When a baby dies, a part of the world dies with him.

Cause a baby is not an isolated incident or an accident of the universe.

A baby carries within him the promise of the future. Of future generations. Of callings fulfilled. Of blessings in the making.

So when a baby dies, a part of the world dies with him…

When a baby dies, a part of his mother’s heart dies with him.

I couldn’t locate it physically, that part, but I can tell you it is the part responsible with belly laughter. And naïveté. And careless enjoyment of a simple moment.

When a baby dies, a part of his mother’s heart dies with him.

And for a while, for a long while, there is only sadness covering her life, like dew covers grass in the morning.

And the naïveté is gone. All gone. Never to return. It left when her baby was given no chance to live by the doctors. When she watched him disappear, day after day, behind a curtain of pain and slumber. When she held him tight, close to her heart and he took his last breath. When she took him into her bed, afterwards, and did what she had longed to do all along. Cuddle with her precious son.

And there is no more careless enjoyment of a simple moment. It’s all anguish. And scary scenarios the mind plays on automatic. And when there is joy, it is followed sharply by guilt.

Guilt to be alive. Guilt to not have been able to procreate a healthy baby.

Guilt of not having been able to protect him of illness. And pain. And death.

When a baby dies, a mother dies. A hundred deaths.

Of what ifs. Of why nots. And why hims.

Oh sweet face, how this mother misses your giggles.

Your presence.

Your sweetness.

Your eyes, telling a thousand stories.

Your cuddles.

Loving you, now and forever more.