Luke Song Preference:
“Small Bump” by Ed Sheeran
You’re just a small
bump, in four months you’ll be brought to life
You might be left with my hair, but you’ll have your mother’s eyes
He can’t stop thinking about it.
The second heart that was beginning to beat in your stomach,
the small footprints that were beginning to protrude slightly with every kick,
your growing stomach that marked the countdown until the day.
Luke couldn’t stop thinking about it, about your baby.
You’ve created a life with
him – more than just moving in together and sharing space in the washroom and
redecorating the empty walls and making it home, more than having your clothes
permanently mixed with his, more than waking up every single morning and
falling asleep every single night with the guarantee that you’d be in his arms –
no, this was more. This was more than having
a life together. This was creating a
life with him.
You were bringing someone into the world, someone that would
be the product of you and him, the product of your love and your teachings and
your happiness and god, how do you
even begin to describe what a child is to a parent?
A child is a molecular mix of two people that were a
fraction of a chance in a seven-billion world; two strangers who were destined for
more than a second, who found something tangible beneath the air that
everything breathed in and out without a second thought. A child is the
combination of these two strangers who would shape the world – their world – into one that would be
built for the both of them instead of two individuals wandering alone; a fusion
of these two entirely separate by-chance people that found something more, that
made something more and –
A child is a blend of two strangers that would become the
thread showed that two completely different lives can come together and mix in
the most perfect way to become one.
And Luke can’t stop thinking of that, of how he found the
impossible with you, that now he can bring something so completely new into the world that was a mix of him
and you; that he was going to be raising a living, breathing, human being that
would be the byproduct of your love and that they were going to think in a beautifully
unique way and have a mind that will be so intricate and that he can be there
to see it grow, to gently mould it with his hands.
How can you express that? The process of becoming a parent?
Of creating something as valuable and unknown as a whole life – a person who will touch lives and
perhaps scar every now and then, a person who will succeed and make mistakes
and make a new path and wander off of it on occasion – how do you begin to
explain the feeling of taking something as physically intangible as love and creating it into something you
can hold in your hands and calling it a life?
Someone to breathe in the cool airs of mountains unexplored.
Someone to see the sunset in a thousand different hues and touch the soils of
the earth that have been there since the beginning of time. Someone to feel
raindrops on their fingers and smudge mud on their cheeks; someone to create a
history of their own; creating a future.
Luke still can’t believe it, that he’s a creator for something as precious as
that – but your growing stomach with every month confirms it, the excitement
and happiness growing inside him while the life in yours did.
And he can’t help thinking of the baby every night – whether
they’ll have your beautiful eyes or his dimpled grin, if they’ll crinkle your
nose like him or bite their lip like you; if they’ll have your talents or his
or manifest one of their own, if, if, if.
There are hundreds upon thousands upon millions of possible combinations of you and him and nature and
nurture with the life that steadily grows in your stomach and it’s impossible
for Luke to pinpoint one that he wants, one that he’s certain of.
He might not know how the baby will look like or who they’ll
grow up to be, but god, he already
knows in his bones that he’ll love them with every fibre of his being, with
every breath he’ll ever take and even after that.
Because it’s you and it’s him and it’s a life you’ve created
together and Luke can’t ask for anything more than that.
It’ll be perfect.
I’ll hold you tightly,
I’ll give you nothing but truth
If you’re not inside me, I’ll put my future in you
He’s already dreaming of tomorrow.
Of the future, of the future with you and him and the baby.
Of the playful arguments over what the first word will be
and the teetering first steps that will send his heart ricocheting into space;
of the bike rides that he’ll have to let go of and the first day of school
where he’ll have to see them leave without him. Of the graduations and the
first date preparations and prom and certifications and marriages and –
Luke’s carried away with the future he can already see down
the line, though the faces and the names and the places are still so blurry.
It doesn’t matter though. He can feel it, and that’s enough
for him to fall asleep with a smile on his lips.
The joy in receiving the first picture they’ll draw of your
family. The loneliness he’ll have when he has to tour. The frustration in the
closed doors and miscommunication of emotions. The elation of an acceptance and
the peace of silent company.
When they ask for math help for a question they can’t solve.
When they bring friends over and blow out multiple candles with a single
breath. Finding the perfect present just to see the delight on their face on
Christmas day. Hell, Luke even dreams about the frustration of seeing them on
their phone all the time or finding them hungover on a friend’s couch or the
bad report cards or the silent treatments or the choice in clothing and words
Luke just wants it all – the ups and the downs of life, of a
life he’s created with you.
He wants the future of your family.
And eyelids closed,
soon to be open wide
A small bump, in four months you’ll open your eyes
He can’t wait for the day.
The day where you’ll be screaming for him to drive faster
and he’ll be a nervous wreck of what am I
supposed to do what can I do oh my god oh my god and Luke already knows he’s
going to do something stupid like trip over his own two feet or take the wrong
turn and you’ll yell at him out of hormones and frustration and he’ll stutter
his apologies and everything will be high tension and high anxiety for hours
upon hours but it’ll be a story he’ll be telling even when he’s old and grey,
words barely coherent.
And then Luke can hold the baby in his arms, never minding
the bloody mess; he’ll cradle the baby in his arms, this small little human
being that he had a hand in creating, that he’ll call his own for the rest of
his life and for the rest of eternity even when he’s nothing but dirt and
He’ll leave behind something, and he’ll leave behind this
little, beautiful, precious life and there’s nothing else he’d rather have.
Luke can’t wait for the day the rest of that life begins and
he’s marking down the days and asking you questions to make sure you really don’t need to go to the hospital
Are you sure?
Luke, there’s four
months left. Relax. It’ll be here before you know it.
- but he simply can’t wait for everything that will come
after; the baby names and the awkward fumbles that he’ll eventually get right –
right? – and his son or his daughter
and god, just being able to say he
has a child –
He’s agitated from thinking of the possibilities, of the
moments to come – the wails that bounce off the hospital’s walls and the slowly
batting eyelids and the wet tufts of hair and the smooth skin and the tiny,
tiny fingers that barely fit around his –
Just four more months.
Four more months until the dreams stop becoming dreams and
start becoming reality.
Start becoming the life he so wanted.
Oh, you are my one and
You can wrap your fingers around my thumb and hold me tight
And you’ll be alright
He swears he’ll do it right.
Luke swears that he’ll be the best father he can be; someone
that his child can look up to, someone that they can say with pride that’s my dad.
Someone that they can say with confidence that they loved
him, someone that they’ll want to go to when things are rough and when things
He wants to be that support, he wants to be that shield, he
wants to be there.
And Luke wants his child to need him as a father – more than
just the duties of changing diapers and math problems – he wants to be someone
that his child will need for guidance and support and just his presence. He
wants his child to know that he’s there, that he loves them, even when he’s not
Luke wants to be integrated into this little life in more
than just genetics; he wants to be woven into the happy memories and he wants
to be there to shield them from the sad; he wants to be the name that’s spoken
with tender care and fondness and the recollection of someone that did good on
And perhaps – perhaps Luke needs this child too.
He needs the feeling of being needed; of someone saying I love you daddy and the look of awe and
reverence of a child to a role model; he needs the small hands to hold and
guide as he forages ahead; he needs the basic simplicity of a child’s mind to
teach him that bedsheets are kingdoms and clouds are portals to another
He needs it.
And Luke promises himself that even if he makes mistakes he’ll
learn and he’ll cherish and he’ll do what he can and he’ll know what he can’t;
he’ll love to the best of his ability and protect what’s his and he’ll hold on
and let go when the time’s right.
He’ll be that support. That protector. That caretaker.
‘Cause you were just a
small bump unborn for four months then torn from life
Maybe you were needed up there but we’re still unaware as why
He doesn’t know why.
Why everything – everything
he’s been dreaming of for the past few months can just be dashed away in a
fraction of a moment, in a single report said with a sorry that doesn’t do anything
to numb the pain.
Because the memories and the happiness and the ups and the
downs and the very family Luke had
planned for, that he had hoped for –
Just like that.
Months of waiting, of planning, and you were there you were there and you were so, so close to
having it, just so, so close.
But close isn’t enough. Because close is only enough for the
wisps of imagination that he clings onto, but close is not enough to have that life cradled in his arms.
And Luke doesn’t know how;
how he could have failed before he even began.
Failed himself. Failed you. Failed the baby.
How he failed to protect everyone that mattered; too busy
chasing dreams to make sure he could see through to it outside of his head.
And now, now it’s too late it’s too late and he can’t get it back, he can’t put your tears
back and his pain back and he can’t bring the baby back and he can’t bring that
life back he can’t.
He just can’t.
And there’s nothing Luke can do to get the things he’s lost,
the things he never quite had just yet.
He can’t get back the brilliant, sparkling life in your
stomach; he can’t get back the beautifully unique mix of you and him again; he
can’t get back the memories he never had and the life that never existed.
And things are a little emptier now.
The hollows of your body that was meant for two and the
space in his heart that he had reserved for someone that was long gone; the
earth that would never feel their touch and the smile that would never see the
sun, the lives that would never be affected and the memories that would never
There’s nothing but destruction in a place that was meant
for growth and Luke stands in the middle of it all.
Surrounded by the what-if’s
that used to lull him to sleep that now haunt him into the night; in the
wreckage of the paradise he so carefully constructed.
He was just someone who was on the verge of having everything –
But left standing with nothing.
He didn’t know the emptiness could hurt so much.
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