My Dear Sweet Turner,
It has been 20 weeks since out last perfect day together. It seems nearly impossible that it has been that long. Each morning I wake up I hope and pray these last 20 weeeks have been the worst nightmare I have ever had. I pray I am still heavily pregnant with you and you are safely tucked in my womb.
Then reality rears its unforgiving head. I wake up and realize this is my life. A life without the beautiful newborn baby that I just gave birth to 4 short months ago.
I had the opportunity to sit with a family I know who lost a precious son 2 years ago in a terrible and tragic way. A very sudden event. Completely unexpected. A crushing and life altering situation none of them ever asked for. But yet it still happened. They are part of a club no one ever wants to join. They miss their son more than words describe. Their hearts and soul changed forever.
I never had the opportunity to meet their son here on this earth. From what I can gather their son was bright, had many friends, was well liked by all who met him, athletic and a good young man. I spent several hours speaking with T and C. I didnt know it at the time, but I needed to speak with someone face to face who understands this pain and grief I live with every day. Ive been able to meet and talk with so many other moms, most of them who have lost their babies either just before birth or shortly after. But all of my conversations with them have been over messages online. They have provided me much comfort knowing I am not alone on this lonely path. However, there is something to be said with speaking with someone face to face who just gets it. Who understands the life you are left to somehow live after your child dies.
We shared so much with each other. Al of us knowing there is no fix for this pain here on this earth. Rather, we have to learn how to cope with this overwhelming grief, sorrow and pain. Learn how to become a new version of the person we once were. Learn how to live instead of merely exist. Learn how to breath a little easier each day. Learn how to have faith again in a plan that we are struggling to believe is ours. Learn how to just be.
It was comforting speaking with them. Being able to openly share your name, your life, and your story. They had no idea all the things that happene this last three days of your life. They had no idea the trauma that your father and I went through and the details of finding out you had passed away. Or the details of your birth, the 12 precious hours I had with you in my arms and then ultimately having to give you to a complete stranger the same day you were born. Having to leave a hospital with a still swollen belly and completely empty arms. Arms that now held a “memory box” containing the few tangible items I will ever have of you and your existence, instead of your precious body I had just given birth to 13 hours prior. Going home to a house filled with baby items, a cradle, a pack n play, a car seat, baby clothes, diapers, baby toys. So many things that are yours. All waiting for you. And wait they still do. Even as I write this I am staring at your cradle. The cradle you should be laying in. And I’m clinging to a blanket you were swaddled in.
They had no idea about any of it as I really haven’t been able to share it with too many people in full detail. I relive those days in my head over and over. Like a movie reel on continuous repeat. I pray I gave them comfort as well. My heart breaks for them as I know the devastation I feel each day. I never got to raise you as they did with their son.
I never got to see your eyes stare into mine as if you were staring straight into my soul.
I never got to see your precious smile and have it warn my soul.
I never got to hear your laugh and see what you looked like when experienceing joy.
I never got to see your little personality flourish as you became older.
I never got to see you grow into a young man.
I never got to hear the most beautiful words that a mother could ever hear…”Mom, I love you”.
All of those things and so much more were taken from me, your father and from you. So I know if I feel how I am feeling than their pain must be so much more intense as they had 16 years with their son. I hope and pray that I can spend more time with them and that they find the begins of some kind of healing.
I have so much more that I want to say, but i know you know my heart and my pain. I just miss you. And even those words don’t accurately describe what I feel. Time certainly doesn’t heal all pain. Whoever made that phrase has obviously never had a child die.
Turner, you are never not in my mind. You are always there. And will continue to be. You go everywhere with me even though you arent physically there. Living on within my mind, heart, and soul. I miss you sweet boy. Please be ever so near.
Love always and Forever,