To My Sweet Baby Boy

My sweet baby boy,

Mama loves you so much.

I used to be so afraid that something would happen to me during delivery.

Little did I know, it would be you who wouldn’t stay.

You were beautiful in every single way.

I’ll admit—with all the love in my heart—you were a little funny-looking at first.

But I began to fall for you, piece by piece.

Not too much, though…

I knew I’d have to let go of your physical being soon.

I went into labor at 6:45.

I was shaking violently,

terrified,

because I knew the silence that would follow your arrival.

The doctor took forever to get there.

The nurses told me to breathe, not push—

but all I wanted was to hold you.

Even with the epidural,

the pain was deep.

I couldn’t feel anything below my chest,

only dead weight,

warm touches, but no control.

When the doctor finally gave the okay,

you arrived—feet first,

like a true little soldier.

The nurses wiped you, wrapped you,

and placed you in my arms.

You were fascinatingly beautiful.

At first, I couldn’t tell who you looked like.

You definitely had my nose and my hands.

I kissed your forehead.

I kissed your nose.

I kissed you like I was trying to etch the memory into my skin.

You were so still.

So quiet.

So lifeless in my arms.

And God, I miss you, kid.

Your life was taken,

and so was my time with you.

The nurse came in gently,

“It’s time. Say your goodbyes. We’ll give you a few more minutes.”

I looked at you one last time and whispered,

“I love you, son.

Forgive me—I didn’t say goodbye,

but I did say I love you.

Til we meet again, kid.”

Then the grief came—

like a tidal wave—

and it swallowed me whole.

And now, four years later,

here I am.

Still loving you.

Still remembering.

Still your mama.