I Can Hear You Call Me 'Momma'

For the longest time,

I dreamt of your red hair and blue eyes,

and the sound of your voice calling to me,

“Momma!”

.

Your voice is music to my ears.

The strings of my heart are plucked

imagining the sound of your giggles.

I already love you so much.

.

You would have a heart of gold like your father,

but you’d have the strength of your mother.

People love to be around you,

despite the little bit of stubbornness you inherited.

.

I want to swing you in the air,

and tuck you in at night.

What I would give to kiss you on the forehead,

and wipe your eyes when you cry.

.

Daydreaming of you brings me comfort,

then reality sets in.

Suddenly, I realize the day will never come

when I would see my son or daughter.

.

For many years,

we wondered why we could not become parents.

Was I being punished?

Why could others get pregnant, but I cannot?

.

Standing in front of the mirror,

I poke my stomach out imagining how big you’d grow.

Now, when I see my reflection and rub my belly,

I know you will never exist.

.

I felt you grow there once,

but never again.

“You will never have children, Mrs. Walker,”

the doctors told me.

.

I shouted, screamed, wept,

and trembled from the news.

“This is so unfair,”

was all I was able to mutter.

.

Slowly, I healed and found ways to cope without you.

I started to accept that I will never be called ‘Momma’.

Then, out of the blue, you changed my world all over again.

“You are pregnant, Mrs. Walker.”

.

How can this be?

I was told I would never have children.

We have tried for several years to have you,

and now I may have the chance to hear you call me ‘Momma’.

.

Your name was chosen years ago,

and I knew in my first year of marriage what your nursery would look like.

I’d hold you close little James or Ava,

and I’m never going to let you go.

.

For a brief time,

I saw you with me in my reflection.

You gave me peace and completion.

I’m going to be your momma.

.

For weeks, you caused me to double over,

I sweated from the pain,

and my heart sank knowing,

“Something is not right.”

.

“Congratulations,”

the nurses would say each check-up.

I responded with thanks for the praises,

but doubt lingered on my tongue wondering what you were doing to me.

.

“The fetus is killing you, Mrs. Walker,”

the doctor explained.

Please, tell me this is not happening.

I waited so long for you.

.

I was rushed into surgery,

your father at my side.

Stroking my hair, comforting me, keeping his composure, despite hearing,

“Your wife will die if we do not do this.”

.

Heavy my eyes became.

The sedative slowly rocking me to sleep,

but not before imagining your sweet voice whisper to me,

“Momma.”

.

Waking up, I felt empty.

A piece of my heart was missing.

Those days when I would smile imagining a Mother’s Day,

or seeing a rainbow you drew for me, will never arrive.

.

I will never know if you were a boy or a girl,

but I watched my dreams of you fade away.

I will never see you take your first steps

or will see you off to college.

.

My eyes crept open and I swear I heard you say,

“Goodbye, Momma.”

I reached out to your innocent voice desperately wanting to hold you.

Please, come back.

.

Your father held my palm on his cheek,

his tear slid down my fingers.

Slowly, I woke up to my reality,

“It’s okay now, My Love. I’m here. Everything is going to be alright.”

.

I thought I was going to be a mother.

The thought of you completed me,

comforted me,

and wanted me to be a better person.

.

The day may never arrive when I can hold you,

take pictures of you,

or watch you sleep.

All I have is my imagination of you.

.

I heard your voice before.

You called me ‘Momma’.

If you can also hear me,

hear me say, “I love you.”

.

Disclaimer - The original version of this poem was published on another platform.