After great pain 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,
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.
-All the things I might have known and all the things I might not have known because of them-
"The heart never forgets"
I use to sign my posts on spals with those words. I'm sure Loribeth remembers - she and the other baby lost mamas on spals held my hand a time or two during some dark and sad days, including this one seven years ago.
It's not an easy thing, to be mother to the unseen. To want to tell everyone that they existed and feeling like the only one who ever really, truly knows that. To be keeper of their memories, of an entire existance, brief, but real.
Thank you for remembering this day with me. For remembering the little beings who were. For getting it. For being here.
I've written of my little one before on this day - you can go here for the tale. It is long, wordy as typical for me, and raw. Just knowing you're here though, helps. It makes a difference.
~i~ Matthew Thomas February 8th, 2002 ~i~