Infants Remembered In Silence (IRIS) - Poems

Expectations

By Susan Smoot

My expanding girth now looked pregnant instead of just fat. I relished in that progress. I had always envied pregnant women. They all seemed to have a special quality.

I started to feel the baby move. At first small tiny pokes and then bigger jabs. My husband got so excited when he could feel his child move. That was the moment it became real for him – when he realized a living being was moving underneath his fingers.

Two days later I was no longer expecting. It all seemed so unreal, Did I dream the entire pregnancy or did I dream the miscarriage? What is reality? Time stood still – Days were excruciatingly long and nights lasted forever. My mind went from thought to thought without a connection, then as if on overload it just went numb. I struggled to remember, even more people treated our baby as a non-person the more fiercely I tried to remember. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was afraid they would succeed in making me forget because there was no tangible proof our son existed – only memories.

I latched onto flowers, cards, whatever else I could, as if to prove yes he was real. That is all I ask of people is to acknowledge we had a son.

The pain lingers on. My healing body is a constant reminder our son is dead. The death of a baby is like slamming a door on the future, You have very little past to remember; only the might-have-beens.

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