You were the younger sibling
to those who dwelled before you,
already known to heaven.
I lost count of the losses, my dear,
but God never did.
He counted every hope I buried,
every future I rehearsed in silence.
He knows how fiercely I adored you,
how carefully I held your life
inside my dreams and plans.
You were a miracle.
No clinics, no white coats,
no measured hope.
not like the other times.
This time, everything felt right.
Just Mum and Daddy,
and one blessed night.
I knew it in my body
before language could catch it.
After eight years of waiting,
the knowing arrived quietly,
soft, certain, undeniable.
As if my body remembered
what my heart had almost stopped believing.
For a moment,
the dream leaked into reality:
appointments pencilled in,
your dad’s smile,
ordinary moments suddenly sacred.
And then
your heartbeat.
Your heartbeat—
The one I thought was strong,
began to slow.
Mine fractured with it.
A beat out of tempo,
encased by a pressure
that begged to suffocate.
You joined your siblings.
I joined despair—
reciting that heartbeat in my mind
like a prayer,
begging faith itself
not to blur you into loss,
not to let your memory dissolve
among the others
as grief learned my name.
Dec 23, 2025
Dec 23, 2025 at 6:41 AM UTC
You were the younger sibling
to those who dwelled before you,
already known to heaven.
I lost count of the losses, my dear,
but God never did.
He counted every hope I buried,
every future I rehearsed in silence.
He knows how fiercely I adored you,
how carefully I held your life
inside my dreams and plans.
You were a miracle.
No clinics, no white coats,
no measured hope.
not like the other times.
This time, everything felt right.
Just Mum and Daddy,
and one blessed night.
I knew it in my body
before language could catch it.
After eight years of waiting,
the knowing arrived quietly,
soft, certain, undeniable.
As if my body remembered
what my heart had almost stopped believing.
For a moment,
the dream leaked into reality:
appointments pencilled in,
your dad’s smile,
ordinary moments suddenly sacred.
And then
your heartbeat.
Your heartbeat—
The one I thought was strong,
began to slow.
Mine fractured with it.
A beat out of tempo,
encased by a pressure
that begged to suffocate.
You joined your siblings.
I joined despair—
reciting that heartbeat in my mind
like a prayer,
begging faith itself
not to blur you into loss,
not to let your memory dissolve
among the others
as grief learned my name.
May I never forget and may all those struggling with infertility find peace and if there is still time blessed with a child.