This week I waited for -
for what seemed like forever, tired and sick, and avoiding caffeine.
I saw you on the screen and dreamed of the day I'd see your face and give you a name.
Well, this week's finally come, but it didn't bring you,
like it promised it would so long ago.
This week I should be bleeding,
and hurting, and aching with joy
as I watch you sleep in the room that I made just for you
with your name on the wall.
This week your big brother should be so sick of hearing,
"Quiet the baby's sleeping," and
"Gentle ... Careful ... Watch his head."
This week I should be nursing, and rocking, and ssshhhing,
and crying with panic,
wondering how I'll manage with two.
This week I should be praying for your future
- your dreams and your wife -
instead of trying to make sense of what heaven is like
for one who never knew earth.
But, this week you're dancing, and singing with praise,
instead of clenching your eyes against a world
that'll never make sense -
where I can't teach you love without you knowing much pain.
Maybe this week your Father
(the One that we share, who welcomed you home)
can sing you the songs that I would have sung
and say, "That's my boy,"
like your dad would have done.
as I hold a new babe in my womb,
your bother in my arms,
and you in my heart,
I marvel at the fullness I'd never have had,
if I hadn't lost someone so perfect,
so precious as you.