They Tell Me... (Feb. 1, 2020)

For my babies Enoch and Elijah,

They tell me that I have to let myself grieve, but they don't tell me how.

They tell me to get some rest, but not about the sleepless nights I'll lie awake thinking of you.

They tell me that you're safe in Jesus' arms, but not about the loneliness I'll feel being without you.

They tell me that when you opened your eyes for the first time, the first thing you saw was Jesus' face, but not how I'll feel angry that it wasn't mine. I wanted to be the first person you saw; I wanted to hold you in my arms, look into your tiny eyes and tell you how beautiful you are.

They tell me that I will see you again, but not how deeply sorrowful I will feel to have lost you until then.

They tell me that it wasn't meant to be, but not how to fight the pain of accepting what is.

They tell me they're so sorry and try to act like they aren't worried about my bad luck rubbing off on them, but I can see the fear in their eyes and they don't tell me how I'll feel like the death angel won't ever leave my side.

They tell me that I need to find peace and comfort in God, but not how often I'll have to do so.

They tell me it's not my fault, but not how often I'm gonna believe it was.

They tell me that maybe God is trying to tell me something, but not that the act of love in marriage and every single child and life that it bears are a gift from God.

They tell me that I need to take a break, but they don't know the steps I've taken or that it's really none of their business.

They tell me that it's good that it happened earlier, rather than later, but not how long I will feel this emptiness.

They tell me that you are gone, but not why it feels like you are still growing inside me.

They tell me that my body will be out of wack, but not about the food cravings, the phantom kicks, the engorgement, the hormones, or the chills.

They tell me that it will get better, but they don't know that the moment I knew you were there, you were with me everyday - in my every thought. Or how I started to dream and make plans for you and wonder about you growing up and who'd you'd become.

They tell me and tell me, but now I've stopped listening, because I know that nothing they say will make anything better.