Four

photo-5

I remember you every day.

Every day.

You were only here for an instant in my life. And yet you were a cataclysm. Just in the way I cannot imagine what you would have been like had you lived, I cannot imagine what I would be like if you’d lived.

The mother I have become, because of you.

The children who live, because of you.

The God who remains distant, because of you.

*             *             *

Tomorrow will be my last post at Glow in the Woods. It has been four years now since my baby boy died and was born, three and a half writing at Glow. Since E’s birth seven months ago, I’ve know this year would be my last at Glow, that Joseph’s fourth stillbirthday would be my last post.

The first months of grief, I couldn’t understand how any of the writers could leave. How I could stop writing about Joseph. How grief could change. How I could learn to live with my firstborn’s absence. But I have lived into all of those once inconceivable things. And I know that leaving Glow is not abandoning the memory of my son. It is just simply time for whatever is next.

© Burning Eye

 

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i dreamed of houses

I have a poem up at Glow today about the recurring dreams I had when I was pregnant with Joseph. I used to believe something about dreams. If not that they could be prophetic, then that they pointed us toward something. We could learn something from them.

Now, I’m not so sure.

I don’t really want to believe that they tell us anything at all about waking life. Because, in this pregnancy I have dreamed again of houses. It scares me. I don’t want it to mean anything about this baby’s fate.

And still, there is that dream my father had a few nights before Joseph died, the night before we drove up to visit them. In his dream, Death came.

How can I not believe in that?