Goodnight, children.

mothercrone — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 20:29:07 -0500

I put your brother to bed already. Now it's just me and you two. Baby one, the child where all I have remaining of you is some papers about the D&C and the material and nursery decorations we were made to go ahead and use for your brother. And A, my sweet girl who lived only an hour and thirty-five minutes, I have all your things but none of them are a substitute for you. The veil's supposed to be thin tonight, so tonight just let me be your mama, I want to hold you and rock you, let me sing you off to sleep. I never got to sing to either one of you. I used to sit in the rocking chair and sing to your brother every night - not now, he's too much a "big boy" to let mama do something so silly - but I did, and I would have done the same with you. I don't know why this is the way this path worked out, but I know I miss you, my children.

I've started working with a hospital to develop a prenatal-perinatal hospice program. Both of you, I carried you after I knew I would never get to see you grow. Baby one, I carried you for five long days knowing you were dead, feeling numb, not knowing what to do, praying frantically that the ultrasounds were wrong, then when the bleeding started I knew I couldn't hold on to you anymore. A, I could feel you moving as I washed with the clorhexadine to ready for, knowing that the minute your umbilical cord was cut you would slip away, that you held on for so long was incredible and so brave, we were told we'd have fifteen minutes with you and you stayed long enough for your grandparents and your uncle to hold you and love you.

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Goodnight, children.