Day 1: Put your iPod or iTunes on shuffle. Write 250 words inspired by the first and last lines of the very next song that plays.
“You were just a small bump unborn, four months then brought to life.–Maybe you were needed up there, but we’re still unaware of why” – “Small Bump” by Ed Sheeran
We’d only just learned your name. Mmm. “Learned” might be the wrong word. Maybe not. We gave it to you, I suppose, but it was more like we discovered the sounds which were made to fit your soul. Letters and noises which had always been paired to who you are, but were unknown to us until some wandering thought deceived us into believing we came up with them on our own.
I don’t know about your mother, but I dreamed about the day you’d arrive long before we had that word. In my quest and ache to shovel up the correct name, I carved my way through most others. Maria, Priscilla, Anne, Roxie, Sarah, Margaret, Amanda, Victoria, Carol. Not that any of those were bad, of course. They just weren’t you. I couldn’t bare to give you a name which wasn’t yours.
See, she knew, your mother. Every time I’d throw something new at the wall, she would shoot it down immediately. I’d think I finally had it, then in one burning sweep, I’d realize I wasn’t even close. You were quickly approaching and still neither of us could give you the inheritance which God had commissioned us to give.
How were we to prepare your room without such a vital detail of its resident? The name of somebody says a lot. Were pink or blue walls more appropriate, or should we go with something a little more neutral? Would you like a white crib, or one of polished wood? When the lights were out, would you want space ships overhead, or a stuffed birdie by your side?
I suppose it does not matter much. When finally we excavated that part of your soul, that testament of who you were supposed to be remembered as to the world, we learned the truth in the form of a doctor’s reluctant, clearing throat.
You would not be here any time soon. Actually, you would not be here at all. Common enough complication, sure. I suppose God gave us the name only for the stone which would substitute for your pillow.
Well, I look forward to the day I might be able to say it to your face in the heavenlies. I’m not a patient man, but I’ll do my best not to go mad before I meet you. In the meantime, please wait and please smile. That’s what you would have done best.