Eight years ago today, on Thanksgiving Day, I gave birth to our second son, Matthew.  He was so loved, so tiny and perfect in every way.  But he was still born.

Atlanta’s Arlington Cemetery Angel Garden

I share this story every year on his birth day for many reasons.  One, because I love him so very much and miss him tremendously.  A mother’s love truly knows no bounds.  My time with him was so terribly short, but my love for him is so big and so real even all of these years later.  I don’t think the depth of my feelings for him can be understood by someone that hasn’t walked this path.  I never would have dreamed it or understood it had I not suffered through it.  In my mind, it would be an injustice to him to let his birth day come and go without mentioning it.  It’s the only way I know to keep a part of him alive.

I also share this story because I was so terribly alone in the days leading up to his birth and the terrible weeks that followed.  I don’t mean alone in a physical sense, because I had Honey and John and family and friends with me every second of the day.  But emotionally I had no one.  I knew no one that had delivered a still born child.  I had no idea what to expect in delivery and what would happen afterwards.  I knew that he was not alive, I knew that I would have to go through labor and child birth, but I still didn’t know anything at all really.  I was hungry for information and, most of all, for someone that could genuinely tell me that it would be okay.  One day.  People kept saying it, but nobody that had lived through it.  So, today and every day, I put myself out there as that person for anyone that needs me.  I am here to help in any way I can.  Please, please just ask.  Alone is a terrible place to be.

Another part of my story is that people that don’t really know me always remark about how early we put up our Christmas decorations, some not so kindly at all.  And everyone and their brother uses social media as a platform to complain about Thanksgiving not getting its day in the sun.  I’ll be honest, in this home it doesn’t.  It’s just too hard.  I am immensely thankful, every day.  But on Thanksgiving I’m mostly just sad.  The year that I had Matthew I put up my Christmas decorations extra early – for the first time ever.  Coming home from the hospital and turning them on was one bright twinkling light in what felt like an abyss of darkness and loss.  And the pure joy that radiated through little two-year-old John’s face was something I’ll never forget.  So, in the years that have followed,  I get the entire house decked out the week before his birthday.  (I’ve been working like crazy to get it done between Fort Lauderdale, school feasts, a birthday party and work.)  We don’t light a single tree and then, on November 22, we light up the house, turn on the carols, and fill our home with joy AND thankfulness for the rest of the season.

And, the last reason that I share Matthew’s story every year on his birth day is to give thanks for the two precious boys that I did have the great fortune of bringing home from the hospital.  Through Matthew’s autopsy and countless doctor appointments, we learned that I have a blood clotting disorder.  The fact that John was born and we were blissfully unaware is a true 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.  Having Matthew truly opened my eyes and radically changed the way I live and parent.  These children are true miracles, I am SO blessed to have them in my life, I am incredibly humbled to be their mother, and I will show them every single minute of every single day how much I love them.  Sure, we have a lot of special dinners, we stay up too late playing games, we go over the top for holidays, we travel to Disney more than any family should, and we probably don’t save enough each month as a result.  Life can change in an instant and I want to make the most of every instant I have.

To close, I went back and forth between sharing this last little bit.  I recently spent a few minutes talking with a “psychic” at a Halloween party.  Not because I thought it was real, but because it was Halloween and it was fun and “everyone else was doing it”.  I was completely and utterly in disbelief when I walked in the room and she just stared at me.  It seemed like an eternity before she spoke and said, “There are so many angels around you.  So VERY many angels.  You have a son and you will see him again.  He is with you.”  I have wanted to believe this for eight long years.  To carry a child and birth a child and then live years knowing that he never saw your face or walked one step on this earth or met his brothers or laughed or celebrated or… anything… it’s hard.  I have prayed so many times that I would meet him again.  And while I do believe in angels, I guess I was still so unsure.  Yet, hearing it from a complete stranger was so convincing.  And so vaildating.  And so very, very hopeful.

Love and hugs to ALL of you that have lost a child too soon.  My heart truly breaks for you.

xoxo

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