In the corner of our bedroom sits a box. In the event of a fire, this box must be saved. Inside this box is a teeny, tiny hand-knitted baby cap and a 8x8 tiny crocheted blanket. There is a small set of footprints and handprints set permanently into clay, a funeral program, a vital statistics card, and a few photos. Just a few, not nearly enough.
And across town, back where we used to live in Delhi, there is a graveyard with a baby section. In the middle of that baby section is a gravestone, a permanent reminder of what lies beneath it and what no longer resides with us, our fourth son, Luke Jon.
Luke's days were short, just days, weeks, and a few months. But his life left us forever changed.
Jack had just turned one year old. We found out that we were going to have another baby. We had just come out of a very trying pregnancy with Jack. From one day to the next, we never knew Jack's condition. I spent almost as much time in the hospital as out of the hospital and we were advised that more children was not a good option for us. We had very little help and were stretched. Another pregnancy was not the most welcome of news.
I became a human guinea pig of sorts. Our midwife, doctors, and specialist were all trying to give us the best odds at carrying a baby to term. After a few weeks getting used to the idea of another baby and getting through the sickness, we were 'in'. We watched our baby boy (another boy!) dance across the ultrasound screen at the specialist's office. They just kept telling us how great he looked and how blessed we were. We were so happy by this time that we were beaming ear to ear. We cried with relief on the way home. We were so happy. I remember Jon saying over and over, "I'm just so relieved and so happy."
We were offered a surgery that may help me carry Luke longer this pregnancy and avoid all the bedrest and hospitalizations. It was a little risky, but we had the best doctors and we felt strongly that this was the right option for us. It would, however, keep us from having more children, but we thought the benefits outweighed the risks.
The morning of my surgery, Jon dropped me off at the hospital and went to work to put in a few hours. We wanted to save any off-time for any complications that may arise in the future. I started pre-op procedures and spoke with my doctor. He was very excited and hopeful and told me how glad he was that we chose this procedure.
But it was not to be. Just before wheeling me in for surgery, a heartbeat could not be found. A portable ultrasound machine was wheeled into my room and I saw my baby. My baby who had just three days before danced on the screen, was now deathly still.
The nurses called Jon on the phone and while waiting for him, I was wheeled all over. I remember the nurse wheeling me outside to get some air as I felt my throat closing. People were outside smoking, walking, laughing, talking on phones. I couldn't believe the world was still going on when I was dimensions away from everyday life. I had confirmation tests and questions and finally was wheeled up to labor and delivery. Jon arrived, labor was started, and we were thrust into a world that we knew nothing about. Minutes turned into hours and finally, at 8:05 that night, into a quiet room, a quiet baby was born. But this time, it was different. No joy, no smiles, no pictures. We held our perfect 16-week old Luke and marveled at God's beautiful creation. A 16-week old is completely formed. He was a miniature baby. A little baby doll with toenails and fingernails. Ears and eyes and the most beautiful nose. But he never moved, never cried. He was already gone.
In the days and weeks and months that followed, we, of course, settled into our new norm. Jonah and Gable took it hard and we all had some counseling. Jack didn't understand why mommy cried all the time. He didn't understand why we visited a cemetery every day.
On June 5, Luke will be gone for five years. Sometimes it feels so raw and fresh, and other times it seems like a lifetime ago. I still, even after five years, still get the feeling I am forgetting someone. I still get weepy every spring around this time. I'm getting better at preparing for it though. When my boys went firefly catching last year, we put a jar out for Luke too. We don't dwell on his death, but we do choose to remember him. We choose to remember the joy that his short life has brought to us and the excitement we feel when thinking of being reunited with him. The joy of having all of our boys together for the first time.
And across town, back where we used to live in Delhi, there is a graveyard with a baby section. In the middle of that baby section is a gravestone, a permanent reminder of what lies beneath it and what no longer resides with us, our fourth son, Luke Jon.
Luke's days were short, just days, weeks, and a few months. But his life left us forever changed.
Jack had just turned one year old. We found out that we were going to have another baby. We had just come out of a very trying pregnancy with Jack. From one day to the next, we never knew Jack's condition. I spent almost as much time in the hospital as out of the hospital and we were advised that more children was not a good option for us. We had very little help and were stretched. Another pregnancy was not the most welcome of news.
I became a human guinea pig of sorts. Our midwife, doctors, and specialist were all trying to give us the best odds at carrying a baby to term. After a few weeks getting used to the idea of another baby and getting through the sickness, we were 'in'. We watched our baby boy (another boy!) dance across the ultrasound screen at the specialist's office. They just kept telling us how great he looked and how blessed we were. We were so happy by this time that we were beaming ear to ear. We cried with relief on the way home. We were so happy. I remember Jon saying over and over, "I'm just so relieved and so happy."
We were offered a surgery that may help me carry Luke longer this pregnancy and avoid all the bedrest and hospitalizations. It was a little risky, but we had the best doctors and we felt strongly that this was the right option for us. It would, however, keep us from having more children, but we thought the benefits outweighed the risks.
The morning of my surgery, Jon dropped me off at the hospital and went to work to put in a few hours. We wanted to save any off-time for any complications that may arise in the future. I started pre-op procedures and spoke with my doctor. He was very excited and hopeful and told me how glad he was that we chose this procedure.
But it was not to be. Just before wheeling me in for surgery, a heartbeat could not be found. A portable ultrasound machine was wheeled into my room and I saw my baby. My baby who had just three days before danced on the screen, was now deathly still.
The nurses called Jon on the phone and while waiting for him, I was wheeled all over. I remember the nurse wheeling me outside to get some air as I felt my throat closing. People were outside smoking, walking, laughing, talking on phones. I couldn't believe the world was still going on when I was dimensions away from everyday life. I had confirmation tests and questions and finally was wheeled up to labor and delivery. Jon arrived, labor was started, and we were thrust into a world that we knew nothing about. Minutes turned into hours and finally, at 8:05 that night, into a quiet room, a quiet baby was born. But this time, it was different. No joy, no smiles, no pictures. We held our perfect 16-week old Luke and marveled at God's beautiful creation. A 16-week old is completely formed. He was a miniature baby. A little baby doll with toenails and fingernails. Ears and eyes and the most beautiful nose. But he never moved, never cried. He was already gone.
In the days and weeks and months that followed, we, of course, settled into our new norm. Jonah and Gable took it hard and we all had some counseling. Jack didn't understand why mommy cried all the time. He didn't understand why we visited a cemetery every day.
On June 5, Luke will be gone for five years. Sometimes it feels so raw and fresh, and other times it seems like a lifetime ago. I still, even after five years, still get the feeling I am forgetting someone. I still get weepy every spring around this time. I'm getting better at preparing for it though. When my boys went firefly catching last year, we put a jar out for Luke too. We don't dwell on his death, but we do choose to remember him. We choose to remember the joy that his short life has brought to us and the excitement we feel when thinking of being reunited with him. The joy of having all of our boys together for the first time.
We choose to love, laugh, weep, celebrate...and remember.
4 comments:
I can't even begin to imagine the pain of delivering a stillborn baby. I had never thought about it until a friend lost her baby just days before her due date. To me it seems unbearable. Thank you for sharing that.
Wow...you guys are amazing. It makes me sad just thinking about it, I can't imagine experiencing it. I don't know what God's restoration/redemption will look like for this one, but I'm sure it will be beyond anyone's expectations.
My eyes are weepy and I'm remembering the phone call I got a few years back when my step-mom had her second miscarriage. I didn't cry or even know what to think with the first one, but for some reason with the second I balled my eyes out as Allison and I sat in a Skyline restaurant.
God has redeemed Luke and it will be such a glorious day when you all get to see the fullness of him.
I love you guys. I really do.
I am so sorry...I can't even imagine what that must have been like. I want to give you a hug but you're there and I am here...Luke danced for you once and he dances now as he waits for you and will dance for you when you see him again. I know that to be true.
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