I don't 

quite

know. 

Atonement

I read a

post

by another 

mother

who terminated

her 

pregnancy

just like 

I had

 to 

terminate

mine.

She said that

she chose

to take on

her baby's 

pain

and

suffering

for the rest

of her 

life, 

by

ending

his

pain

and

suffering

before 

it 

began.

That's why

I made my 

decision

too, 

because

isn't that

what 

motherhood

is 

all

about?

Title

There are names

for

widowers, 

widows, 

and, 

orphans, 

but what

do you call

a 

mother

who lost

her 

only 

child? 

Time

It's been

7 months, 

2 bottles of prenatal vitamins, 

5 negative pregnancy tests, 

and

countless tears, 

since

we lost

you. 

Ironic

I find it 

ironic

that I spend

six hours 

a day, 

five days

a week, 

mothering the children

of strangers,

But I never 

got 

to mother

my own. 

Conversations

I heard you

were 

pregnant! 

How is your 

baby? 

Oh,

my baby

died.

Certainty

I don't know 

much, 

but 

I do 

know

my decision

to terminate

was made

with

tears, 

prayer, 

and most of all, 

love. 

Crib

I remember

when I was

setting up

your crib

I randomly

started

to 

sob.

I used to think

it was because

I was so 

happy, 

But now 

I think, 

deep down, 

I knew, 

I wouldn't get to 

have you

at 

all. 

Lightning

The doctors

told me

your 

condition

was like

genetic

lightning. 

A fluke, 

A rarity, 

a once 

in a lifetime

strike. 

You were 

also 

like

lightning. 

Here for a 

flash

and then

you 

were

gone. 

Home

I was so 

used 

to being

a home

for two

people, 

That now

I feel 

lonely

whenever

I'm 

alone. 

Curls

I had 

a dream

a few weeks

back,

Where I saw 

a little 

boy

with 

sandy

curls. 

I locked

eyes with 

him,

and 

at once,

My heart

cried,

Owen. 

I wanted 

to stop

and pick

you up, 

but

the dream 

was over

before 

I could. 

Mother's Day

Mother's Day

is around

the 

corner. 

And I feel

as if

I don't 

belong. 

I have the body

of a mother. 

The stretchmarks

of a mother. 

The heart

of a mother. 

But my baby

is long

gone. 

I'm a mother

to a headstone, 

to a jar filled

with

ash. 

No messy breakfasts

in bed, 

songs sung

at church, 

or crafts

made at 

school. 

My Mother's Day

will consist

of 

cemetery visits, 

what-ifs, 

and

brief

tear-filled

memories of

you.

Memory

It’s funny

how bodies

hold on

to 

memories.

Sometimes I’ll

catch

my hands

rubbing my

belly.

My 

heartbeat will

quicken

when I feel

stomach

bubbles.

I'll sing

and talk

to you

as if 

you're 

still

here. 

Then 

there are other times

where tears

will suddenly

fall. 

Most of the time

I don't know

what

triggered

them

at 

all.