My water broke at 5:30am and labor progressed quickly. I can't remember what we did to pass the time or when our families arrived at the hospital. I decided to have an epidural when I could feel the contractions getting stronger. I didn't want the physical pain; the emotional devastation was crippling.
We brought our computer to the hospital and played a CD of hymns that I had made the week before. I had planned on listening to this CD during labor, while waiting for Owen to be born. It only seemed fitting that we play it now, after his death.
Two hours after getting the epidural, it was time. Everyone was surprised at how quickly I had progressed. I had prayed (and specifically asked for others to pray) for a quick labor, a quick end to the horrible waiting game we had been put through.
Owen had been gone three days when he was born.
God was gracious.
At 11:08am, Owen was born silently into my arms, but three days earlier he had entered joyfully into his Savior's arms.
The most beautiful baby I had ever seen, the tiniest baby I had ever held. He was ours.
I wept with joy at finally holding him in my arms. I had waited for this day for nine months!
Everything about him was perfect. His tiny fingers and toes, his little button nose, the pink perfection of his skin was stunning. His tiny chin was an exact replica of mine. I laughed at our similarities. Owen was my mini-me. He did have his daddy's lips and ears, but the rest...the rest was all me. I couldn't have been a prouder mom.
We held him all day. Family members made their way into our room to meet Owen and weep over him. Was this a dream? I couldn't have just delivered my first born, my son. He couldn't be dead. The stark reality of our life hit me all over again, and again and again.
A deluge of pain swept over me and the shock was slowly worn away.
The song that was playing when he was born will forever be embedded into my brain, my heart.
Oh, The Deep, Deep Love of Jesus