A Thrill of Excitement

 I think about the moment my friend found out she is having not one baby, but two. Did a thrill of excitement pass through her as she gazed at the ultrasound screen? Could she hardly believe her eyes and her ears? Maybe she thought of nothing else but twins for days afterwards.

 I remember how I felt when I saw Thomas for the first time. I too couldn’t believe my ears. I too couldn’t think of anything but the baby tucked inside me for days, weeks, months. But I didn’t feel a thrill of joy shoot through me as I heard the news of my child. Instead, a feeling of dread, fear and grief engulfed me.

 That was almost 12 years ago. Today I feel very special, as special as my friend of the soon-to-be-born twins.

 God chose me to be Thomas’ mother. Our child needed a mother who’d keep him safe until the day of his birth, someone who’d ensure he received the sacraments. He needed a family to stand beside him as he struggled to live, loved ones to cry and to mourn his death, to hold his tiny body close even though his soul had departed. He needed someone to arrange his funeral, to give him a lingering kiss goodbye and to suffer the pain of seeing him buried.  He needs someone who won’t forget him, though it’s painful to keep the memories alive. And love. I’m sure he still needs a mother’s love.

 God chose me to be the mother of Thomas. He sent this beautiful precious soul to me, to grow within me, to be born, to be baptised and confirmed, and then to be returned back to Him. God gave that difficult task to me.

 I think of St Clotilde’s words at the time of the death of her firstborn child, immediately after baptism: “I give thanks to Almighty God that He had not considered me unworthy to be the mother of a child admitted into the celestial kingdom. Having quitted the world in the white robe of his innocence, he will rejoice in the presence of God through all eternity.”

 Yes, I still sorrow. I still cry when I think too deeply. But at the same time I rejoice. So feel sorry I grieve, that my heart suffers. But please don’t wish I’d been given another child, a child who would have lived instead of my baby who died so soon.  Please don’t wish Thomas had never been born.

 I think of that day when I will meet my son again. Will he be all grown up? Will I recognise him? Will he know me?  Will he say, “Mum! I love you”?

 I imagine. And a thrill of excitement flows through me.