Thursday, August 1, 2013

Words Cannot Convey

I suppose this early morning is the quiet that I’ve been looking for. Life with a baby lends its self to a very occupied day. Mornings often start before I do (Hello 5:15 am), nap times are filled with my “to-do” list which often just includes things like “shower” and “feed me.” I, of course, wouldn’t have it any other way. Jeremy is my world and I am happy to devote my life to him right now. Yet it doesn’t change the fact that I need just a little more quiet time. Time for me. Time to think. Time to write. And time to reflect.

I’ve missed having half a day to sit and think and write about my thoughts and things pertaining to Luke. Perhaps as I continue to improve my daily routines I can allow that to be a part of my life again. Perhaps not a half a day, but some time. Just a little bit of time for Luke.

So this morning I suppose it is a blessing that after an early morning feeding with Jeremy I couldn’t fall back asleep. The house is dark, it is calm, and I can hear the rain outside the window.

The rain. Sometimes it’s more of a feeling that it brings. Reflection. It’s hard to know what feelings to focus on. The details. The facts. It all starts coming back it mind. It never really left my mind, but the rain and the quiet morning bring it back up to the surface.

Wednesday. That was book club day. The day I spent reading to finish the book in time for that evening. The day I noticed Luke wasn’t moving much. He never moved much though. The book club. The friends. The conversation. The laughter. The insights. The talk of birth and anticipation and waiting. The drive home. The long dark drive home. Laying on the couch trying to feel movement. Sometimes he moved more at night. Sometimes. Worry. Concern.

Thursday. The day I knew. Movement –there was none. The day I wept. I showered. I wept. I wandered the house. I wept. My baby! Dear God, what am I to do? I’m supposed to be a mother right now. Why?! What am I supposed to do with my life now. I was paralyzed. I knew he was gone. I sat numbly on the couch. Paralyzed.

Denial. Everything is fine. I’ll serve. I’ll go to work. I go to the church to finish my visiting teaching reports. Evening preparations and summertime BBQ. Everything is fine.

Friday. Denial. Everything is fine.

The prenatal appointment. “You guys, this isn’t good.” Her big, caring eyes told it all as they penetrated my soul. Ultra sound. Doctor. Hospital. Induction. Phone calls. Texts. Prayers. Lots of prayers.

Blessings of angels. Labor. An un-medicated, beautifully strong, quick labor. I prepared for that.

Saturday – the stroke of midnight—we behold my son’s precious body though his spirit no longer resided within.

I did it. My work was done. I gave him a body. The body that one glorious day will be his again.


The pain, the heartache, the emotions rise in me as the rain quiets outside. I can’t dig deeper. Not now. It hurts. It’s time to let it settle again. For a season. The memories are still there. Still as vivid as ever. The details are so clear in my mind. The emotions still sting my heart. It’s still there.

The memory is painful. The journey is hard. The love is strong.


My darling little boy, we regret not being able to know you while you were here. We are certain you are ours forever and that our family has a guardian angel in you. Your second birthday would be next week. Trains? Cars? Planes? I wonder what you’d prefer. I’m thinking of you at this special time of year. I love you little one. Love, your mommy.