A Tribute....

... To a life that wasn't.

I cry for you, little boy.
For the fact that you have no name.
I cry for your mommy's empty tummy and empty arms.
For your daddy who came in after you were born.
He was wearing my shoes.
I cry for the aunty who examined you before I covered your still face.
And I cry for your 3 brothers and sisters who will never know you.

Little boy, your face was perfect.
Your mouth was a little 'O'.
You looked like you were sleeping, once I wrapped you all up tightly.
You had ten fingers, but they will never grasp your mamma's nose as she laughs.
You had little knees and elbows, and black hair, of course.

The silence, little boy.
It was loud. So, so LOUD.
Louder than any newborn wail.
I couldn't shut out that silence, little boy.

Your midwife was so strong, little boy.
She bravely helped you out into the world.
She told your mamma, softly, that she had done well.
I was so proud of her for being willing.
Willing to feel the pain of a life that wasn't.

I tried to be gentle, little boy.
Gentle with your mamma when I told her she had a son.
Gentle with you when I wrapped you and laid you beside your mamma.
And later, when I covered your face.
Gentle when I laid you to rest in your little box.

Little boy, you were so fragile.
So delicate. So tiny.
The box we brought for you was small, but you fit.
My hands shook as I cared for your still form.
I didn't know how to do this, little boy, I hope I did alright.

Life is a gift, little boy.
Yours was so short.
7 months or maybe 8.
I cried for you, little boy.
And in a prayer, I sent you back to the Giver of Life.