For Baby

Dear Baby,

The day I finally knew you were coming, the first thing I did was bake banana bread. I don’t know why. Now on the day when I know you are gone, I want to make chocolate chip cookies. I wish I had made the chocolate chip cookies first, so that we could have shared them. My banana bread is good, but my chocolate chip cookies are excellent; I wish you had known that.

We found out you were coming on Tuesday (although I had suspected earlier). Your dad drank Mexican beer, we drank chocolate milkshakes, he surprised me with flowers, I got morning sickness and all of the stereotypical early pregnancy symptoms, we talked about your room and how we would tell your family, we spent a productive Saturday morning doing some planning with you in the back of our minds, and then that same night I knew you were leaving us.

Your dad told me not to worry yet, but I knew. Still, I woke up several times during the night hoping against hope you had changed your mind and decided to stay with us. One of those times, I woke up with a verse from a Sara Groves song in my head (and not one of my favorite ones). The lines were, “When I get to heaven, I wanna go find Job. / I’m gonna ask a few hard questions; I wanna know what he knows. / About what it was he wanted and what he got instead, and how to be broken yet faithful.” Was that you? Were you trying to tell me something?

In my heart, I know this would all be harder if we had known you longer. But catching just a fleeting glimpse of you is its own special burden. I tried to steel myself against you; I have seen many babies leave, and I was afraid you would too. I didn’t want to get hurt. But you showed me, didn’t you? It only takes a fleeting glimpse to fall in love.

On the third day, I decided to buy a pregnancy book. Just one. I wouldn’t go crazy yet, again I was trying to steel myself. I also bought a book of Rainer Maria Rilke poetry. I thought it was funny at the time. It felt like I was trying to say, “Sure, I might be a mommy, but I’m not going to lose myself in the process.” As I leafed through Rilke in the parking lot, this stanza caught my eye, “I find you, Lord, in all Things and in all / my fellow creatures, pulsing with your life; / as a tiny seed you sleep in what is small / and in the vast you vastly yield yourself.” I thought of you, but you were trying to tell me something then, too, weren’t you?

On Saturday night, when I wailed in your Dad’s arms, I said, “Why does God tease people like this?” I immediately thought of when I was a kindergartner. I remember standing plastered against a wall, waiting to go into school, crying, as two first graders teased me. I had always wanted to go to school. Then there I was, being told I didn’t belong there. I had also always wanted to be a mother, and now I feel like someone or something is again telling me I don’t belong; I’m not the parent type. But I guess the moral to that story is that I did belong in school; I, in fact, did quite well. So maybe the same goes for parenthood.

When I got home from the Emergency Room, I made the phone calls that needed to be made. Your Dad made me lunch while I laid in bed. I thought of the time when your Grandma, after Steven’s death, laid in her bed while I rambled on to her. I thought it was fun, like a slumber party. My Dad came in to see what she wanted on her hamburger. I helpfully offered my order. Dad shook his head and said, “Nope, you’re eating dinner at the table with the rest of us.” Is this why I held onto that memory all these years?

After lunch, I was finally able to sleep. I slept so hard that when I woke up, I forgot for a minute what had happened. Then it all came flooding back to me. But in the midst of it, I thought of a song by Andy Gullahorn. I hadn’t thought of it in a long time until this past week. I found my iPod, and I listened to it. My body shook with the sobs that burst forth. You sent me that song, I know, especially the final bridge and verse.

HOW PRECIOUS LIFE IS

We moved the desk out of the office
Took down the college picture frames
Painted all the walls yellow
Because it goes with anything
Put those guards on all the outlets
Found a safer car to drive
Did it all for your protection
And your mama’s piece of mind

I couldn’t see it ‘til now
You were teaching us then
How precious life is

I saw you in that picture
When they said you were a boy
Though I swore I had no preference
Those words filled my heart with joy
My mind raced ahead a decade
It had us camping near a fire
Where you’d tell me all your troubles
And I’d make everything alright

I couldn’t see it ‘til now
You were teaching us then
How precious life is

God willing if we have another child
I’ll see it for the miracle it is
I’ll be hanging on to every blessed breath
‘cause I can’t forget
How precious life is

I thought I knew what pain was
But I really had no clue
Until the hope was disappearing
And there was nothing we could do
I was too tired to shout in anger
Too scared to run and hide
I just stared there at your mother
And thanked God she was alive

I couldn’t see it ‘til now
You were teaching us then
How precious life is

Earlier in the afternoon, I had told person after person that I worried it was just a false positive on the pregnancy test. That I had made all the rest of it up – the sleepless nights, the nausea, the lack of appetite, the soreness, the hormonal shifts; I made all of it up. I was worried that you had never been there at all. I feared they put miscarriage on my discharge sheet just to make me think I wasn’t crazy. But as I listen to that song, I knew you had been there and that you had had a purpose. You were a precious little soul, and I hope you come back to us someday.

I miss you, Baby.

Love Always,
Mama