a formal feeling comes--
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore?
And yesterday--or centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

Emily Dickinson
Lilypie Angel and Memorial tickers

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Dear Heart

Valentines Day 2010, your little brother is 9 days old. We waited so long for him and our joy this last week has been immeasurable since his safe arrival (I believe you guided Monty to us with speed and grace, Thank You big brother). But I wanted you to know that my heart will always have a hole where you once lived and breathed in my body. You are my first son. Monty's beauty is frequently a reminder of yours left unfulfilled. As I share his picture with friends and family they gush and I wish I could share the "sleeping" picture of you to hear the same words of praise that I've only heard from other moms who have lost their little ones as well because they are the only ones I can share your picture with.
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