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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
At my ultrasound
appointments,
nurses often ask
"Is this your
first?"
And I always say,
"No,
I have
two."
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.
Who
would have
thought,
that I would
sob
with
joy
when I
saw the length
of the bones
in your
arms
and
legs?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?"
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.
