I know losing a child is difficult. I saw my aunt go through it just a month ago. I clearly remember the funeral, the tears, the loss. I just never expected it would happen to me.
My little Isaiah Jakob,
You were born exactly 15 minutes after midnight on January 12th. It was a Saturday. At 15 ounces, you were almost a pound, and you fit perfectly nestled in my elbow. Even though you’d been growing for 5 1/2 months, I had no idea. But for 6 hours I knew you were there. I heard your heart beat.
You were one week and two days short of viability and it was goodbye before we even met. As much as I wished differently, I wouldn’t be able to keep you. You couldn’t come home with me.
I stayed up with you all night, singing to you and hoping that you’d wake up, or at least that I would. Yet you continued to sleep silently, swaddled warmly in the very blanket I’ve slept with every night since. When I had to get more medication or eat, your nana rocked you and cried quietly.
I’ve put all of your things away already in shadow boxes and displays, sealed up tight with plenty of tears and love, and I’ve proudly placed them all around this room. Everyone knows who you are.
You were perfect. I held your hands and feet, even muttering once about how your nails already needed to be cut, and I marveled at how much hair you already had. I kissed you a lot, of course, and told you I love you more times than I can remember. With my nose and my mouth, you were definitely my baby boy.
Goodbye was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I already knew that, because of the miscarriage and loss of fluid, there was no way to keep you inside of me any longer and protect you.. but I hoped. Even as Kevin, your aunt, and your grandma shook their heads painfully and cried, I hoped.
I think I still do.
Now that you’re gone I realise all of the missing things that should have told me you were there. My belly’s empty, sore, and aching, but it seems my entire body is too, although not as extreme as my heart. The hardness is gone, worse on the right side because that was your favorite. And, sometimes, I skip the pain medication just to remember what you felt like..
I’m going later today with your grandma to make arrangements for your funeral. We’ll put you at the foot of my great grandpa, beside great grandma and Cheyanne. I didn’t want you to be alone.
Everybody’s worried about me and tells me to focus on taking it day by day. It’s more like second-by-second. I cry a lot. Mostly when I’m alone. It tears me apart that I had no clue you were there, but comforts me to know I touched your little left foot and you felt it. You knew who I was.
You knew you had a mommy, and that you were loved, and that even in death, that will never change.
All I think about is you.
I miss you.
So very much.
I love you,
mommy.
forever and always, my baby you’ll be.
I know losing a child is difficult. I never thought it would happen to me. But it did. And if it weren’t for my amazing mother, I wouldn’t have known what to do or how to get through any of this. I would still be blaming myself.
I owe a lot to my sister for holding me and talking me through every proceedure.
Mostly, I owe thanks to Kevin. My boy. My breathing coach. My leg-adjuster. He didn’t have to be there, but he was - and he beat my sister. And as much as he didn’t have to be there, he didn’t have to stay all night, but he did. He didn’t mind lying in my mom’s bed with me just so I could fall asleep. I couldn’t ask for someone better.
Throughout all of this, I don’t think I could ask for anyone better. Toby was over before Kevin even had to leave, and she was content washing the epidural residue off my back and eating chili with me while we watched tv. Aunt Lisa, grandma, grandpa, Rachel, Mindy, Samm, everyone.. the support is just immense.
Without you, I doubt I’d have the will to get up out of bed.
