18 Days
A hole and a scar- as I sit
in this bed, that’s all I have to show for you- a hole in my heart and a scar on
my belly. You are my babies- the little things that occupied so much of my body;
flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone- my greatest achievements. Now, as I sit
here miles away from you, I touch my scar to remind myself that this really
happened- this is happening. 18 days ago you were pulled from your warm cocoon
of innocence and thrust into a world that you were not yet equipped to live in.
For 18 days I have watched you through walls of plastic and blurs of monitors
and tubes, our snuggle time interrupted by alarms and nurses and the smell of
sterile scrub. I long to hold you, to press your face against mine, to feel
your heart beat on my chest; instead I lie in a bed, trying to find the
motivation to get up to drive to the hospital to see you, my little babies- my
little babies who did not ask for this start in life, who know nothing of the
world but doctors and nurses and parents who come in at 8 and 11 and 2 to
change diapers and take temperatures, only to leave again- bound to the “real
world” waiting for them. I touch my scar. I touch my scar and think what things
would be like, “what if”, and as my brain swirls with possibilities other than
this, I am pulled back to the reality that today cannot be changed and the
circumstances remain the same. “What if” does not get me any closer to holding
you. I touch my scar- the empty hole that bores deep, that calls to me in the
night, that pulls me from dreams to remind me you are not here- my babies that I
am supposed to care for. You are miles away and there is nothing, not a thing,
I can do about it. I touch my scar. I get up from bed, I put a smile on my face
because this is the only thing I can do for you- the only thing I know will
make it better- will fill the hole in my heart. I want to see your shining
faces; I want to smell your heads; I want to touch your noses and count your
toes and press my lips to your cheeks. I am your mother, though you do not know
me yet, you will. One day when you are home and I can hold you at will and love
you with both arms around you- when the tears are tears of joy…One day I will
touch my scar and it will remind me of the two fighters I brought into this
world- one day.
A hole and a scar- as I sit
in this bed, that’s all I have to show for you- a hole in my heart and a scar on
my belly. You are my babies- the little things that occupied so much of my body;
flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone- my greatest achievements. Now, as I sit
here miles away from you, I touch my scar to remind myself that this really
happened- this is happening. 18 days ago you were pulled from your warm cocoon
of innocence and thrust into a world that you were not yet equipped to live in.
For 18 days I have watched you through walls of plastic and blurs of monitors
and tubes, our snuggle time interrupted by alarms and nurses and the smell of
sterile scrub. I long to hold you, to press your face against mine, to feel
your heart beat on my chest; instead I lie in a bed, trying to find the
motivation to get up to drive to the hospital to see you, my little babies- my
little babies who did not ask for this start in life, who know nothing of the
world but doctors and nurses and parents who come in at 8 and 11 and 2 to
change diapers and take temperatures, only to leave again- bound to the “real
world” waiting for them. I touch my scar. I touch my scar and think what things
would be like, “what if”, and as my brain swirls with possibilities other than
this, I am pulled back to the reality that today cannot be changed and the
circumstances remain the same. “What if” does not get me any closer to holding
you. I touch my scar- the empty hole that bores deep, that calls to me in the
night, that pulls me from dreams to remind me you are not here- my babies that I
am supposed to care for. You are miles away and there is nothing, not a thing,
I can do about it. I touch my scar. I get up from bed, I put a smile on my face
because this is the only thing I can do for you- the only thing I know will
make it better- will fill the hole in my heart. I want to see your shining
faces; I want to smell your heads; I want to touch your noses and count your
toes and press my lips to your cheeks. I am your mother, though you do not know
me yet, you will. One day when you are home and I can hold you at will and love
you with both arms around you- when the tears are tears of joy…One day I will
touch my scar and it will remind me of the two fighters I brought into this
world- one day.
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