Skip to main content

like his sisters

I sat on one of my favorite couches with one of my favorite people and looked at pictures.
A new mom showing off photos of her baby.
We compared noses and eyes and talked about who he favored most.
And it was normal and good.
Just another Tuesday with a friend.
A mom showing me pictures of her newborn.


Except hers was stillborn.
And he wasn’t just sleeping sweetly in these photos.
And somehow I looked.
I nodded.
I agreed.
And oohed and ahhed just like you do with most baby pictures.
Because you can’t help it.
I compared them to his sister’s newborn photos.
And it was normal and okay and good.
And he did look like his sister.
And have amazingly sweet blond hair.
And wrinkled little feet.
I wasn’t pretending or trying.
I meant it.
I wanted to see.

But later in the car.
It hit me.
And I shook with grief.
I had to pull over more than once and gather myself together enough to get home.
To stop crying long enough to see the road.
And when I tried to go to sleep that night.
And for many nights after those pictures haunted me.
Everytime I closed my eyes I saw him.
I saw greif.

But for a few moments on my friend’s couch,
I saw her son.
And his cute little nose.
And tiny fingers.
And he was beautiful.
And that is what I close my eyes and see now.







(participating in Momalom's 5 for 5...today's topic: pictures.

Comments

Sarah said…
You are a good, dear friend to have done that with her. To have looked at the pictures. To have oohed and aahed. I don't know that everyone could have done that. It was selfless and graceful.

What a lovely way to pay tribute to your friend, to yourself, and to that sweet, little boy.

Hugs.
April 25, 2012 at 6:26 AM
Heather Caliri said…
I agree with Sarah. I have looked through the memories of a mom who lost her baby after a few days, and it is terrifying. And yet it honors that loss, that child.
April 25, 2012 at 6:31 AM
Kelly Miller said…
I am inspired the love and strength that mother had ... has ... for her child. Not that it's there, but that she could find it in a moment that would swallow others whole. That you could be there with her and present in the strength, is a blessing.
April 25, 2012 at 7:09 AM
Aidan Donnelley Rowley said…
Wow. This is so powerful. Thank you for making me feel. It feels good to feel. Really feel.
April 25, 2012 at 7:58 AM
Adrienne said…
So much power here. Power in photos, power in your words. You found power to serve and grieve with your friend - so difficult. I'm inspired to remember that we can so often do more than we think we can...so brave and full of love to not pull back from this, but to be IN IT with her. This is very moving.
April 25, 2012 at 10:11 AM
Justine said…
I'm at a loss for words. Holding it together like that until you're by yourself had to be tough.

I'm amazed at your strength, for being there for your friend, and for your support in what must have been a terrible time.
April 25, 2012 at 11:57 AM
Stacia said…
Oh, my heart is broken. And also buoyed, by your strength and your friend's.
April 25, 2012 at 12:03 PM
Kate said…
Powerful, frightening and wonderful.

I remember sitting with a new friend at her house and seeing two pictures on the mantle. But she has only one son, I thought. And as the story unfolded about her twins who struggled so to survive and how this one, our angel here, died. My breath caught. I looked away. I didn't know how to see. A few months later, after more time to know this strong lady, I could see. But it haunts me still - the love-grief, the joy-sorrow.

You have a gift for friendship, the deep and meaningful kind. It shows through so often here.
April 25, 2012 at 3:37 PM
Rudri said…
Oh this post makes you sink into your friend's grief. What a way to honor his memory.
April 25, 2012 at 8:23 PM
Melissa Camara Wilkins said…
So good of you to sit with her, and so brave of her to share her pain. I am sure he was a beautiful baby.
April 25, 2012 at 10:42 PM
Margie said…
Oh, my goodness. I'm speechless.
April 28, 2012 at 8:41 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

pace yourself

Tonight I went running with a friend ten years my junior. I asked her how far she was running and when she said only about 1.5 or 2 miles, I teased her that I could go at least twice that far. And to just let me know when she needed to stop. I have been running pretty regularly for the last few weeks. It isn’t long but keep increasing my time and distance. I’ve stopped getting blisters. I don’t suck wind after five minutes anymore and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Thinking I might even be able to out run this girl who was so much younger and obviously in more shape than me. As we started to jog I told her that I run pretty slow. Like my husband used to walk beside me while I ran, slow. And she slowed her gait a little bit for me but it was still faster than I usually go. I was a little embarrassed and was not going to ask her to slow down again. So I just ran at her pace. I stayed close. And was fading fast. A little over a mile in I was ready to quit. Again, pride, which isn...
14 comments
Read more

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...
22 comments
Read more

my first dance

My wedding day is a little bit of a blur. And it was a great day. But so many people and so much going on and so many moments that it is hard to remember them all clearly without the help of photographs. But I totally remember my first dance as a bride. And it wasn’t with my husband. Or even my father, or brother. I had quickly kicked off my heels and hid them underneath a table. Said my hellos and hugs and smiled until my face hurt. Someone ushered us through the buffet line and I piled my plate with hors d'oeuvres and headed to a table. But before I could pop a single shrimp in my mouth someone grabbed me firmly by the arm and pulled me onto the dance floor and into a jitterbug before I could protest. It was my husband’s granddaddy. A man I had only met about a few times and heard say about as many words. So I was a little surprised when he spun me around the dance floor. Eventually that night I danced with my husband. And my dad. And probably even my brother. But my fir...
8 comments
Read more