An hour

Our baby. Our baby is coming.
Our baby is here.
Our baby was born without kidneys.
She lived for an hour.
In that hour, we held her. We called her beautiful.
We prayed. We prayed a lot.
We had her baptized. A splash of water by the priest.
And we held her some more, and told her that we loved her.
Then, before we realized it, she was dead.
We held her for a while longer, said our goodbyes, and the nurses took her away.
How long, I don’t know.
Should she never have born?
Just scraped away?
And gone?

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