He said, “Come in tomorrow and pass the fetus.”
As if it wasn’t a baby.
As if it hadn’t been a baby all along. As if I hadn’t made up a cozy walk-in closet and fingered crocheted booties and refolded soft doll-sized blankets for months and months in between throwing up in toilets and gutters.
She was a wiggler. The mountain of her back and head rose and fell and rose and fell, her tiny hands tracing imaginary lines within me.
I matched line for line, fingertip to fist.
She clung to my ribs like a gymnast gripping the uneven parallel bars, giving me indigestion.
Her heart beat steady, fast, strong.
I listened through a borrowed stethoscope, loving her, eavesdropping on her small world.
Her heart beat out the rhythm of expectation.
Her heart beat out mother music—till it stopped.
Then the dark whisperings—
those dark whisperings in my ears made my hands sweat.
“She’s just turned, waiting to be born,” I said. “I rebuke you, Satan,” I said.
“Please, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” I said.
“Come in tomorrow and pass the fetus,” he said.
I remember when that happened. That was a sad day.
It changed me, as suffering changes all. It is one thing that, I think, is a stumbling block to those who seek. There are answers, but it is difficult. The folks in LB hospital dealt with it poorly, though, and compounded my pain.
Thanks for your comment.
Oh, Lilly. My heart breaks for your pain. Thank you for honoring your little girl by sharing her with us who would have loved to have known her as you and Kelly do.
I have written many songs and poems and even fashioned a quilt to process the pain of the loss. There is much healing, but there will always be a lonesomeness, I guess, for the little life I so briefly knew. Especially November: She went home Nov. 19.
Thanks.
This was very difficult and emotional to read, but I will never truly know how difficult it was to experience. Lilly, in a very precious way your poem reveals the depth and height and breath of your intimate love and anguish. Thank you for letting us in.
I was thinking just today of the friend who went to the clinic, too. She was there to comfort me when I heard the news. She delivered twins, and the doc messed up her epidural so that she couldn’t walk and was in great pain for weeks. I would go over and help her: me without a baby and she with two she couldn’t care for. Life is hard in this broken world, that’s why I look up! Redemption draws near. Thanks for caring.
Beautifully said, Lilly. I remember the night at church your loss was announced. There were many tears and much sadness and empathy for you and Kelly. I can only imagine how difficult such a tragedy would be, particularly when one is so young yet trying to be strong in faith and an example to others. Yet, youth is ingenuous and sees life through an unjaundiced eye. It could have destroyed you, but it didn’t. It made you stronger in your Faith.
Such a cruel statement from a “professional” man. I hope the years have taught him a little better “beside manner.” Love you!
He was incredibly cold and clinical. I do hope that the years have graced him with more kindnesses than he seemed capable of showing me. Thanks for your words.
So sorry, Lilly. My heart breaks for you and Kelly.
Lilly, I can’t imagine the pain you and Kelly must have endured, it still seems fresh when I read these words, even though many years have passed. Time heals, but the memory never fades. Praying God will cover you with His peace and comfort during this anniversary month. Thank you for opening your heart to us, may it be an avenue of healing to others who have suffered such a loss.
Thanks for your kindnesses. November is a month for me to remember: There is still some pain in that but also thankfulness for the healing that has come. Brokenness longs for redemption!
Lilly,
Such a beautiful poem, and then the reality of the words hit so hard in that last line. It brought tears to my eyes and pain in my heart. No matter the number of years that pass, the love endures and we carry on.
Because you were kind enough to “like” and “follow” me, (thank you by the way), I clicked on the first post suggested by word press. Your header picture had me instantly, didn’t I have the twin on my blog?
Then I read your poem and I knew you are a person I will enjoy following and getting to know. We are formed by the joys we have and the pain we carry. Each in their own way form, mold, and chip away at us until we are perfect.
Hugs,
Shez
Thanks so much for your sensitive comments. Life is hard sometimes, and we can do what we can to process it and give it to God. He doesn’t waste anything.
This is so sad. I’m so sorry you had to go through such an experience. But your poem serves to remind that the stillborn are also children in need of love.
Thank you!
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Oh, so sorry. This stopped me in my tracks and my heart goes out to you.
There are so many people who grieve loss. Others expect them to get over it much sooner than the person is ready or able. This loss has taken me a lifetime. But I must say, as I have gotten older, I see now there are some losses even worse than death.
Lilly may God hug you tight for the rest of this Month of November
So very sorry
Eunice
Thank you. This is a month of joy and sorrowful remembrance, but that is kind of the way life is.
Life does hold sorrow and joy for all of us I am amazed we do so well
Your words touched me today. How you must have suffered. My kindest regards to you and your family.
Thanks for your kindness. It was one of those things that colors your life, but makes you hold on to what matters.
oh, you lost a daughter? so sorry to hear that, ma’am…
It was a tough thing.
hello… i guess, i pondered a bit about your having four boys. and here, clarified, there was an angel girl, too…
people say, mothers don’t forget… regards to you and your granddaughter. ^_^
Yes, that was my one girl. I will see her some day is my hope.