The vigil

The first time your child gets sick after your other child dies turns out to be nerve wracking.

It is 4 AM and Shea has spent the past few hours spewing forth a torrential sea of vomit. No big deal, I'm sure, just one of those stomach bugs that all small children get from time to time. Not even accompanied by a fever.

Yet, as tired as I am, I find myself unable to return to bed. What if he chokes on the vomit? What if this is something worse? How can I go back to bed when my child is sick? And so I keep watch. Watching the beautiful face of my son as he sleeps, finally, peacefully, in his bed.

As I rocked Shea, who after vomiting through several sets of PJ's has been convinced to sleep in only his diaper, wrapped in a soft blanket, my heart ached for the baby I was not rocking. I thought of how I expected my 4 AM vigil in this chair to involve nursing a newborn.

Tonight, Shea needs his mommy. And it felt good to be needed, to rock him and feel his soft weight in my arms, falling asleep on my chest, to stroke his hair and cuddle him. To help him feel better.

I miss Harper. Not just the baby I don't have, but Harper specifically. I miss her downy hair and pushed in chin. I miss her quirky extra finger. I miss the feather delicate weight of her, so different from the solid boy weight I hold tonight. I miss kissing her forehead and her tiny squeaking cries.

Good night, Harper bean. I wish I could have helped you feel better, too.