Written on April 13, 2017 by Sarah Pemberton Kastrup
Today is Levi's birthday. My first born. My memory of Levi is almost invisible. I have written so much. About 5 years ago, I was compelled and wrote it all. I tried to turn it into a publishable memoir, but then got afraid. Afraid of what I was revealing about myself. Afraid of sharing so much vulnerability with the world. The writing of it was for myself, I said. But the writing is still in an unfinished form. With a little more refinement, a little more attention, I could have a book to share with my family and loved ones.
Twelve years ago, on this day, at this very time, I was checking into labor and delivery, still not comprehending the truth of what was coming in the hours ahead. My first time pregnant. My first time to give birth. The memories I have feel clearer, because I wrote every one of them down. Can I still feel his body slipping out into the cold, gigantic world? Or do I remember reliving the sensations when I wrote about it?
I was thinking about my writing group this morning, being sure to leave on time, being sure I had everything ready. A text from my mom came in…she was remembering Levi and sending me love.
The pain healed.
The great loss no longer brings sadness.
You existed alive in this world for almost an hour. Such a small body. Such a very large spirit. I want to remember you exactly. But I don’t. I want to feel deeply. I kind of do. I want to honor you and myself and that most incredible moment we shared together, two humans briefly held in the wordless closeness of togetherness and love.
Sarah Pemberton is a teacher, a writer, and the founder of Write Now!. Sarah lives in Portland, Oregon with her two daughters.