Hyperion Avenue

In this moment, nothing is okay.  You know you gotta live like nothings gonna hurt, but happiness seems so far, far away.

Everyone has invaluable advice for a situation that no one can fully grasp.  All I can say is July.

Virginia,
They came and told me about the endless possibilities and how death is possible, but unlikely.  My life is full of the unlikely.  It felt like I was pushing against the waves and I kissed you goodbye with not a moment to consider the life in you that was soon to depart.  I never got to give the child a hug and let it know that we have not completely screwed this world up.

I watched as they wheeled you down the hallway in a gurney, I walked beside you hand in hand, shuffling my feet against the cold floor.  Heart racing, I grabbed your face and kissed it like it would be the last.  They told me it was time.  You had to go.  As I turned on my heels and stepped into the elevator, I hit the floor.  Where else do you go when you just lost everything you came here with?

To figure how to swim for 40 days and 40 nights would have been an easier task than to face the inevitable.

So, I look around at every reminder of a life I never got to share.  A hand I will never hold and a child for which stories I will never tell.  A part of me died that day under the cold nonchalant methodology of swarming hospital workers.  A child that had a name of July Kelley and carried dreams for which it will never live.

I have thoughts of grandeur that could never live in a place of lesser man.  Its not their currency that spends.

It is this world’s loss and not mine alone.  With the beauty and heart of its mother and the fight of his father, the world would have been changed.  A child that would have never lived life at minimum safe distance.

July,
I handmade a table, I rounded the edges to protect you.  I sanded it down to prevent a splinter from ever piercing your hands.  The rope to soften the edges still sits nearby.  Your bassinet plans sit at the ready and I so wish you were here to lay in it at night.  I would have looked in on you at all hours just to see you breathe.

We laughed and cried when the news came that you were on your way.  We stood in our office and fathomed at how we were going to tell everyone about you.  We took six tests  just to make sure.  You brought so much joy to our lives and never even knew it.

I spent nights talking to you.  I know you had no ears yet to hear me, but I knew your spirit heard everything I had to say.  I told you to take it easy on your mom.  I told you how I loved you and how excited I was to see you in this world.  I could not stand the days we had to wait.  We looked at pictures of what you would look like at that moment.  You were little larger than a Poppyseed.

You would soon meet Nana, Pop, Grandma G and Jazzy (your Georgia grandpa).  You would have met a man that looked identical to Santa and we would have let you believe it.  You would have met Mrs. Claus too.  So many were here to love you.

You were a miracle for your parents, if only for a moment.  A child that was never supposed to happen.  We were so proud.

I know you are over us, hovering, whispering.  I know you are in a better place while I sit here and my heart breaks.

Your mom and I will go on, pushing through day to day, looking forward to a day when we will see your smiling face.

Know we loved you and know we are so proud of you.

Dear angelic child, we will see you soon.