A poem for my stillborn daughter, Caitlyn.

lev­en years ago today, my daugh­ter was still­born. That day, in the hos­pi­tal, a nurse who pro­vid­ed grief sup­port to par­ents who’d expe­ri­enced peri­na­tal loss vis­it­ed with me. (Kim, who had eclamp­sia and had had a seizure the pri­or morn­ing, was still spend­ing a large part of the day asleep and half-aware of what was going on.) Dur­ing the con­ver­sa­tion, the nurse sug­gest­ed to me that I write some­thing for my daugh­ter and have it buried with her, in order to mit­i­gate a sense I had that I would­n’t be able to do for Cait­lyn, or say to Cait­lyn, all that I want­ed to.

That was on April 18, 2006—the Tues­day after East­er.

The next day, April 19, I wrote these words. I have nev­er pub­lished them until now. I had them buried with her on April 24, 2006—the day after Divine Mer­cy Sun­day.

 

Do not let your heart be trou­bled. You believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to pre­pare a place for you. And if I go and pre­pare a place for you, I will come again, that where I am, there you may be too. (John 14:1–3).

 

Let the lit­tle chil­dren come to me, and do not hin­der them. For the King­dom of God belongs to such as these. (Mark 10:14)

 

To a Daugh­ter Going Home
for Cait­lyn Elis­a­beth Alt

 

When first I heard, my mouth fell,

Awed that I had made a child

Who’d grow into a thing of joy on joy.

I remem­ber that I cried.

 

As month passed month, I clung unto the sou­venirs

Of things that told me that you were:

The heart I heard record your life,

The many times I felt you kick.

 

Your mom gave all she had for you,

To bring you out and hear you breathe.

Your one room here was in her womb:

A room alone, designed by God,

 

Who held you there when you lost life,

So He could res­ur­rect you at your birth

And bring you unto your new home

To wait there for your mom and dad.

 

A lit­tle while we held you here with­in our arms

To assure you that our love is great.

And though we know you skipped the hurt of Earth,

How beau­ti­ful your face that could not see.

 

My baby girl, I’ll nev­er see you learn to walk

Or miss and wor­ry when you go to school.

I’ll nev­er hear you laugh or cry

Or com­fort and uphold you when you hurt.

 

I’ll nev­er walk you down the aisle

To give you to the man you love.

I’ll only lift you up on high

And give you to your King.

 

Dear lit­tle Cait­lyn, lit­tle tiny thing, so good,

I can­not imag­ine all the joy that’s yours,

While we here hurt and miss and cry.

And every day I have I’ll look for you.

 

So take with you some words of love

For your new room, pre­pared for you by Christ,

Who loved you first and best

And gave you short­ly unto us.

 

How beau­ti­ful that time! more beau­ti­ful your home!

We’ll see you there when Christ does call,

And nev­er leave, and know your face,

And give you all the love we’ve held for you.

 

Love,
Dad­dy