Infants Remembered In Silence (IRIS) - Stories

Our Amara

by Liesel J. Collins

Amara Roselani Collins

“Bad news,” he said. Bed rest till my ninth
month, I thought. “No, really bad news,” he said.

But she’s alive! I feel her still! But in a
while she will be still.

Crying in the labor room, 20 weeks-not
home free. Anticipating the coming gloom,
My child died inside of me.

At first I didn’t want to know who you were.
I thought to protect my heart. I thought this
was smart.

But once I delivered you, my world
changed, you see. You are my baby girl,
Who lived and died inside of me.

Far away I saw you held by a stranger who
can never tell how it felt to have you,
Living and wiggling inside of me.

I named you Amara. To me you are
Eternally beautiful. Your middle name
Roselani.
To me you are heaven’s Rose.

God’s will-will be done. There is a reason
believes everyone –
Except me- Why you died inside of me.

Some say it hurts to see me cry. It hurts me
more my child has died.

Instead of taking you home with me, I was
given a box. A memory box they call it. But
nonetheless a box.

A box that I cherish and hold kiss and cry upon.
A box I’ve been told I should not look often on.
But in it are precious things I hold very dear,
your photographs, footprints, and handprints. I yearn to have you near.

Your tiny cap and cape. Each has a little stain.
A memory of you, a memory of my pain.

And now I’m at home, feeling empty and alone.
Your little grave I soon will see, my beautiful baby who died inside of me.
They say I will see you, someday very soon. God please save my soul
And fill this empty hole.

Goodbye, I love you My Amara
Your father loves you, too. Until
tomorrow... my beautiful baby who lived and
died inside of me.

Written by Liesel J. Collins on June 14, 2003
Dedicated to Amara Roselani Collins, daughter of Jeffrey L. and Liesel J. Collins, who died on May 27, 2003.

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