July 12 is the day I learned that giving birth and giving life are two different things. Only God can give life - and I am glad that my second baby lived in my womb long enough for me to feel him squirm. It comforts me that he possessed life before the day of his birth - because that was such a sad day.
I gave birth to Elijah in a lot of pain, and in a lot of confusion as I lay in a bed in a foreign country. I never saw him breathe the outside air, but I felt him move inside me.
Maybe it's a bit gratuitous to continue to mark his birthday, but in many ways I feel I owe that to him. I am the only one that felt those butterfly baby kicks, those assurances of life - and of the image and promise of God.
This morning my Dad sent me a poem he wrote in his remembrance of Elijah's birth. I'm treasuring the entirety of it, but here's an excerpt that I'd like to share with you, as he imagines meeting his grandson someday, on the other side:
I’ll tell him how much I missed him and how much I looked forward to himBaby, we didn't have to know you to know we loved you.
Letting me play with him in the basement, playing games I’d let him win.
I’ll ask him to show me ‘round Heaven, maybe show me his favorite toy
And all the while be hoping he’ll take me to Jesus, his greatest joy.
If you're new here, and have never "met" by 2nd son, here is the collection of posts about him. And to the rest of you, who lost babies before you could gaze into their eyes, I know. I'm sorry. I'm remembering them too.