In Every Heartbeat

Introduction: Grief has a way of stretching across time, binding us to moments we never got to live. But love—love is different. Love lingers, it whispers, it finds a way back to us, even when we think all is lost. This is a story of loss, of a soul that never truly left, and of a heartbeat that found its way home.

She lay between whispers and wires,
breath a thread unraveling slow.
Beyond the hush, a baby cried—
soft fists pounding against the quiet,
a family waiting for the tide to turn.

Drifting backward, she saw shadows move,
a lullaby lost in an empty room.
A name she once whispered, never spoken aloud,
echoed through time, gentle but unreturned.

She had traced his name in whispered prayers,
letters never cradled, never called.
A heartbeat stolen, a silence torn—
ripped from the warmth of a mother’s world.
She had dreamt of fingers curled in hers,
but death had closed his hand too soon.

Monitors hummed, then fell to hush—
a single note stretched thin, then gone.
Gasps broke the room, hands clutched at prayers,
a cry too raw to settle in air.
The tide had turned, but she had slipped,
adrift beyond their pleading eyes.

The weight of pain unspooled, unwound,
like threads of dusk dissolving slow.
No walls, no wires—just endless hush,
a quiet tide that bid her go.
She drifted soft on golden air,
the world behind a distant glow.

Shapes wavered, fluid as whispered breath,
colors bled where edges should be.
Time unspooled in rippling light,
a place unbound, a world between.
She stood where ground was never still,
where sky and sea entwined as one.

Then—soft echoes, steady, near,
footsteps pressing into nothing.
A rhythm, warm and full of life,
a heartbeat folding into hers.
She did not flinch, she did not fear,
only listened, only breathed.

Through the hush, a figure formed—
small hands, wide eyes, breath like dawn.
A boy stood where the echoes led,
soft and sure, as if he'd always been.

A breath caught, a world undone—
a knowing stitched into her soul.
She had never held him, never seen,
yet every part of him was hers.

The weight of years, the ache of loss,
collapsed into a single tear.
She whispered his name—half prayer, half wonder—
and he smiled, as if he'd always known.

Her voice was soft, trembling, small,
woven with love, laced with sorrow.
"Why did you leave before the dawn?
Why did the world not let us meet?"

The boy just smiled, his gaze like home,
as if the question had no weight.
"I was never gone, not truly lost—
I have always been with you."

She searched his face, lost in time,
aching for moments they’d never shared.
"But I never held you, never heard your cry.
How could you have been with me?"

His laughter was light, like rippling air,
a sound untouched by sorrow.
"You felt me in the hush of rain,
in the hush of nights too quiet to bear.
I was the warmth behind your sigh,
the whisper in your longing heart."

She clutched the silence, held her breath,
aching to keep him here.
"But where do I find you now?" she asked,
fear and longing woven tight.

The boy stepped closer, placed his hand
soft against her open palm.
"You already have," he whispered light,
"A mother’s heart will always know.
I live within the child you hold,
the boy who waits for you to wake."

Her breath caught, her fingers curled,
as if she could hold his words, keep them close.
"But how?" she whispered, eyes wide,
torn between wonder and disbelief.

The boy just smiled—a knowing smile,
soft as dawn breaking through mist.
"Love does not forget," he said,
"nor does a soul lose its way.
You found me once. You’ll find me again."*

And in that moment, she knew—
not in thought, but in feeling,
not in sight, but in knowing.

She reached for him, afraid to leave,
afraid the moment would slip away.
"But what if I forget?" she whispered,
"What if I lose you again?"

He squeezed her hand, warm and sure,
eyes bright with something endless.
"You won’t", he said. "I am with you still.
But now, Mumma, it’s time to go.
They’re waiting for you—he’s waiting for you."

His voice became a fading echo,
his warmth a whisper on her skin.
Light curled around her, soft and golden,
lifting her like a quiet tide.

A breath—deep, slow, returning.
The hush of the room, the weight of love.
And then—a cry, a tiny hand,
fingers reaching, pulling her home.

Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with dreams,
as the world poured back into her lungs.
Arms trembling, she reached, she gathered—
the crying boy against her chest.

Heartbeat to heartbeat, breath upon breath,
she held him close, held him whole.
And in that moment, she knew—
she had found him. She had never let go.

Reflections: Grief may carve deep wounds, but love is the thread that mends them. Some bonds are never broken, no matter how much time or distance stands between them. What if the ones we’ve lost are not lost at all—just waiting, watching, whispering through the spaces we cannot see?
What if every heartbeat, every quiet moment, is a reminder that they were never far? Share your thoughts below!
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