|
|
It's just a little girl's dress
Frills and bows and little flowers on it
The kind of baby girl's dress a grandmother
Would love to see on her precious little angel
The kind of dress every mother knows
Would never look so perfect by the end of one day
But still, her face softens
As she thinks of her little angel in that dress.
It's just a little boy's baseball outfit
For a baby boy, too young
To know what team he loves, or hates
Too young to know what a bat and ball is for
But still, your husband gets
This goofy smile on his face
When he imagines his baby boy in that outfit.
How long ago that day seems
When you looked in that store window
And saw that little dress
And saw that little baseball outfit
Now you see it, baby clothing
And you cry.
Don't let me see that little dress
Don't let me see that little baseball outfit
Don't let me remember
My baby will never wear it.
Don't let me remember
Our baby will never outgrow those clothes
Don't let me remember
I will never have a use
For the bigger size.
And oh, don't let me see
A beautiful baby in a stroller
Don't let me see
The happy faces
Of my friends, my sisters, my sisters-in-law
Holding their babies
Mothers all.
My arms are ready
But my arms are empty now
And every little dress
Every little baseball outfit
Every happy mother
Holding her sweet baby
Makes me turn away
To hide my welling tears.
But there's nowhere to run
Nowhere to hide
From these feelings
There comes one day
When I see that little dress
When I see that little baseball outfit
And just as my tears are about to come
I turn around
And fix my eyes
On a small child nearby.
I look at that child
And say a silent prayer:
"May you be blessed with long life
May your parents know each day
How lucky they are to have you with them
How lucky they are, to be able to buy you
That little dress, that little baseball outfit
How lucky they are, that you will so quickly outgrow them."
This silent gesture gives me comfort
Though the tears still come.
One day, my courage increases.
I see a beautiful newborn baby in a basket
Held by an older lady
And I tell her, "What a beautiful baby!"
Thinking she will just say, "Thank you!"
But she doesn't.
"Thank you," she says. "I am her grandmother.
Her identical twin sister died just after she was born.
She is eight days old," and she tells me the baby's name.
My inward envy, instantly, is gone.
I had thought these baby's parents so lucky
But they too, have lost a child
And now they cling, to this child
The one who remains, much loved.
I look down to the baby,
And say to her softly,
"May you live to be at least 90 years old,
And may you always be loved."
Her grandmother beams, grasps my hand tightly.
Then we say our goodbyes
And my eyes follow
The perfect little baby in the basket.
One day, in a restaurant
I see two young people
Looking down, dotingly
Into a stroller
Looking proudly at a contented baby.
I get my courage again
And tell them they have a beautiful baby.
They both smile at me, and then they tell me
Much to my surprise
That the baby is so very precious to them
For they had a miscarriage last year.
Ahhh, envy, how foolish an emotion you are!
To find your courage,
To reach out in joy
Is to lose that envy.
With every small gesture
Of reaching out to joy
My envy, my bitter grief
Floats away with my tears.
One day, I see a father and a little girl
Standing at a traffic light
The little girl looks up
Trustingly at her father
Holding his hand so tightly
Waiting for him to tell her
It's O.K. for them to cross.
For a moment I think
My baby will never be old enough
To cross the street with me
But then I resist that thought
And instead, try to reach out
In my mind, and feel that father's pride
I see him look down at his little girl
With this beautiful, loving smile
And I am sure
He does not know
Anyone saw that look
That someone saw that look
And for a moment, felt his joy.
Time passes, and another baby
Fills the unused sleepers
And wears the little dress, chosen with care
For a sister who never wore it.
She grows and grows
Several inches a night, it seems
My arms ache with the weight of her growth
But I am grateful for the ache.
It's just a little girl's dress
One that She never wore
One that her sister has,
The baby sister she will never meet
One that doesn't fit her anymore.
Will I keep it in a closet
To remember?
Or will I give it to another baby
To bring her mother joy?
The choice is mine
But this I know
I will not hide from life, not ever again
I will always reach out to joy.
In loving memory of Rhiannon Roxane, who would have been 2 years old now, and with love to her sweet little sister, Madoka Marietta Rosalie, who has outgrown the little dress, and at six months old, has already worn a flower girl's dress, as may be seen in the photo on this page.
Every child is perfect, when they are loved. Also, in loving memory of Toby, to whose grieving mother, I offer my prayers, and special thanks for inspiring this poem.
From your mother, Pandora Diane Waldron--------------------May 19, 1999
