Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. It is also the day that Ethan was "officially" expected to arrive. While I think so many people can look at the loss of a child, in the way we lost Ethan, and think, "oh they should be over it by now.", the majority of those individuals have no clue just how profoundly lives are changed by the life, birth, or death of a child, no matter the stage of development. As we sit pondering the holidays this year, it is amazing to see that our lives are light years away from where we would be if Ethan hadn't died. It may be hard to grasp, but nearly EVERYTHING is different now. Relationships with friends, family, even our own marriage has been changed by his life, and his loss.
As those friends that are expecting their babies in the next week or so prepare for the births of their children, we are sorely reminded of Ethan's absence. While it's truly not personal, the approaching births of these children is truly heartbreaking for us. The unfairness of those couples delivering a big, and healthy baby, while my tiny baby sits on a shelf in an urn in my dining room is immeasurable. There's no way around that. Our lives are changed forever by Ethan's life, just as theirs will be changed forever by the births of their children.
I would love to sit here and type lovely words about how happy my little boy must be in heaven, and while I truly, truly believe that,I'd much rather have him here with us. Today, all I can do is pray for the strength to be thankful. Thankful for his Ethan's life, thankful for the time that we were able to spend with him after his death, and most of all thankful that he IS happy in Heaven, free from the hardships of this life.
If you have a free minute today to bend God's ear, you might ask him to lend us the strength to get through tomorrow, and the grace to be thankful for the time we had with our son.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Just Another Day
The boys were loving every second of summer vacation. The kids had already made a habit of sleeping in. They lazed in their beds until late morning when the warm sunshine and sparkle of the wading pool finally lured them out somewhere around 11:00 am. As was our habit on these new found days of endless nothingness to do, we ate breakfast (which may as well have been lunch) at the patio table, and then proceeded to enjoy just being outside. I sat with a cup of coffee as they milled around, played with cars and chalk, and tested their willpower to stay away from the pool until they were given permission.
Today when the inevitable question came "Mommy, can we go in the pool?" the answer was "Not yet, maybe later when we get back from the baby doctor." Now, "baby doctor" is a term that I used loosely to explain the traveling back and forth to my midwife's office. I'm sure she'd strongly oppose this practice, but it served my purposes at the time. I remember thinking while getting ready for my appointment how insignificant it felt. Just another quick check up, smack dab in the middle of a very long pregnancy. I pretty much just threw on a pair of denim capris, a pink t-shirt, threw my hair in a pony tail and headed out the door with my already large brood of children. I expected the whole thing to fly by so quickly that I didn't even bother to feed them lunch....after all they'd JUST eaten breakfast.
So there we were...me and my four little ones, just like we'd been 5 days ago. Sitting in the waiting room....waiting. Erik and Alex had been awarded "big boy status" and were now allowed to remain in the waiting room unattended while I ran through the necessary motions of the appointment. Ian on the other hand was allowed to bring one toy into the exam room, and (thank God for midwives) Ella just sat on my lap for the entire thing. We went through all of the normal stuff. Weight, urine, blood pressure, measurements, ect. Then last but not least, and my FAVORITE part of every appointment, the heart beat.
But there was only silence. And then Ian fell off his chair. She tried again, and there was silence. And then Ella, sitting on my legs, started to fuss. She tried a third time, and then said she'd feel better if I had an ultrasound. There was no drama, no hysterics. Amazingly, I was completely calm. We just heard him the other day, he was fine.
I walked down to the ultrasound room with Ella on my hip, and Ian holding my other hand, and I wasn't worried at all. It took all of about 1 second for me realize Ethan was gone. The very moment I saw him on the ultrasound, it was obvious. He was perfectly still, no flicker in his chest, no gymnastic routine, no punching, no kicking. The only movement was from my own heart beat, his little head moved with my own pulse. No one in the room even said a word. Not the tech, not Laurice, not even I did anything but nod my head. The silence seemed to strech out for an eternity. Then there were a few brief "I'm sorry's" and I remember asking if they could take my kids out of room so I could call my husband.
I barely remember the phone call to him, or the next one to my best friend. I only remember saying " he doesn't have a heart beat." What happened between the time that I made those calls and the time my husband got to the office, I have no idea. I think they asked what hospital I wanted to go to, and maybe a few other medical type questions.
It's amazing how surreal it seems now looking back. I honestly thought we were in the "safe zone". Everyone tells you...12 weeks, you're out of the woods, 14 weeks you're home free, and by 18 we were ready to paint the nursery.
In an instant, everything we'd planned for had changed, and I had no idea what would happen now. Then came the explanation of what we could expect at the hospital.
Today when the inevitable question came "Mommy, can we go in the pool?" the answer was "Not yet, maybe later when we get back from the baby doctor." Now, "baby doctor" is a term that I used loosely to explain the traveling back and forth to my midwife's office. I'm sure she'd strongly oppose this practice, but it served my purposes at the time. I remember thinking while getting ready for my appointment how insignificant it felt. Just another quick check up, smack dab in the middle of a very long pregnancy. I pretty much just threw on a pair of denim capris, a pink t-shirt, threw my hair in a pony tail and headed out the door with my already large brood of children. I expected the whole thing to fly by so quickly that I didn't even bother to feed them lunch....after all they'd JUST eaten breakfast.
So there we were...me and my four little ones, just like we'd been 5 days ago. Sitting in the waiting room....waiting. Erik and Alex had been awarded "big boy status" and were now allowed to remain in the waiting room unattended while I ran through the necessary motions of the appointment. Ian on the other hand was allowed to bring one toy into the exam room, and (thank God for midwives) Ella just sat on my lap for the entire thing. We went through all of the normal stuff. Weight, urine, blood pressure, measurements, ect. Then last but not least, and my FAVORITE part of every appointment, the heart beat.
But there was only silence. And then Ian fell off his chair. She tried again, and there was silence. And then Ella, sitting on my legs, started to fuss. She tried a third time, and then said she'd feel better if I had an ultrasound. There was no drama, no hysterics. Amazingly, I was completely calm. We just heard him the other day, he was fine.
I walked down to the ultrasound room with Ella on my hip, and Ian holding my other hand, and I wasn't worried at all. It took all of about 1 second for me realize Ethan was gone. The very moment I saw him on the ultrasound, it was obvious. He was perfectly still, no flicker in his chest, no gymnastic routine, no punching, no kicking. The only movement was from my own heart beat, his little head moved with my own pulse. No one in the room even said a word. Not the tech, not Laurice, not even I did anything but nod my head. The silence seemed to strech out for an eternity. Then there were a few brief "I'm sorry's" and I remember asking if they could take my kids out of room so I could call my husband.
I barely remember the phone call to him, or the next one to my best friend. I only remember saying " he doesn't have a heart beat." What happened between the time that I made those calls and the time my husband got to the office, I have no idea. I think they asked what hospital I wanted to go to, and maybe a few other medical type questions.
It's amazing how surreal it seems now looking back. I honestly thought we were in the "safe zone". Everyone tells you...12 weeks, you're out of the woods, 14 weeks you're home free, and by 18 we were ready to paint the nursery.
In an instant, everything we'd planned for had changed, and I had no idea what would happen now. Then came the explanation of what we could expect at the hospital.
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