Paseo Press

No Peep, No Breath, still Sheer Perfection

2011-05-25T22:11:00.000-07:00

A writer friend needing to know how a stillborn baby looks, went Online and Googled with touching result. She shared her experience in her blog post My Writing Takes Me Places.

Our Ariane Eira's eyes were closed, her lips burgundy rose petals dropped on pale smooth skin, she had the tiniest blond curls as if set around sprigs. Her limbs, fingers and toes were long, like her daddy's, her nails mother of pearl. No peep, no breath, still sheer perfection.

So to Speak summer/fall 2008 Visual Art Contest 2nd winner up "Starlight" by Judith van Praag

2008-12-21T15:14:00.000-08:00

"Starlight" by Judith van Praag (Collage Xerox print, China ink, sonogram).
2nd runner up of the 2008 visual art contest of So to Speak, a journal of language and visual art.
Click on image for larger representation. ©1993-2008 Judith van Praag

Spooning

2008-03-06T08:09:00.000-08:00

My love in fetal position
takes the place of the empty feeling
the vacated belly
our baby's home for nine months

Once again we're like newlyweds
our by winter-gear hooded kisses
protected from the gazes of passers-by
we're parents without responsibilities
except for ourselves/ each other
the memory of our child

No cradle to rock/ no pram to push
no feeding during the night
we sleep next to the vacant room
where winter's cold combined with grief
drives us closer than love in a warm climate would

Back to point zero where we started
but for the history we now share
making us one/ once again

©1993 Judith van Praag
From Creative Acts of Healing: after a baby dies

Love of a Child

2007-10-02T07:28:00.000-07:00

The other night we celebrated the birthday of a friend at a pizzeria. Another guest was "showing" a six-month bulge. I remembered my own pregnancy, and noted there was no sharp pang of sadness, merely the registration: she's going to deliver in January, just like I did.

My aim was to show interest, without saying anything that might invite a question about us having children. No need to talk about our loss, no need to scare an expecting mother, no need to draw the attention away from the present birthday celebration.

The woman mentioned her due date. The day our baby daughter was born, and died.

At the table next to ours, seating fourteen quests, an Ethiopian family was preparing to eat. A little girl of about three, eager to have her plate filled, brought a smile to my face. Her mother noticed, and smiled back at me, her two female companions turning in their seats, did the same, while the father helped his small daughter to salad and pizza.

Their party finished before ours, as everybody got up, the little girl kissed her aunties. Her mother gestured she should say goodbye to me as well. Holding out her arms she ran over to me. Grabbing my hand she lifted her face for a kiss. Calling her Sweetie, I lightly pressed my lips on her forehead. A birthday present, for me.