Goodbye
I really hate this stage of things,
the one where I go numbly through
and hover between
grief
and trust.
I pray with your siblings –
assurance of Sovereignty and all that –
and try to talk myself into it, too.
I’m taken aback by the sting
every once in a while
and I blink away the pain
as it trickles down my cheeks,
finding rivulets run deep
from too many lost lifetimes.
I send you with a name,
(we always choose a name),
so that you will know
what we might have called you
had He not needed you now.
Why now?
Actually, though, we would have chosen
something different
to call you
had we known you.
“Unisex name.”
The category in the baby name book
for stolen lives.
lost loves.
Why again?
He has known you
from the foundations of the world,
while I didn’t get even one day
to say hello.
He’s a better parent than I, you know.
And you will know Him better than I,
sooner than I,
deeper than I.
That is good.
Bittersweet good.
Little one I never met,
I miss you anyway.
One day, when all ache is gone,
we will embrace
and know.
© 2010 Laurie Sitterding
-----------------------------
I process emotional things in poetry. Such is the way of things for me.
Today I got news of an "empty sack." It wasn't there on the ultrasound monitor two weeks ago, but there it was today, bigger than life.
Strange saying, that: "Bigger than life."
At any rate, this sack is apparently "empty," void of life. My body has yet to get the news, it seems. It is still going strong, doing its part, creating all necessary equipment for the baby it thinks is coming.
"Blighted ovum." This, like "empty sack," is ostensibly easier to take than "baby that died."
I will go back next week for another ultrasound. In the meantime, I await the miscarriage that is coming—hoping it will come naturally so I don't have to endure another invasive procedure.
And I process all the emotions that inevitably accompany this experience, reminding myself "not to doubt in the darkness what I knew in the light."
I will remember my own words, penned just two short weeks ago on this very blog: "I do not know God's plan for our lives, or for this baby, but I do know that He is good in all things. I trust Him in this. And I thank Him for this baby, however long and in whatever state he or she survives.
We trust Him with our lives, and we trust Him with this baby's life. If He lets us parent this child, we will gratefully receive that blessing. If He takes this child from us before we have that opportunity, we will praise Him even in that pain."
I really hate this stage of things,
the one where I go numbly through
and hover between
grief
and trust.
I pray with your siblings –
assurance of Sovereignty and all that –
and try to talk myself into it, too.
I’m taken aback by the sting
every once in a while
and I blink away the pain
as it trickles down my cheeks,
finding rivulets run deep
from too many lost lifetimes.
I send you with a name,
(we always choose a name),
so that you will know
what we might have called you
had He not needed you now.
Why now?
Actually, though, we would have chosen
something different
to call you
had we known you.
“Unisex name.”
The category in the baby name book
for stolen lives.
lost loves.
Why again?
He has known you
from the foundations of the world,
while I didn’t get even one day
to say hello.
He’s a better parent than I, you know.
And you will know Him better than I,
sooner than I,
deeper than I.
That is good.
Bittersweet good.
Little one I never met,
I miss you anyway.
One day, when all ache is gone,
we will embrace
and know.
© 2010 Laurie Sitterding
-----------------------------
I process emotional things in poetry. Such is the way of things for me.
Today I got news of an "empty sack." It wasn't there on the ultrasound monitor two weeks ago, but there it was today, bigger than life.
Strange saying, that: "Bigger than life."
At any rate, this sack is apparently "empty," void of life. My body has yet to get the news, it seems. It is still going strong, doing its part, creating all necessary equipment for the baby it thinks is coming.
"Blighted ovum." This, like "empty sack," is ostensibly easier to take than "baby that died."
I will go back next week for another ultrasound. In the meantime, I await the miscarriage that is coming—hoping it will come naturally so I don't have to endure another invasive procedure.
And I process all the emotions that inevitably accompany this experience, reminding myself "not to doubt in the darkness what I knew in the light."
I will remember my own words, penned just two short weeks ago on this very blog: "I do not know God's plan for our lives, or for this baby, but I do know that He is good in all things. I trust Him in this. And I thank Him for this baby, however long and in whatever state he or she survives.
We trust Him with our lives, and we trust Him with this baby's life. If He lets us parent this child, we will gratefully receive that blessing. If He takes this child from us before we have that opportunity, we will praise Him even in that pain."
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