There are four of you now.

Four children whom I will not be with this side of heaven.

One. Genesis Aria. My sweet baby girl. I got to hold you for an hour and forty-three minutes. Such a short time. But I will always remember the way your tiny, fork-prong-sized fingers grasped my enormous index finger with all the might you could muster. In that moment, you called me mama.

Two. Dorian Isaac. A wisp of a thought, gone before I really could process the thought of you existing. But still, my son. My first son.

Three. Rowan Iona. Again, gone before I knew it. I suspected. I felt the stirrings of you in the innermost parts of my soul. But the logic of life told me otherwise. Your life was confirmed to me even as you slipped away.

Four. We have not named you yet. But you were here, no doubt. Despite not being "planned," you were still my child, even if for a tiny moment in the lengthy life of the universe. And I still love you.

My chest is heavy this evening, and yet, I cannot quite shed a tear. Oh, the tears are there. I feel them. It's just that they are more like the dew that slowly seeps into the ground, nourishing the soil drop by drop, rather than a heavy downpour.

Four of you on the other side. And two here with me.

I love the two here with all my heart.

But they will never replace the four I lost.

Winter Tree

I did my first painting tonight. A few friends have mentioned doing birth art and/or art therapy, and the idea sounded very interesting to me, as I've had a lot on my mind and heart lately. So, I got a pad of paper and some watercolors and finally sat down to do my first painting. Here is the result:

The colors are a little washed out, as this is a photograph of the painting. But I think I like the look of it with the lighter blue background.
I'd had this image stuck in my head for a few days of a silhouetted tree against a blue background. So, that's what I painted. I just thought I was painting a tree. But my subconscious sort of took over.

I just recently experienced a miscarriage. It's been a pretty difficult month since then, and I've known that I had feelings buried about it, as well as about my previous losses.

I showed my husband the picture, and he told me how the uprooted tree represents our miscarried child, and my friend added that the snowflakes represent the coldness and pain that I'm feeling. And then I realized, also, that the rounded shape of the blue background is very womb-like. It's amazing what our subconscious can do if we let it. And it is also amazing how healing the process of creating simple picture of three colors can be.

So, this is my watercolor painting, which I've titled "Winter Tree." And it is in honor of our lost child, whom we have decided to call Rowan.

**In memory of Rowan Lutes, November 9, 2010**


"i'm pregnant."

two words
that can hold so much
but yet so much
when fired at you

the questions come:

why not me?

i thought that
sex + ovulation day = baby?

why can fourteen-year-olds
have healthy pregnancies,
but my baby died?

why did my water break early?

why couldn't she wait just
a few more days?


self-loathing for the fact that you're
not entirely happy.

nervous system overload.
shutting down in