Tuesday, November 6, 2012

November 6

Today is not my favorite day (understatement). The anniversary of the day I went into my doctor's office for reassurance and instead found out our baby, our son was dead. 
No heartbeat; only the fuzzy scratchy sound of the doppler trying in vain to find his beating heart. To this day I hate the sound of the doppler. 

A few years ago when I wrote his story out in detail, this is what I wrote about this day. This terrible, horrible day.


Driving home, I spoke to him through tears. Sobs choking the words. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I...your son. I am...our baby shouldn't be... shouldn't be the first person you lose."

We sat on the sofa all afternoon. Neither of us moving. For hours, we sat alone. Together. His arms around me, my arms around my huge stomach, our son dead. When people started arriving, I remember whispering to him, "I don't want his death to turn anyone away from God. I'm not angry. I'm not angry. I don't want anyone to be angry."

I wasn't lying. There was no anger in my heart. No anger in my words. Devastation slumped my shoulders, sorrow gripped my heart, pain poured down my face; I was in shock.
The anger would come later. And come it did.

Our pastor came that night to comfort us. To sit with us and cry and pray. I told him I didn't want Owen's death to turn our family and friends away from God. I was clinging to Him. Where else could we go? My strong father beat his head against the door frame in misery and pain. I felt so hopeless, so helpless. My belly, the little boy inside of me already gone in spirit, still protruding prominently in the midst of us...and all I could do was cry out to the Lord.

The next day, we packed to go to the hospital. To see our son, face to face. To cement the reality already tightening in my chest.
I collapsed on our bed, Owen's crib in arm's reach, and cried. My mom held me while our tears flowed freely. I was afraid of labor. Afraid of going to the hospital, of leaving the hospital without my son. I didn't want the after. I didn't want to think about coming home to our empty apartment. To our empty life, a life without our son.

There was nothing else to be done, but the inevitable. He needed to come. We needed to see him face to face.
We needed to hold his tiny body and say goodbye.

4 comments:

Sara said...

Oh Ebe... Gosh, every single bit of what you said hurts my heart... because I know full well the depth of that shock, pain and devastation... Honestly, as thankful as I am now for how the Lord has been faithful and worked... I am amazed that it still hurts so bad... I have the biggest lump in my throat right now, tears in my eyes and on my face... I am so sorry friend... So sorry for how it still hurts... So very thankful for Heaven and the Longing we have to see our boys again... I love you friend... I am so thankful that the Lord saw fit to allow our paths to cross on this difficult journey... Praying for you... Missing Owen with you... I can't wait to meet him in person someday and to tell him how much his mama loves him:)

Beth said...

In tears, remembering Christian with you...big hugs. <3

Beth said...

Gah I mean Owen...don't know where that other name came from! Sorry...blame it on newboen-induced-exhaustion brain? ;)

Ebe said...

Thank you, friends.