A Car With Four Doors- A Poem

I'm trying not to spend my time just waiting

but you follow me around

from the bathtub in the bathroom and the tray across it that would hold your bath things

to the drawers in the bedroom where I quickly push past stretchy clothes that were set aside for when I were to carry you

from the kitchen where my jar of folic acid seems to be mocking me, while I take it for yet another day

to the bookshelf that holds pregnancy books (though the only chapters I'm familiar with are the first and the last)

from the calendar with empty pages because we never know how far to plan

to the Christmas tree that holds ornaments meant for you

from the weighing scales that fluctuate with my body's reaction to treatments (and grief)

to the short walk around the neighbourhood that I had initially mapped out in waiting for you

from the pages in my journal that are conversations I have with God about you

to the cupboard with extra boxes of tissues we have for tears I never knew could flow so unceasingly

from the photos of our wedding day when we first became family

to the blank wall next to it anticipating framed pictures of you

from this house with three bedrooms, where we've been planning to have one be yours

to the car with four-doors, waiting to cart you around, that we thought would be better than two.

I try to not spend my time just waiting

but you follow me around

quietly

leaving a trail of broken pieces of my heart.

I think you'd like it here

but it is not for me to say

and I hope we meet one day soon.

In the meantime

I can't help it

I will keep anticipating you.

(This piece of writing was started in December 2009, the title was inspired by a conversation I had with a certain friend- I hope you don't mind me using it! It is based on my experience but also written to all who are waiting for or missing their children; for those experiencing infertility or have been through loss in general. Especially dedicated to one valued friend for whom today is sadly memorable.)