You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘infant death’ category.
Congratulations to Sharon and family on the birth of Charlize Rose!
Sharon gave birth to a beautiful little baby girl with Trisomy 18 and hypoplastic left heart on July 29th. Today she is enjoying her 27th day with her!!! It simply makes me smile. I am so happy that Charlize is being surrounded by the love of her family and giving love in return–I pray she has 27 more, and 27 more, and 27 more, and ……………….
Sharon shared some of the most wonderful, touching pictures with me–I posted just a few. Isn’t Charlize gorgeous?
From an earlier email Sharon said, “She is in the most wonderful wrapping Marge, just like your Dekar.” I love that. What a perfect way to describe our babies–in a “wonderful wrapping.”
Enjoy your time together, Sharon, and thank you for sharing your message of hope.
The hospital provided a little memory foot impression box. It’s very pretty. The impression was made in a foam-like material and Dekar’s information was filled in on the other side. The box ties shut with a ribbon.
I remember sitting in the hospital the day after Dekar was born. I stared out the window while eating my breakfast.
I wondered why Dekar had to die when so many babies were not wanted. Why Dekar, when so many were not loved and cared for by their mothers. As soon as the question entered my mind, a gentle voice said, “That is why YOU were chosen to be Dekar’s mother. Because despite his diagnosis, I knew you would still give him a chance at life.” Then I thought of what could have happened with Dekar, specifically, if he had been one of those other women’s child—-and it stabbed me in the heart but then I was flooded with peace. Even though I felt the loss deeply, that gentle voice answered the question of “Why my baby?” Because Dekar was meant specifically for me.
Dekar was not just any baby–he was MY baby. God gave him to me, knowing I would be the best mother I could for him. No matter the outcome he would still be my son. Would I have really wanted him to be somebody else’s–knowing that they would abuse, abort, or not care for him? No.
I would never make light of the questions people ask: “Why me, why my baby….why, when I wanted a baby so bad?” If it were up to me NO babies would die or be hurt in any way. But I’m not in control of any of that. My recent miscarriage made no sense to me, and still doesn’t. The first thing I did was throw up my questions to God: What was He thinking? How could He allow this to happen? Why? I lost Dekar, why did you allow me to lose another one?
Even though I am not carrying that baby any longer and will never hold that baby in my arms, it doesn’t change that fact that I am still that baby’s mother. I still held a life inside of me that was precious. I still mothered that baby the best I knew how, just as I did with Dekar.
I can be sad about the outcome, but I can also thank God He gave me a baby to love–a baby meant for me, and nobody else.
From April 27th, 2009
Today Dekar would have been 10 months old. On my FaceBook account I simply typed out “Ice Cream”. I knew what it meant, and it didn’t matter if anybody else did.
This time “Dekar Day” is hitting me a bit harder because I am also dealing with the loss of another baby.
On April 8 I went into my first prenatal appt., very excited about the first ultrasound that I would be having with my new pregnancy. The due date would have been in mid-November. As soon as Dr. Jeakle started the ultrasound, I knew something was not right. He was humming—when my husband hums, I know that something is up—and the volume on the machine was not turned up so that I could hear the heartbeat. I knew it was taking too long for him to find what he was looking for. Long story short, my doctor saw the little baby just fine, but the heartbeat was not detected. I was numb. It was not what I expected at all. Add to the frustration is the fact that the little baby measured perfectly—according to my date I would have been just over eight weeks along, and that’s how big the baby measured. The baby’s heart may have stopped beating seconds before the ultrasound.
I left that appt. not understanding anything any more. I just looked up at God and threw Him some question marks.
I had hoped to let the miscarriage happen naturally, but found the waiting to be harder than I anticipated. It reminded me of the time I was waiting on Dekar to be born. Even though I knew Dekar may not be born live, I had that tinge of hope to hang onto. With this—-there was nothing. I was just waiting for the inevitable. Two weeks later, after no signs of miscarrying, I requested another u/s and went home with the confirmed bad news–but still desiring to miscarry naturally.
I couldn’t take it. Once I got home everything hit me hard again. I called the doctor’s office and left the message that I am emotionally spent and didn’t know what I wanted. The doctor called me back and was again very compassionate–he didn’t push me into anything and he let me make my own decisions through the whole process. We scheduled a d&c, which was performed on Friday, April 24th. I was not happy about it, but I felt it was better for me and my family to get it done.
Today I received a call from the hospital to see how I was feeling after the surgery on Friday. My pain is keeping me up at night, so I did a follow-up directly with Amy, Dr. Jeakle’s nurse. Pain meds would be ordered, and after talking “business” I asked if she had a Girl Scout, since I wanted to buy some cookies and didn’t know any who were taking orders. Found out that ordering was over, but Dr. Jeakle’s wife orders extra. Good. At least I can get some Thin Mints and Samoas.
While in town to pick up the pain meds and ice cream treats for Dekar Day, I got a call on my cell–it was Amy, telling me the cookies were in. That was quick, and such perfect timing! I asked how much they would be, and she said, “Nothing. I think you could use some G.S. cookies so we threw a bag together for you.”
Indeed, she and some others at the office (I am not sure who) put together a bag for me—four boxes of Girl Scout cookies, other candy treats, and a candle. It was a random act of kindness that meant more to me than they will ever understand. They went beyond their “work” mode and treated me with a measure of warmth and friendship that I won’t forget. It was just. so. nice.
After I got home I plopped in front of the computer with a box of cookies…..(and those who know me know I am not sappy)—-I got a lump in my throat when I saw a bunch of my friends let me know that they had eaten ice cream, or planned on it, in memory of Dekar. Through facebook and email, I was told they remembered…..
Tonight as I eat my ice-cream with my husband, I expect it to have a whole different feel to it. I will not only be mourning the loss of Dekar but also mourning the loss of a baby I never met, but desperately wanted to. Maybe they are eating ice-cream together in heaven?…..
Before I go to bed I’ll look at my children and thank God for the gifts that He has given me. And I will be sending up a special thank you to Him for putting people in my life who will show a random act of kindness and for all of the others that remind me they care—especially at a time when I needed it the most.
that some people have too hard a time facing the fact that babies die. I guess they don’t want to look into the eyes of a mother who lost a baby too soon, because then they may have to actually face that reality. I guess it’s much easier to not say anything, look away, or to say a quick hello and move on.
I guess it’s easier to believe that these types of things happen to people we don’t know–and they would never have to deal with this painful reality face to face. It’s much more pleasant to think that it could never happen with thier own pregnancy or their own baby. Or their daughter, or sister. It only happens to the other people. It happens to the other people they don’t know and people who don’t live by them…..
Then once the “other person” IS somebody they know, or somebody who lives by them I guess they don’t know how to handle it.
It’s really understandable. I’ve never been in this position before either.
Before last spring, I’d never even thought I would hear such devastating news—that the child I was carrying would not live long, if he was born live at all. I handled it the only way I knew how: I cried. and cried. and cried.
Before that day I’ve never had to find the strength to just make it through each day of my pregnancy, not knowing if that kick I just felt would be the last one I’d ever feel from my son.
I’ve never had to pray for a miracle and plan for a funeral. I never had to wonder if my baby would be born live or still. I never had to talk to a funeral director or call a photographer to get ”final” and only pictures of my child.
I used to be the one who always felt blessed, knew that all would go well and that I’d have many sleepless nights ahead of me because of the diapers and crying……but now I would have sleepless nights coming to grips with the fact that Dekar was not with me and never would be again on this earth. My sleepless nights were only filled with silence or the sounds of my own crying.
There was no way to practice for the position I was all of a sudden placed in. There was no rule book to follow and no way to know how I would make it through each day. I didn’t know what I was suppose to do or how I was to act. So, I wrapped myself fully into the roll of being Dekar’s mother.
After all, that part didn’t change. I was still Dekar’s mother.
I was celebrating each movement, yet already grieving the loss that was already in the depth of my heart.
While the other pregnant ladies anticipated their baby showers and decorated their nursery, I was deciding between cremation or burial and picking out what would be Dekar’s first and final outfit.
Instead of arranging our house for another little person, I was praying that I’d be able to bring home Dekar, even for only one day.
I’ve never had a baby die in my arms before Dekar. I’ve never had to watch my children and husband cry for the little life that was lost before our eyes.
And I’ve never had to face people who say nothing about the loss of my son.
And this is one thing that I don’t know what to do with.
I have no idea.
All I know that I can do is bless God that these people have never had to do the things that I did last year. I hope they never will.
When I was pregnant I was active on a pregnancy board with other ladies due the same time as me. I visit the board occassionally and keep up with some of them who have blogs.
I see the pictures of their babies and how cute they are. It doesn’t bother me to see the pictures, because I am truly happy that they have healthy little babies to hold and love. I’m happy they got to take their babies home. But at times it hits me that the pictures of Dekar that I have are the ONLY ones I will EVER have. He will forever be that little infant…..it’s like part of my life is fragmented off because as my other children grow older, Dekar will always remain an infant. It’s just weird.
Dekar would eight months, and I love that age. They really start taking on more of their own attitude and personality. They smile a lot. They are a bit easier to care for because they can sit well on their own and entertain themselves.
A few days ago I was sitting on the couch with my son, Mel (4 yo). I told him that we’d get to have ice cream soon for Dekar Day, and that Dekar would have been eight months old.
“If Dekar were alive he would be driving you a little crazy, Mel, because he’d be getting into all of your toys.”
“Yeah,” said Mel, “But he could play with them!”
“Yes, he could. And I bet he’d try to chew on you— and drool, too!” Mel’s eyes brightened up and he giggled after he thought about that for a while.
“But he could play with my toys, and that would be nice!”
Yes, it would. But, Dekar isn’t here to play with toys, chew on his brother, or drool on his clothes. I do notice that Mel’s eyes brighten up when we talk about Dekar. Although I am not sure any of my kids understand the importance of Dekar Day, I do hope that it becomes so ingrained in them that even when they are off to college, get married, and have kids of their own, they will pause on the 27th of each month and eat some ice-cream in honor of their brother who is forever an infant.
Rachel holding Dekar with Mel looking on.
I never heard this song before today. It fits in so perfectly with the memorial ornament I purchased.
WITH HOPE–STEVEN CURTIS CHAPMAN
This is not at all how
We thought it was supposed to be
We had so many plans for you
We had so many dreams
And now you’ve gone away
And left us with the memories of your smile
And nothing we can say
And nothing we can do
Can take away the pain
The pain of losing you, but …
We can cry with hope
We can say goodbye with hope
‘Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no
And we can grieve with hope
‘Cause we believe with hope
(There’s a place by God’s grace)
There’s a place where we’ll see your face again
We’ll see your face again
And never have I known
Anything so hard to understand
And never have I questioned more
The wisdom of God’s plan
But through the cloud of tears
I see the Father’s smile and say “Well done”
And I imagine you
Where you wanted most to be
Seeing all your dreams come true
‘Cause now you’re home
And now you’re free, and …
We can cry with hope
We can say goodbye with hope
‘Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no
And we can grieve with hope
‘Cause we believe with hope
(There’s a place by God’s grace)
There’s a place where we’ll see your face again
We’ll see your face again
We have this hope as an anchor
‘Cause we believe that everything
God promised us is true, so …
So we can cry with hope
And say goodbye with hope
We wait with hope
And we ache with hope
We hold on with hope
We let go with hope
Recent Comments