January 3, 2011
Today is your due date. And you’re not coming to live with us. Of course you’re not--you were born on July 30th--physically born anyway. Your soul was already with the heart of Jesus. I’ve had five months and four days to get used to the idea that you wouldn’t be coming. But knowing that has done little to make today easy.
I’ve spent most of the last five months thinking, “I’m supposed to be pregnant.” Because if everything had gone as I hoped, prayed, and planned, I would have been pregnant from August through the end of December. And then you would have arrived sometime in the last week or so...just hopefully not on Christmas Day or on your brother’s birthday (January 2nd). I so wanted your birthday to be a special day, all for you.
In the past few days, my grief has turned a corner. I’ve gone from the feeling of “I’m supposed to be pregnant,” to “he’s supposed to be here.” If you ask me, Matthew, you are supposed to be here. And the fact that you aren’t is breaking my heart anew. I’m mourning the fact that you aren’t keeping me up all night feeding, that my body isn’t weak from delivering you, that I’m not changing your diapers 15 times a day. I’m mourning that your sisters and brother aren’t ooh-ing and ah-ing over your every move and facial expression. I’m mourning that I don’t get to see your Daddy cradling you in his arm, while he sings you a song to send you off to sleep. If you ask me, you’re supposed to be here.
But, sweet boy, it isn’t up to me. You aren’t here and you’re not coming. I know you’re in a great place, the better place to be. But I am ever so jealous of Jesus, that he gets to be with you today and I don’t. At least not in the way I want.
So, today I will light your memorial candle and I will remember. I will remember your precious little earthly life and I will miss you. I will remember all that I hoped and dreamed for you. I will remember how much I love you. And I will remember that someday, by God’s grace, I will live with you again, in a time and place where this is all forgotten memory. Until then, Matthew, know that your Mama loves you so very much.