This should have been my due date

Today, I wrote a letter to my child, on the day of his/her birth. Somehow, I thought that **** would have been a boy, not sure why, but just a feeling. A baby that had been prayed for, for a long time, a baby that was so desperately wanted. I told * how much he was loved and missed each day and I pray that my words reach him via angels’ wings – but for me, I just have another letter to put in *’s memory box.

Today should have been a day of happiness and laughter. We should have been anxiously awaiting *’s birth. I should have been able to hear * cry for the very first time, get to see his scrunched up little face and feel him in our arms, between our embrace. Instead, it’s three o’clock and I’m still in my PJ’s, resting on the couch on this rainy and miserable March day, wiping away my tears. Our home should have been bustling with activity and the cooing sounds of a baby, but the silence is deafening and it seems lonelier than most days.

I had hoped to make it out to the cemetery to lay some flowers at Our Mother’s feet, but I’m achy today and the rain is making me stay home – Perhaps I’ll make it out there tomorrow. After all, it’s not like * is actually there – he’s at God’s feet, surrounded by angels, his tiny little earthly body probably making it out to the lake or ocean, being one with God’s nature. I hope to drop a flower wreath into our river on his angelversary, but for today, we’ll just remember our child, we’ll have the small cake that I made for his Birthday, and we’ll send our love and our hearts to him in heaven.

Last night, while we were at Ash Wednesday Mass, we sang the hymn Ashes, which I had never heard before. Some of the lyrics were so profound that I had tears in my eyes, as I thought about the symbolism of the ashes and my own grief for *, I’ve highlighted the poignant parts:

We rise again from ashes,
from the good we’ve failed to do.

We rise again from ashes,
to create ourselves anew.

If all our world is ashes,
then must our lives be true,
An offering of ashes,
An offering to You.
We offer You our failures,
we offer You attempts;

The gifts not fully given,
the dreams not fully dreamt.
Give our stumblings direction,
give our visions wider view,
An offering of ashes,
An offering to You.
Then rise again from ashes,
let healing come to pain;
Though spring has turned to winter,
and sunshine turned to rain.
The rain we’ll use for growing,
and create the world anew,
From an offering of ashes,
An offering to You.
… Thanks be to the Father,
who made us like Himself.
… Thanks be to His Son,
who saved us by His death.
… Thanks be to the Spirit,
who creates the world anew,
From an offering of ashes,
An offering to You.

I visited the page for I Spoke With My Child – it’s been a while since I’d been there. I imagined that this was a conversation I could have with *. I broke down again. All the pain of the last months, all that missing, all that loneliness and all the love flooded over me and I cried again with unending tears. You will always be loved and missed…never forgotten.

Originally posted on March 10, 2011

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