Forever Tiny
2014 Melanie Poston
“Don’t
you wish they’d stay little forever?” The admirer smiles at my toddler.
No.
I have some that are little
forever. I don’t want them to stay little forever. I want them to grow, to
learn, to live.
He was
surprisingly little. I didn't know what 16 ½ weeks would look like, and his
tiny, perfect, body wasn't expected. How could someone so tiny be so completely
formed? All the fingers and toes, nostrils, ears. His jaw was already
functional. I helped him close his mouth. So perfectly little, forever.
He was
supposed to be squirming and screaming when I first saw him. I would hold him
and bounce him, shushing comforts. I would look into his eyes, and he would see
me back. If I cried then the tears would
have been different.
He was
supposed to grow. One day I would look at him and I would marvel that he was
already 5 years old. I might miss his toothless smiles, baby giggles, and absolute
dependence, but I wouldn’t be sad. His
life would be a joy, even when it was simultaneously frustrating or draining.
He would always be counted as a gift.
He was
supposed to learn. Would he be smart, soaking up information , like his older
brother? Would he get Daddy’s talent in music? What would his interests be? I
would have eagerly watched as he made new discoveries and learned how the world
worked.
He was
supposed to live. Why didn’t he? What did
I do wrong? I made it past the dangers of the first trimester, we were in
the clear. I dared to hope, to dream, to anticipate. I had already had my share
of loss, so this was sure to be a success. But he didn’t live. He won’t learn
or grow, and his eyes, which were supposed to search mine out above all others,
will never open.
“Don’t
you wish they’d stay little forever?” It’s a common question. I know the speakers have only good intent,
probably don’t even know of my losses. But little forever means dead. This wasn’t
what I wanted.
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