Buried.

Days like today are the days that I wish I could see my son the most. Just hold him or tell him everything that is on my mind. I may not want people to hold me while I cry, but I would love to hold him and just let it all flow. Every time someone proves they are unreliable, every time I fight with my husband, every time I feel like I'm about to lose every little piece of my sanity... I just want my son. I feel like all of these problems would seem so minute and small if I could just have my son alive.

Any time I hear pregnant women complain about typical pregnancy symptoms or when I hear mothers gripe about things that their children do; I wish they would just feel one ounce of my pain and then they would all know how blessed they are. I would take a 24 hour long temper tantrum every day for the rest of my life if it meant that I could see my son open his eyes one time. See if they are cocoa brown like his dad's or caramel brown like mine. Hear his laugh. Even his cry.  If you are a mother... PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU: do not take the gift that you have for granted!

Thinking of you so much today, my son. Remembering the way you smelled. How light you were when I held you in my arms. How you have your daddy's nose. I would give anything to be able to hold you for 5 more minutes. I love you so very much! Give my dad a hug for me!

Mother of four; three children short.

I really do believe that the next person who tells me that they are sorry about my miscarriage or anything ignorant along the lines of “At least you didn’t know the baby” will feel my complete wrath. Yes, I had a miscarriage. I miscarried twins last summer. This summer, I delivered my stillborn son. Miscarriage and stillbirth are two completely separate things. Don’t get me wrong; both are extremely painful and I am not trying to invalidate anyone’s feelings or lessen anyone’s losses. All I am saying is, my son was not miscarried. He was delivered into this world at 26 weeks like any other child. I pushed him out of my body the same way that I pushed Presley out of my body. The only difference is that Presley was alive when she was welcomed into this world. 

When people discover that my son had Trisomy 18, that he wouldn’t have survived even if he had made it the full 40 weeks, the most common thing that I hear is “It was a blessing.” -or- “You are so lucky.” How anyone could really believe this, is beyond me. All I can think about is how it really doesn’t feel like a blessing. I lost my son the moment the doctor told me he no longer had a heartbeat, and once Eli was no longer inside of me, it felt like a new, second loss. As each month passes that I know he should be with me, when his due date rolled around, while watching friends and family members’ pregnancies progress: loss after loss. Time does not heal all wounds. Time won’t magically reunite me with my son, or erase all of the memories that I have or the feeling that he should be here with us.

There is nothing on this earth that I love more than my daughter. I watch her grow with pride each day and marvel at the little girl that she is turning in to. Sometimes when I am watching her do small things like pick up a ball, when I hear her laugh, when the sun reflects so beautifully on her long hair… I can’t help but think about her little brother and the twins that we lost so early on. What would they have been? Girls? Boys? What would my children have been like? I keep thinking of Eli, severely damaged by trisomy 18, and how I could have, would have, loved him anyway. The doctor gave us the option to abort. How could I have done that to my son? Once you start loving something, once you invest in it with personality and presence, how can you ever let it go? I think of my son every day. And I know I will until my very last breath. 

If I could tell those children on thing, it would be this: “You may be gone from my body, but you will never be forgotten. Your father and I both love you so very much and we cannot wait to be with all of you some day.”

Welcome

I have my own personal blog, but I wanted a blog dedicated solely to my son, Eli.


My dear son born deceased during my pregnancy at the very early age of 26 weeks. After months of grief, mourning, and waiting; the doctors called to let us know he had been diagnosed with trisomy 18. A condition with which he would not have been able to survive had he made it all the way into this world. I put this blog together to be able to have a place to grieve and mourn and to possibly help or connect with other mothers who have gone through such painful loss.

Over time, I will tell his complete story. I will also share his photos, my memories with him, and other snippits about child loss.