One More Push

Elliott Hands

One more push.

I’d been around the birth block 4 previous times. I knew what those words meant. It was almost time. Almost time to hear the cries. Almost time to hold the squirming little body. Almost time to sniff the top of a baby head while pulling him close to feel that ache and release of nursing him.

But not this time. Less that 24 hours before, we found that our son had died before he was born. One more push and we would become the butt of every horrible “dead baby” joke ever told. One more push and we would have our son, but only for a moment. One more push and we would go back to just being two. One more push and everything would change, but not in the way I had anticipated.

Today I’m posting for my friend Beth Morey, who is taking a brief sabbatical to care for her new son. I would love it if you’d stop over at her blog and read the rest.

Also, be sure to pick up Beth’s new book of poetry, Night Cycles. It’s available on kindle and in paperback.

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