*I am honored to host a series of guest posts by mothers on dealing with the loss of our little ones during pregnancy or shortly after. Each mother has written a summary of their journey and then a letter to the baby they lost. I have found this to be a really healing part of my journey and would recommend that any mother who has lost a baby write a letter full of those words she wanted to express, but never got the chance.*
Michelle’s Journey:
When we had found out I was pregnant with our third child it was a welcome surprise. It was unexpected, but very welcome. Our home was already a busy one and we were excited for another child. I was secretly hoping for another boy. Around 22 weeks in my pregnancy I ended up seeing the doctor quickly and at the last minute for some concerns that we were having. When we visited the doctor she told us that I was 5 cm dilated already. I got admitted to the hospital quickly and put on bed rest. Over the next several weeks we saw several doctors, had multiple ultrasounds and we had a lot of sticky situations of labor happening early during that time. But with each passing day for 3 weeks we felt hopeful that we would have a healthy child, because we were beating so many odds already. We knew, however, that our baby would most likely stay in the NICU for quite some time after he was born. One day, when we were about to begin our fourth week at the hospital I went into labor and our sweet son, Eli Preston, was born at 1:13 on a Tuesday afternoon and he weighed 1lb 13oz. He was breathing. He was quickly whisked up to the NICU and after the doctors worked so hard and so tirelessly our second son went to be with Jesus the day after he entered this world. Our son was a 25 week preemie. During the delivery, our son and I almost died. It was a long recovery for me physically, but it was certainly a longer one emotionally and spiritually. Even now 7 years later, Eli is never far from our thoughts.
Dear Eli,
On April 25th, you turned seven. It’s hard to believe seven years ago, I had my second son and third child. Since then you’ve gained a sister and a brother and each time I watch all the kids play together I think about you. I wonder where you would be in all that play. Would you be running off with Josiah playing with Legos in order to be away from the girls while they play dress up? Would you be loving on your sisters and helping Tullie practice a flip on the trampoline or your youngest brother Boston coming down the ladder off the Stumphouse? Or would you and Ellison be the ones helping cook in the kitchen and eating everything in sight?
Your siblings ask about you. They ask how old you would be. They ask about what color hair I think you’d have or what color eyes you’d have. Josiah asks if you’d like Legos. Ellison asks if you’d play in the mud with her or dance with her. Tullie wonders if you’d hug her. I think you would. You’d like her hugs. We all do.
The day you were born, we loved you from the moment we saw you. Dad told me 5 or 6 times we had had a boy and he said that each time I smiled. Happy. Happy that you were here. Happy that you were a boy. Happy that Jesus gave you to us. Even for a moment. We knew, I guess, in our hearts that we’d only have hours with you, moments really, but we were so happy to lay our eyes on your sweet face. Hold your delicate, small body and try to protect you for the moments that we had.
Eli’s footprints with a quarter so you can see how teeny.
Life kept moving on even though you weren’t with us, but you are never far from our thoughts. (I remember sitting at stop lights, wondering how everyone could keep living. My world had come to a grinding halt.) Each time a new friend comes over and their son’s name is Eli, my heart squeezes and it hurts a little. I miss you. When we’re at the park and the kids and I are playing and a mom yells across the park for their son, Eli, my head snaps up to see how old the child may be. You guys may have been playing together if you were with us. It’s little things that squeezes my heart. Things that I never thought I’d think about.
When Dad and I first left the hospital it was the hardest most painful day in my whole life. The days later didn’t get easier until a long while after, but they did. The crying became less, but my heart continued to be heavy. But eventually Jesus started sewing up my wounds. There are still scars. They are deep and each time a friend has lost a baby and their son or daughter has joined you with Jesus, my scars open a little and bleed and the tears come easily. You have several friends in heaven now, and over the years, we’ve developed deeper friendships with their moms and dads. We never wanted to have such a painful loss in common, but Jesus’ hand has always been evident even when our hearts are hurting so bad.
We have hope that one day we’ll be reunited as a family. We have hope that Jesus has you safe. Safer then safe in His arms. We also have hope that He has us in His arms too. We’re comforted by this.
Eli, my son, we love you. We love you fiercely. Until then we’ll rest in the hope of our Lord and continue doing what Jesus has asked us to do.
We’ll see you when we get Home.
Love,
Mommy