Today, February 17th, is Luke's third anniversary in heaven. The entire month of February has been hard for me, but the week leading up to Luke's birthday is the most difficult. My mind fluctuates between remembering the most acute details of my last days with Luke wiggling around inside of me, to practicing the fine art of denial. It is a strange balance. Night time is the worst though, as my hands are no longer able to be busy and my mind wanders to my sweet firstborn, and how much I still miss him. Needless to say, I haven't been sleeping much this week. I remember the last times I felt Luke move inside of me. It was a Saturday night, February 16, 2008 and we had spent it at Will's parents house. I remember doing my daily kick counts that evening to make sure that everything was okay with Luke. My doctor had told me that if Luke passed his kick counts (10 movements within an hour at around the same time each day) then I could rest easy knowing he was okay in there until the following day's kick counts. Luke passed his kick counts within minutes, as he always did. The doctors told me he was super active because he had more room than most babies his age, on account of all the extra liters of amniotic fluid I was carrying. What I remember distinctly is that he had hiccups when I did the kick counts that night, and I could also feel his head turning from side to side, and even the hairs on his head, moving against my stomach. Will would always look at me in slight disbelief when I told him this part, at which I would respond - wait and see, he will be born with hair on his head!
That evening, Will and I had no idea as we snuggled in bed that it would be the last time we would be together with Luke on earth. When I think about it now, it still chokes me up to realize that Luke went home to heaven while his mom and dad were peacefully sleeping, warm and comfortable together in each other's arms. As any woman in her 35 week of pregnancy can attest - a peaceful night's sleep when your stomach is as big as a house is not easy to come by. Plus, with all of Luke's health concerns, my mind wouldn't shut off the worry most nights and I usually watched the sunrise, relieved that night was finally over. But I remember telling Will the next morning how well I had slept. I like to think that God gave us the gift of a good night's sleep because He knew what lay ahead, and how many sleepless nights would unfold. I also like to picture Jesus coming into our bedroom in the still of the night to bring Luke home, and Luke looking back on his parents with love, happy to see us so relaxed and at peace, together as a family on earth for the last time, and Luke's last picture of life on earth.
We had a very busy day that Sunday, which involved two different social engagements, I cleaned the house from top to bottom, and we also borrowed Will's parent's pickup truck to pick up a bookcase that they gave us for Luke's storybooks. It is ironic to me how busy that day was - how usually I was always so in tune with Luke - but that I didn't have time to pause for a moment that day and think about the last time I had felt him move. Not until we were getting ready for bed on Sunday night, and I sat down to do my kick counts did it occur to me that I hadn't felt him move since the night before. After the first hour of nothing, I drank some orange juice and walked around. After the second hour of no movement, it began to dawn on Will and I that something was seriously wrong. Luke never sat still for a moment - he was always kicking and poking me. When it occurred to me that I couldn't recall any movement from him all day, we called the doctor and they advised us to go the ER immediately to get checked out. The ride to the hospital around 11 that night was completely silent. It was freezing cold and dark, and I just remember pleading in my head to Luke to wake up and move, while squeezing Will's hand like it was the last concrete thing I had to hold on to for life. I have never experienced such fear. I have never prayed so fervently to God.
When we arrived at the ER, the events seemed to take place to someone else. They checked us in, and we had a bed in triage before we had time to think twice. They put the ultrasound on my stomach, and I swear the entire hospital went silent. I think Will and I both held our breath as we waited for Luke's image to come up on the screen. Will and I had still not let go of each other's hands, and they were numb and sweaty from the pressure. When Luke's image finally came up on the screen, the truth hit us like a blow to the stomach. We knew immediately that our little guy was gone. We could see his still form, usually so active with movement, still and lifeless on the screen, gently floating in the amniotic fluid. It is an image that Will and I will have as clear as the moment it happened, ingrained in our minds until the day we die. Doctors and nurses surrounded us, still not giving up, trying to find a heartbeat and shaking my stomach to try and wake him up. But Will and I locked eyes and we KNEW. He was gone. Finally, a nurse took my free hand and told me she was sorry, but that our baby was gone. We nodded at her. Silently, the doctors and nurses filed out of our curtained triage room. The silence was broken by a giant, shaking sob which I realized with surprise was coming from me. Will and I clung to each other.
What was left of February 17th, and into the next morning was filled with the most empty feeling I have ever experienced, coupled with numbness and disbelief. We had decisions to make. We had people to call. We had doctors and nurses to talk to. My body was subjected to multiple pokes and prods. All of this occurred as if through a dimly lit dream. These were the darkest hours of my life. Looking back, I can see the hand of God gently leading us through this dark place. I cannot imagine how else I came through it. To have my baby boy still inside of me, but yet to know he was gone was surreal. I didn't want him to ever be born, but on the other hand, I wanted him out so that I could move through this pain. I kept my arms tightly wrapped around my swollen stomach for most of this time, and would look at Will and cry because he couldn't hold Luke like I could. I kept reminding myself that I was only holding Luke's little body, that his spirit was soaring with the angels already, and that he was healthy and whole. But my heart wanted him here with me. I still want him here with me.
I have gone over the above scene probably a million times in my mind. Driving in the car, laying awake in bed at night, and staring off into space while I eat lunch. It is like my mind has to keep going over and over it again and again to finally be able to come to terms with all that has happened. Three years later, I feel like I am happy again, and able to experience life to the fullest - something I never thought would happen after losing Luke. But it is still different. There is still a hole that can never be filled on this earth. Will and I are different people. We have lost the hopeful thoughts of the future that the young are blessed with. We have seen the future. We are older. We are wiser. And although we can look to the future again with hope, we also understand that futures can contain both happy AND sad times.
Will and I have weathered losing our son together, and have emerged as a stronger couple. But I still look back on those days before losing Luke, and miss the carefree people we once were. We had no idea how our vows of for better or for worse would play out. So February 17th is a difficult day for me. And I'm not through the worst of the anniversary dates yet. There is still Luke's birthday, and then the day we buried him.
This year, I have Lucy to think about as well. She talks about her brother in heaven, and knows that Will and I miss him. She talks about how when she was born, she cried, and that when Emma is born she will also cry. Then she says, "Luke. Born. Cry?" This sends a knife through my heart when I tell Lucy that "No, Luke didn't cry when he was born but mama and dada did." Lucy also talks about how she can't wait to hold Emma when she is born. She then transitions into how she wants to hold Luke, and again I have to choke back the tears. I tell her, "I want to hold Luke too, more than anything, but we have to wait until we go to heaven." For now, Lucy is okay with these answers. I do wonder how these conversations will play out in the future. After having Lucy, and now being pregnant with Emma, Will and I have realized a new grief we are working through - the grief of our other children missing their brother.
For Luke's birthday this year, we want to celebrate our son's life with Lucy, and make it a happy day for our family. This is easier said than done, but we will be trying to do that. Lucy told us that Luke wanted a chocolate cake for his birthday, so we will make that as well as eat all of his favorite foods for the day. We will also be putting out a dozen or so birdseed cupcakes at the cemetery, along with a card for anyone who stops by this weekend to sign. All of these traditions are more for us than for Luke, but it is important to Will and I to celebrate Luke the same way we would our other children. It is my hope that my living children will know their brother, even though he isn't physically with us on earth, and that they will also realize that death cannot separate or lessen their parent's love for their children.
And so I began this week much like I would any other week where a child of mine's birthday will be celebrated. I made a grocery list and a to-do list to get ready for the big day. I also planned out the meals for Luke's birthday, and bookmarked the recipes in my cookbooks. There is a vase of yellow tulips now sitting in the center of our dining room table. At meals, Lucy will point to it and say "Luke." Yup, those remind us of Luke we respond back. They are for Luke's birthday. This year, Luke has another little sister who will celebrate (in her own way) with us, and make the trip to the cemetery, and for that I am grateful. Life is to be celebrated, no matter how short it's stay on earth. Truly every beat our heart makes is a miracle and Will and I feel so blessed that we had the miracle of Luke for the 35 weeks that we did. He will be forever woven into our family and our lives.
Feel free to stop by the cemetery this weekend. We will have the birdseed cupcakes there until Sunday evening, along with the card and of course Luke's favorite candy, tootsie rolls. Send me an email if you would like directions to his plot and cemetery hours. Otherwise, if you could lift our family up in your thoughts and prayers as we journey through this weekend, it would mean more to us than we can say.
The below picture is of me with Luke happily swimming in my belly at 31 weeks.
Luke, through all the pain, you were worth it to your mom and dad, and we would do it all again, even now, knowing the outcome. We are so glad we have a son named Luke, and we are so very proud of you.
That evening, Will and I had no idea as we snuggled in bed that it would be the last time we would be together with Luke on earth. When I think about it now, it still chokes me up to realize that Luke went home to heaven while his mom and dad were peacefully sleeping, warm and comfortable together in each other's arms. As any woman in her 35 week of pregnancy can attest - a peaceful night's sleep when your stomach is as big as a house is not easy to come by. Plus, with all of Luke's health concerns, my mind wouldn't shut off the worry most nights and I usually watched the sunrise, relieved that night was finally over. But I remember telling Will the next morning how well I had slept. I like to think that God gave us the gift of a good night's sleep because He knew what lay ahead, and how many sleepless nights would unfold. I also like to picture Jesus coming into our bedroom in the still of the night to bring Luke home, and Luke looking back on his parents with love, happy to see us so relaxed and at peace, together as a family on earth for the last time, and Luke's last picture of life on earth.
We had a very busy day that Sunday, which involved two different social engagements, I cleaned the house from top to bottom, and we also borrowed Will's parent's pickup truck to pick up a bookcase that they gave us for Luke's storybooks. It is ironic to me how busy that day was - how usually I was always so in tune with Luke - but that I didn't have time to pause for a moment that day and think about the last time I had felt him move. Not until we were getting ready for bed on Sunday night, and I sat down to do my kick counts did it occur to me that I hadn't felt him move since the night before. After the first hour of nothing, I drank some orange juice and walked around. After the second hour of no movement, it began to dawn on Will and I that something was seriously wrong. Luke never sat still for a moment - he was always kicking and poking me. When it occurred to me that I couldn't recall any movement from him all day, we called the doctor and they advised us to go the ER immediately to get checked out. The ride to the hospital around 11 that night was completely silent. It was freezing cold and dark, and I just remember pleading in my head to Luke to wake up and move, while squeezing Will's hand like it was the last concrete thing I had to hold on to for life. I have never experienced such fear. I have never prayed so fervently to God.
When we arrived at the ER, the events seemed to take place to someone else. They checked us in, and we had a bed in triage before we had time to think twice. They put the ultrasound on my stomach, and I swear the entire hospital went silent. I think Will and I both held our breath as we waited for Luke's image to come up on the screen. Will and I had still not let go of each other's hands, and they were numb and sweaty from the pressure. When Luke's image finally came up on the screen, the truth hit us like a blow to the stomach. We knew immediately that our little guy was gone. We could see his still form, usually so active with movement, still and lifeless on the screen, gently floating in the amniotic fluid. It is an image that Will and I will have as clear as the moment it happened, ingrained in our minds until the day we die. Doctors and nurses surrounded us, still not giving up, trying to find a heartbeat and shaking my stomach to try and wake him up. But Will and I locked eyes and we KNEW. He was gone. Finally, a nurse took my free hand and told me she was sorry, but that our baby was gone. We nodded at her. Silently, the doctors and nurses filed out of our curtained triage room. The silence was broken by a giant, shaking sob which I realized with surprise was coming from me. Will and I clung to each other.
What was left of February 17th, and into the next morning was filled with the most empty feeling I have ever experienced, coupled with numbness and disbelief. We had decisions to make. We had people to call. We had doctors and nurses to talk to. My body was subjected to multiple pokes and prods. All of this occurred as if through a dimly lit dream. These were the darkest hours of my life. Looking back, I can see the hand of God gently leading us through this dark place. I cannot imagine how else I came through it. To have my baby boy still inside of me, but yet to know he was gone was surreal. I didn't want him to ever be born, but on the other hand, I wanted him out so that I could move through this pain. I kept my arms tightly wrapped around my swollen stomach for most of this time, and would look at Will and cry because he couldn't hold Luke like I could. I kept reminding myself that I was only holding Luke's little body, that his spirit was soaring with the angels already, and that he was healthy and whole. But my heart wanted him here with me. I still want him here with me.
I have gone over the above scene probably a million times in my mind. Driving in the car, laying awake in bed at night, and staring off into space while I eat lunch. It is like my mind has to keep going over and over it again and again to finally be able to come to terms with all that has happened. Three years later, I feel like I am happy again, and able to experience life to the fullest - something I never thought would happen after losing Luke. But it is still different. There is still a hole that can never be filled on this earth. Will and I are different people. We have lost the hopeful thoughts of the future that the young are blessed with. We have seen the future. We are older. We are wiser. And although we can look to the future again with hope, we also understand that futures can contain both happy AND sad times.
Will and I have weathered losing our son together, and have emerged as a stronger couple. But I still look back on those days before losing Luke, and miss the carefree people we once were. We had no idea how our vows of for better or for worse would play out. So February 17th is a difficult day for me. And I'm not through the worst of the anniversary dates yet. There is still Luke's birthday, and then the day we buried him.
This year, I have Lucy to think about as well. She talks about her brother in heaven, and knows that Will and I miss him. She talks about how when she was born, she cried, and that when Emma is born she will also cry. Then she says, "Luke. Born. Cry?" This sends a knife through my heart when I tell Lucy that "No, Luke didn't cry when he was born but mama and dada did." Lucy also talks about how she can't wait to hold Emma when she is born. She then transitions into how she wants to hold Luke, and again I have to choke back the tears. I tell her, "I want to hold Luke too, more than anything, but we have to wait until we go to heaven." For now, Lucy is okay with these answers. I do wonder how these conversations will play out in the future. After having Lucy, and now being pregnant with Emma, Will and I have realized a new grief we are working through - the grief of our other children missing their brother.
For Luke's birthday this year, we want to celebrate our son's life with Lucy, and make it a happy day for our family. This is easier said than done, but we will be trying to do that. Lucy told us that Luke wanted a chocolate cake for his birthday, so we will make that as well as eat all of his favorite foods for the day. We will also be putting out a dozen or so birdseed cupcakes at the cemetery, along with a card for anyone who stops by this weekend to sign. All of these traditions are more for us than for Luke, but it is important to Will and I to celebrate Luke the same way we would our other children. It is my hope that my living children will know their brother, even though he isn't physically with us on earth, and that they will also realize that death cannot separate or lessen their parent's love for their children.
And so I began this week much like I would any other week where a child of mine's birthday will be celebrated. I made a grocery list and a to-do list to get ready for the big day. I also planned out the meals for Luke's birthday, and bookmarked the recipes in my cookbooks. There is a vase of yellow tulips now sitting in the center of our dining room table. At meals, Lucy will point to it and say "Luke." Yup, those remind us of Luke we respond back. They are for Luke's birthday. This year, Luke has another little sister who will celebrate (in her own way) with us, and make the trip to the cemetery, and for that I am grateful. Life is to be celebrated, no matter how short it's stay on earth. Truly every beat our heart makes is a miracle and Will and I feel so blessed that we had the miracle of Luke for the 35 weeks that we did. He will be forever woven into our family and our lives.
Feel free to stop by the cemetery this weekend. We will have the birdseed cupcakes there until Sunday evening, along with the card and of course Luke's favorite candy, tootsie rolls. Send me an email if you would like directions to his plot and cemetery hours. Otherwise, if you could lift our family up in your thoughts and prayers as we journey through this weekend, it would mean more to us than we can say.
The below picture is of me with Luke happily swimming in my belly at 31 weeks.
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3 comments:
So beautiful Liz, and Luke is such a blessed baby in Heaven to be so loved here on Earth. We are thinking of you, Will, Luke, Lucy, and Emma and sending a lot of love your way this week. Xo
Luke's wings are so strong, The help he gives here on earth so great. His strength and goodness comes from all the love his family sends him. How proud God must be. You gave Him another angel, and for you to say you would do it all again brings joy to God's heart.
God Bless you!!
Pat xoxoxo
You have shared so much about your angel in heaven. Can't you just picture Luke giving directions to Emma to love his family on earth as he did a couple of years ago to Lucy? You are a beautiful family surrounded by much love. God bless you all. Xx
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