A Misconception

Your mother never knew you, but you knew her. You heard her laugh, you felt her joy, and she had big plans for you. She wanted to keep you healthy, she wanted to keep you safe. She wrapped her arms around you as you rested in your place. You were so small, but your mother felt you move. You were quiet, but you were there, and your mother knew. You were her first, you changed her life, just the thought of you.

She ate right, she worked out, she read books to you, and sang songs. Hadn't she followed the rules to the letter? She blames herself, she cries out to God with all that is left inside her. Hadn't she prayed over you? Waiting so patiently for your conception? And waiting again for your arrival... but not like this.

She'll never know why seven weeks after your creation, your existence simply stopped. She had heard your heart beat three days earlier. She had shared your first picture with the other mothers.

She was one of them when you were here. She belonged. You determined a new identity for her, one that cannot be reversed. After you slipped away she felt displaced. She is your mother and you are her child, in life and in the other. Your mother knew you, how could she not? You didn't exist to the rest of the world, but you did to her. She wept as she returned it all: the bottles, the diapers, the blanket. You carved an emptiness into her heart, that only you could fill.

It's been three years, but she'll never forget the early birthday that took you. Today she is waiting, not for you, but for another. The very God that fashioned you has given her a second child, your brother or sister, your friend. I prayerfully watch over them.

© 2011 Bailey Moore