Amado, aged 3, playing in the park with a dog
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Today’s guest post is by Nechama. Nechama is a queer anarchist writer, educator, activist, midwife and organizer. Her child, Amado Samir, was stillborn in 2018, after a series of miscarriages and infertility. Nechama lives with her pit bull, Samira, and they light a candle and eat ice cream together most nights, in memory of Amado's sweet little face.
Being the mother of a child who died
before he was born
Is constantly standing with
both of my feet planted firm
in two distinct worlds
In one, my child runs through wet grass,
Chubby legs churning, his feet pointing towards my dog like the needle of a compass as they play,
Laughing and chasing each other
In the other, my child runs through wet grass,
Chubby legs churning, his feet pointing toward my dog like the needle of a compass as they play,
Laughing and chasing each other
And in this world,
I know and delight in the sound of his laughter as closely as I know and delight in the sound of my own mundane heartbeat
In both worlds, I walk my dog past the park where they would have played
In both worlds, my child walks with me,
Three years old and full of questions
His hand clasping mine
So close I can almost feel it
And then he drops my hand and runs ahead
For a moment he runs ahead
And I’m afraid i will lose him
In both worlds, I’m afraid I will lose him,
Though I know that what is mothered can never really be lost.
My heartbeat is mundane,
and the same as before my baby died
And so much of motherhood is mundane delights,
Laughter and wet grass beneath our feet,
So close I can almost feel it
Can you find your child in the mundane? When do they feel most close to you?