Ten years is a long, long time. A decade is a great milestone in the passage of our time here on Earth. And, while on most days of the year I couldn’t tell you what I was precisely doing ten years prior, today is one that left a little hole on my heart that I am quite sure will never truly heal. On November 22, 2007, I delivered my second son, Matthew, and he was stillborn. It was Thanksgiving day.
I’ve shared 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.
What I wanted more than anything in the entire world that day was to be able to talk to someone – anyone – that had walked my path. I never found that person. When I started writing Dixie Delights I knew that it would give me a platform – if just one day a year – to tell the world that I am here to share my story, talk on the phone, read your words of pain, offer a hug and be able to honestly look you in the eye and tell you that you can overcome this.
I’ve talked to more of you than I ever would have wished to have to talked to for this reason over the years. But, I realize that there are probably so many more people out there that could never approach a stranger with something so personal. Or, they are like me in the middle of the night, deep in labor with a child that won’t be born alive, and are searching for a similar story – just to know what to expect and to maybe help make some of the decisions that will all quickly come. I am going to share these thoughts that are only based on my personal experience. I am certainly no expert so take them for what they are worth.
Hold your baby. You only get these few precious moments or hours. Do not rush them because you can never, ever get them back. When you turn your child over to the doctors and nurses it is over.
Name your baby. You will want to be able to refer to your angel baby by name. It was very close to Christmas and I still have a hand full of ornaments on my tree that bear his name.
Have your baby blessed. If it is important to you, have a priest or person from your faith come bless and pray for your child. Our doctor is Jewish and a man of great faith. Having him pray for us and our baby alongside a Catholic priest was something I won’t ever forget.
Take pictures. It may seem morbid and you may never, ever choose to look at them again, but you won’t have the chance later. I have pictures of Matthew, of me holding him, of Honey holding him, and of the three of us. These are the most priceless treasures that I own. Truly. I can’t remember the last time I looked at them, and I have will probably never show them to anyone, but I know they are there. And, one day, when my memory fades I know that I will have them if I need them.
Save everything. Put together a memory box with your hospital bracelet, with the blanket they will wrap your baby in, his footprints, a lock of his hair, and the cards you received before and after. Print off emails and put them in the box. If you are like me, you also already have a few things for your baby – a homecoming outfit or a monogrammed bib. Save that too. Print pictures of your growing belly and of your “we’re pregnant” announcements. Just save everything because these meager things will be all you will have outside of your memories.
Write down everything. My thoughts are so crazy from that time but I wrote every one down and I have those in my box.
Get the autopsy. If it isn’t evident why your child was stillborn, get the autopsy. We did and it revealed an anomaly in my health that, with treatment, allowed me to go on to have Whit. There are no second chances here.
Bury, cremate or donate? This is a very personal decision that we were not equipped for or prepared to make. We decided not to bury him because we had (and still do not have) no idea where we would one day end up ourselves. We couldn’t commit to a cemetery. We didn’t cremate because I didn’t think I could bear to keep his ashes around and again, I had no idea where I would bury them. In the end, we donated his tiny, perfect little body to research at Emory. It made us feel like he was making his own tiny footprint on the world in that way.
When you come back home, understand that your spouse may not grieve the way that you grieve. You may feel like he doesn’t grieve at all. Honey was just as heartbroken as me, but he didn’t know Matthew the way I did and I don’t think he ever felt like he wouldn’t come back from this the way I did. Remember that only YOU truly know this child that you have carried in your womb and nurtured. And you might feel like you are the only one walking the world in such deep sorry while everything else around you quickly returns to normal. I think this is normal, it was for me.
Try to find solace in knowing that while your baby lived an incredibly short life, it was one filled wholly with love, joy, wonder and adoration. Your child never hurt, never wanted, never knew meanness or anger. They only knew the love of their mother…. you.
If you have other children at home, tell them what happened. John was only two and I know he really had no true understanding of Matthew at the time. But, over the years at this time of the year I do inevitably get sad. I dread Thanksgiving. I feel so incredibly thankful most every other day of the year but on Thanksgiving I feel sad. My boys know this. They’ve seen my cry for a brother they never knew and, quite honestly, have likely never missed. They’ve also seen me rely on their father, God and loved ones when the going gets rough.
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 one one event in my entire life.
Every year on November 22 I light up the house with Christmas. Ten years ago doing this was one tiny bright spot in a sea of dark, and so it is our tradition. My sadness over the loss of Matthew has turned to gratefulness and the hole in my heart has become smaller with every passing year. 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.
I want all of you that have lost a little one to know that you are in my thoughts and prayers, especially today.
Until I meet my middle son again, I will spend my time trying to fill the days of the two little boys I was able to bring home with smiles, laughter, and unconditional love.
My cup runneth over.
DIXIE DELIGHTS DELIVERED
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