dearest devi,
you would have been about 6 months old now.
i'm very sorry you didn't make it into the world, although i understand why. i still think of you before i bleed every month, especially when i can feel those subtle movements of my ovaries and fallopian tubes.
sometimes i get angry, thinking it's all a waste. other times, i'm grateful because i know that as long as i bleed, there's a possibility you'll return.
i've heard your tiny little voice a few times. you call me "mama" just like i hoped you'd grow up to do. i know your spirit will always be with me, even though we weren't physically connected for very long.
every time i hear a new baby's coming, i think about you and miss you. it hurts that we weren't able to be together.
because baba's not well, i don't know if i'll have another chance to see you or any of your (possible) brothers and sisters. as you might know, we don't get many chances to birth in my family, but i wouldn't want to bring you here knowing you might have to endure the loss of one of your parents.
i hope you know that we would have loved to meet you. i even knew what you'd look like: baba's eyes, a complexion between mine and his. definitely an awesome smile. i liked how you would come in dreams sometimes.
i wanted to birth you in water somewhere beautiful and safe--no weird drugs or doctors in masks hanging around.
i wanted to learn how to wear you like the ancestors did and laugh when your grandma fussed about how you were going to "fall out of that thing".
i wanted to read you all the books i didn't get to see until college while you were in the womb.
i wanted orin orisa to be your lullabies so you'd feel more at home.
i'm not exactly sure why i'm writing this, baby. given everything that's happened since, i've gone back to my usual "maybe i will, maybe i won't" speech when people ask me about whether or not i want/when i'm going to have any babies.
but in the back of my mind, i just laugh a little and think about how this would have been a completely different half-year if you'd been here. sometimes it just hurts and makes me want to cry. i know they don't mean anything by it, though.
i'll always love you and the possibilities you brought with you. you did a lot of healing and brought a lot of gifts, and i'm grateful. we both are.
be a good girl. i know i'll see you again one day.
yours,
mama
you would have been about 6 months old now.
i'm very sorry you didn't make it into the world, although i understand why. i still think of you before i bleed every month, especially when i can feel those subtle movements of my ovaries and fallopian tubes.
sometimes i get angry, thinking it's all a waste. other times, i'm grateful because i know that as long as i bleed, there's a possibility you'll return.
i've heard your tiny little voice a few times. you call me "mama" just like i hoped you'd grow up to do. i know your spirit will always be with me, even though we weren't physically connected for very long.
every time i hear a new baby's coming, i think about you and miss you. it hurts that we weren't able to be together.
because baba's not well, i don't know if i'll have another chance to see you or any of your (possible) brothers and sisters. as you might know, we don't get many chances to birth in my family, but i wouldn't want to bring you here knowing you might have to endure the loss of one of your parents.
i hope you know that we would have loved to meet you. i even knew what you'd look like: baba's eyes, a complexion between mine and his. definitely an awesome smile. i liked how you would come in dreams sometimes.
i wanted to birth you in water somewhere beautiful and safe--no weird drugs or doctors in masks hanging around.
i wanted to learn how to wear you like the ancestors did and laugh when your grandma fussed about how you were going to "fall out of that thing".
i wanted to read you all the books i didn't get to see until college while you were in the womb.
i wanted orin orisa to be your lullabies so you'd feel more at home.
i'm not exactly sure why i'm writing this, baby. given everything that's happened since, i've gone back to my usual "maybe i will, maybe i won't" speech when people ask me about whether or not i want/when i'm going to have any babies.
but in the back of my mind, i just laugh a little and think about how this would have been a completely different half-year if you'd been here. sometimes it just hurts and makes me want to cry. i know they don't mean anything by it, though.
i'll always love you and the possibilities you brought with you. you did a lot of healing and brought a lot of gifts, and i'm grateful. we both are.
be a good girl. i know i'll see you again one day.
yours,
mama
2 comments:
This is peace/beautiful and so very moving.:)
thanks. i honestly didn't know if i was going to publish it, but once i got to the point where i could write it, i knew i had to go the rest of the way.
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