I wrote you a post a couple days ago, then accidentally deleted it in the spot it belonged, but I still have its text. That goes:
Dear Jonah,
Something very sad has happened. The couple I’ve mentioned before – the ones who your dad and I have been most closely sharing our pregnancy with – is losing their baby. Her water broke yesterday morning and they induced labor this morning. The baby isn't ready to live outside the womb. I have been crying a lot for them, and I feel helpless to help.
We've shared this journey with them since just a couple of days after they found out they were pregnant. It's been so joyful together. We've been passing maternity clothes along to them as I outgrow them; we expected to give our baby stuff to them as well. She's been so good, too. She kept exercising, and they were using the birthing center, and they've been listening to the heartbeat. She had just started to feel fetal movement. And she has been looking so RADIANT. I never saw anyone look so radiant - just starting to show, and she looked so alive. I've thought "I wish I were as good as her" so many times.
Your dad and I are both just really struck with our grief for them. When I told him the news, he noted that we've been pregnant together for so long, it's very hard to know how to go on in this without them. And all the while as I feel so sad for them - and us - I feel you in there - a tiny man moving around in my body, and I know you’re doing so well. I feel totally unworthy of the incredible gift of your presence inside me. I feel the vulnerability of this body and am newly aware of how fragile it is.
The thing that really hits me is that for all this time you have been an abstraction. You were a "probably." I think in trusts and estates terms I would have analogized you to an expectancy. As much as I have talked to you and written to you and felt you moving inside of me, you have still not been my baby. That changed yesterday. I'm pretty sure your name is Jonah. You are as real as I am.
Our friends have asked that we pray for them - that they will be good parents for the time that they have. I have been praying for that, and also for their comfort and resilience, but sometimes I can pray to God and feel like I've met a need. These prayers feel wholly inadequate.
Today, I wrote this for you:
You may remember my post from October 21, when I told you about them. I said that you would grow up with her baby, at least for the first several years of your life. Your father and I imagined that when we finished with each stage of baby clothes, each baby contraption (car seats, playpens, etc) that we would likely hand them off to them. I imagined their child would be your friend. I loved that we would celebrate both your kicks and her baby's kicks together, and best that your dad and I weren't pregnant alone anymore. We rejoiced in their friendship and in having a community for pregnancy - with all the fears and new experiences it brings.
As we had imagined we would, we've continued to rejoice in these lives inside our bodies together, but Wednesday morning J's water broke and they were told that their baby could not yet survive outside the womb. There was then some joy and certainly a respite from their grief when they were told that J was carrying twins, and that perhaps there was some chance that they might support one another and live. But Friday morning J went into labor and their two sons were born and soon died. They named their children Emmanuel, which means "God with us" and Caleb, who encouraged the Hebrews to enter the land of Canaan.
For all this time you have been an abstraction. You were a "probably." I think in law school terms I would have analogized you to an expectancy. As much as I have talked to you and written to you and felt you moving inside of me, you have still not been my baby. That changed last week. You are as real as I am, and I'm pretty sure your name is Jonah, and I love you. And all the while as I feel so sad for them I feel you in there - a tiny man moving around in my body, and I know you're doing so well. I feel totally unworthy of the incredible gift of your presence inside me. I feel the vulnerability of this body and am newly aware of how fragile it is. I am terrified for you and pray that my feeble body is enough for you these last six weeks.
Your father and I have followed B's and J's journey for the last several days - praying for one thing and then another - for their strength, for their healing, for the time they would have with their children to be meaningful - and often, for a miracle. In the end Caleb and Emmanuel only had a few hours with their parents before slipping from this world, but they were blessed with some of the best parents I could imagine for any child. B generously wrote to us that a special angle on our friendship now is he and J treasure our pregnancy more than ever and look forward to getting to know you. You will be a lucky little boy for that. I have learned so much from them and from their journey through parenthood. How I miss them in this path already. Your dad has noted that we've been pregnant together for so long, it's very hard to know how to go on in this without them.
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