For the Baby I Didn't Hold

On Sunday, August 25th, 2019, my nephew Timothy was stillborn. Named after my brother and our father (who died from cancer in 2011,) Timothy was given 38 precious weeks growing and kicking inside of his mother's womb. While I cannot compare the tragic loss of my nephew to the experience of losing a child as a parent, I wanted to share the poem I wrote to Timothy as we were waiting in the tension between the news of his death and of his birth. Timothy is the son of my brother and sister-in-law, and by extension, so much a part of me as well. 

This poem was written in response to desperation I felt to hold him—to get to meet him in person and to lay eyes on him for myself before he would be swept away from us into eternity. In my grief and sorrow, I languished over the reality that I would not have the opportunity to cradle him, hug him, or kiss him until heaven.

I imagine there are many families, like mine, who grieve the loss of babies they didn't hold. So, while this poem is for my dearest nephew, Timothy Sawyer, born 6 lbs. 5 oz. and 20 inches long, it is also for those who have walked alongside a grieving parent. May the love for and memory of that child never be lost minimized or forgotten, but fondly cherished as a reminder of the reunion that awaits those who've placed their faith in the resurrected Son of God, Jesus Christ. May we grieve, may we hope, and may we look forward to the day when sadnesses such as these will come untrue.

You bypassed us on heaven’s highway
Without so much as a sign.
Into the arms of God Almighty,
And now I must wait in line.

What did you know of this place?
Surely the choicest finds:
A mother’s warmth, a father’s pride,
Loved ones who’ll wait in line.

Adoration was your blanket;
You had provisions of every kind.
Yet you preceded us in glory—
Baby, I will wait in line.

What are we but borrowed breath
Fooled by the myth of “mine?”
But you were only just on loan to us,
And now we wait in line.

Numbered were your precious days;
Counted, the sands of time.
Travel well into the promised land;
Lord, help me wait in line.

We grieve with hope, and to this end
Crave eternity sublime.
Sad things untrue,
the dead made new—
Child, I will wait in line.
Love will keep me in this line.
To hold you...I'll wait in line.