Held

I held a child today

he was not mine.

Sadly he was not theirs either,

he was His.

Seated beside his Father

before he ever drew a breath

on this earth.

His hand barely covered my finger

and I gently guided his arm through

an outfit that never should have fit a baby,

but it did.

I laid him carefully on a blanket

in a small bed

as if he were sleeping.

I imagined one year ago

that the child I carried in my own body

would already have been bigger than this.

How was it that I was allowed to keep my baby

when they were not?

What was different between me

and them?

Why would they suffer this heartbreak when I

would go home in a few hours and celebrate

a first birthday?

I took pictures

of the feet, the fingers, the ears, the length.

All the things I treasured on my own

living, breathing child.

I brought the bed and the child to his mother

who looked up at me with pleading eyes

and who said “Thank You” to me

even though I wouldn’t have been able

to speak at all.

She found her voice, and used it to say

thank you. To me. Handing her that box.

The father stood beside the bed,

his arms around her shoulders as they shook.

The Father stood beside the bed,

Holding them.