The other day, I wrote about about March girls. There is a little March boy, too, who holds a special spot in my heart. His name is Connor and his mom has been a lifeline to me in the past year. Connor was born March 12, 2012, but his due date was May 15. When I became pregnant again last fall, I told Molly that my due date would be May 15. ‘That was Connor’s due date,’ she wrote back and even though I don’t think I believe in omens, I instantly felt this was a good one: he would watch out for me, for my baby; he would protect us. Wishful thinking, I know, but also sustaining, affirming: a connection that matters somehow, that feels important. This baby, my son, will not be born on May 15, but I have always felt the significance of the day, felt some sense of safety in it. It doesn’t make any sense to me, to believe a dead baby will somehow take care of, watch over, my growing one, but I hold to the idea, take comfort in it. It is a connection too to my friend, and a testament to the strength that is found in friendship in this community: as another friend’s husband has said, the friends I’ve found here are the best friends I wish I’d never known.

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