A painful metaphor

One of the hardest things to deal with is the knowledge that our baby died, but he is still in there. The first ultrasound after surgery was hard. Two heartbeats. One tiny baby, so very still. I will see this every week.

I will carry him until it is time to deliver. His little body will get pushed aside as his brothers grow.

I had a moment of panic thinking, What will happen to my son when he is finally born? With a fierceness I cannot describe, I told Brian that I would not allow our baby to be discarded as medical waste.

We will have him cremated. 

Heston always occupied a specific spot in my belly. It was a place for him. Space for him.

A cross now marks the spot where my son lived-- band aids and surgical tape covering my incision. It is a painful metaphor.

I am a womb; I am also a tomb.

It’s not time to come out yet, little one. I will carry you the rest of the way.

I carry your heart with me

I carry it in my heart                          

                                          -e.e. cummings