Lent Day 17: Remembered

An unexpected play date finds us at a braai with acquaintances.

We sit in the balmy glow of one of the final days of summer and shoot the breeze.

We don't know each other that well, we spectate at the same galas, wait for the same parent teacher meetings, dream the same dreams for our kids, but it's still an effort to remember names.

The usual topics get covered - bullies, holidays, careers, chicken on special at Woolies. 

And then somewhere in the conversation a realness creeps in. 

We are told the story of infertility, of a prayer, of a miracle baby. 

The couple look at each other and say, 'there is more'. 

They take a deep breath and tell the story the loss of their second child, an unborn six month old son. 

Complications to the placenta meant that his life was not viable and the damage had already been done to his brain. 

I let out a minor sob and can't stop the weep from happening. 

I look to the mother and ask, 'Did you see him?'

Her eyes streaming with tears she replies, 'yes'. 

I ask, 'What is his name?' 

She gives me his name. As she whispers it an echo of a deep deep grief is in the shadow of her voice. It is there for a moment and gone. 

But it hits me straight in the heart. 

In a moment we are no longer acquaintances. We are friends. And we are mothers. And we will never forget the babies who returned home early. And we will never, ever stop loving them. 

Dedicated to Katherine, Teddy, Jesse and Eli