A Heavenly Sweet Sixteen

Today marks sixteen years since the Thanksgiving morning when I delivered my stillborn son, Matthew. He was the tiniest baby I’d ever seen, and also the most perfect. I treasure the few hours I had to hold him, and used every second of that time to memorize his face, hold his little hand in mine, and marvel and the perfect son we would never grow to know. Those couple of hours had to be enough to last a lifetime. I never know how I’ll feel on this day – the years like this one are most strange because I don’t have to work too hard to imagine what we’d be doing. We’d wake up and have his favorite breakfast, surprise him with a car with a giant red bow in the driveway and then head off for the road test in hopes of securing that coveted drivers license. It’s hard to think about.

When I came home from the hospital with all physical after-effects of having a newborn, but an empty nursery in the room next door, I was so alone – emotionally anguished and physically exhausted.  Just three days later Honey had to remind me that the very next day was John’s birthday.  Again, I felt overcome with inadequacy that not only could I not safely carry and deliver my own child, but I had been neglecting the one I was so tremendously blessed to have.  I looked in the mirror at a sad, tired woman and I promised myself and my husband and BOTH of my sons, John and Matthew, that I would not ever take them for granted.  And so I got out of bed, lit up the house with the Christmas decorations I had put in place the week before, and loved and celebrated a two year old John. In four short days that child becomes an “adult” on his eighteenth birthday.

Against the advise of all of my doctors, I became pregnant with Whit four months later.  In losing Matthew, and with his autopsy and extensive testing by many specialists, I learned that I have a blood clotting disorder.  The fact that I had safely delivered John was nothing short of a miracle.  I was treated during my pregnancy with Whit, but still had pretty heavy odds of the same thing happening with him… or a slew of other things than can go wrong with blood thinners. His pregnancy was hard and riddled with fear and shortcomings.  There were multiple scares along the way.  But 13 months after Matthew came Whit.  The child I prayed for more than anything I’ve ever prayed for in my entire life.  He was incredibly perfect.  And he helped patch a hole in my heart.

Every year on November 22 I light up the house with Christmas.  Sixteen years ago doing this was one tiny bright spot in a sea of dark.  And so it has become tradition on Matthew’s birthday.  I sit here now in the twinkling light of my Christmas tree and with my favorite hymns playing in the background and I realize that my sadness over the loss of Matthew has turned to gratefulness.  His short little life so incredibly changed the way I live and parent. I am SO blessed to have my boys, I am SO humbled to be their mother, and I try SO hard to show them every single minute of every single day how much I love them.  We really have such a short time with ALL of our children in the grand scheme of life and I never want to look back on these days with regret.

When you lose a child I believe you stand at one of the greatest forks in the road.  There are two paths and only you can choose the one you take.  Your loss can become your crutch – your reason for why everything is so hard, so incomplete, so not how you imagined your life.  Or your loss can become your light.  Matthew changed me more than any one event in my entire life.

I let go of fear and worry (for the most part), and embraced love, patience and trust in God. I have the very real knowledge that tomorrow is not guaranteed, and that even with healthy children we really have such a short time with them. We celebrate everything. We prioritize family. We say “yes” as often as we can. We go and do and see and smell and try and learn and taste and experience. We are thankful for every day we get.

I always thought I’d have a big family, a bustling household full of love, chaos, laughter and disorder. For many years I entertained the thought of having another baby. Trying again. My head knew that I shouldn’t, with my blood clotting disorder, but my heart had other desires. I mentally came to terms with the fact this year that my family is complete. And I am SO blessed. I am closer to grands than to having more children of my own. It is often hard to reconcile the way you dreamed something would turn out with the way it actually did. Isn’t that the crux of so much heartache?

Little Matthew lived a very short life, but it was one filled wholly with love, joy, wonder and adoration.  He never hurt, never wanted, never knew meanness or anger.  Just love.  And that’s exactly how I remember his life cut short.  With love. My precious son is in Heaven with Jesus, and that is a joy I don’t yet know. I am comforted by the promise that we will be reunited with Matthew in His presence. Until we meet again, I will spend my time trying to fill the days of the two boys I was able to bring home with joy, laughter and unconditional love.

I share this story every year on his birthday for two real reasons.  One because I could never think of anything else to write about on November 22.  That one day immeasurably changed me – my life, my priorities, my heart and my family.  And two, because I hope above all hopes that my story and struggle can reach someone else when they find themselves in the depths of despair feeling like they may never again be normal or whole again.

My cup runneth over.

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