My dad and one of my sister’s came in and honestly, I think at that point, he was still alive.
Shortly after, I had each of my daughter’s come in to meet him, and essentially, to also say goodbye. I kept them separate so that they could each have a special moment with him, without any distraction.
My oldest was nine and it clearly broke her heart, but I think it also provided her with a lot of answers. She touched him and even smiled for a photo. Gabriel also “brought” her and her sister a special teddy bear, which we had him “hug” so that they would always have something tangible that they could hold. (Honestly, I find myself constantly holding their bears, too. It’s one of the last things I have that my baby boy physically touched.)
My younger daughter, who was five, came in after. I don’t think she grasped the idea that he had died, but that is probably for the best. All she knew is that she got to meet her brother and I think she will be eternally grateful for that as she gets older.
I had no intention of letting my four-year-old nephew come in the room, but the baby was so angelic that when his mom asked, it was completely fine by me. It was a honor to share Gabriel with as many family members as possible. I needed people to know just how “real” he was. That I had a son and that while he may have passed away, he was a very real part of our story. Continue reading
The amount of emotion we felt on this day is indescribable. No parent, no person, should ever have to both welcome their child into this world and then have to hold them as they die.
You are so overwhelmed with joy and with heartache that there really is nothing else in life that is comparable. Until you’ve been there, there is no possible way you can understand.
While it is my greatest hope that no one else ever has to experience this same sort of pain, I know now that it happens every day. Whether it be from Trisomy 13 or Trisomy 18, or from any other form of fetal demise, it will happen. Since I cannot do anything to prevent it, I at least want to share my story so that other women can go into these circumstances knowing they are not alone. Besides my faith in God, the only humanly thing that has consoled me has been hearing the stories of other women who have lived through the death of their baby and have somehow, someway, survived it. Continue reading
“Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord?”
The sounds of children’s voices echoed through the cathedral at my daughters’ school as my husband, dressed in black, carried our son Gabriel towards the altar. My two daughters and I, along with our family members and all the small children in attendance, followed behind, carrying white roses to offer him near his casket. My mom took one of my grandmother’s tablecloth’s and placed it over top, as a pall.
I will always remember my baby boy being placed at the forefront of this beautiful cathedral, painted light blue, surrounded by roses, stained glass windows, and the smell of incense. My husband placed a baby blue Crucifix on top of his casket and a two-toned blue Rosary nearby.
And then it began–my baby’s funeral. My son’s official farewell. Continue reading