I came across this story of a woman writing about her sons death, it is so sad. I don't know how she is able to write about it so eloquently. I promise to post something more uplifting later.
Here it is:
When it was all over, when he was gone, he said to me: Look, mama. Can you see? I’m better now. This sick little boy lying on your lap, this poor boy, he’s not me. Not anymore. Look, and see.
That’s when I knew he was finally safe, whole and calm. Resting.
Liam died this morning, our sweet and miraculous son. It was all just too much, the doctors tell us. Birth asphyxiation, the bleed, hydrocephalus, the shunt, a collapsed lung. During the operation they had a chance to look at his brain, and realized the damage was much worse than even the worst of ultrasounds. He was breaking down.
That’s the doctor’s story. Here’s mine.
He died in my belly six weeks ago. They brought him back when he was born, aggressively, ten minutes of frantic work to get him to register an apgar score of one. That’s when my old-soul son said to himself:
Well, this is strange. I was there, and now here. Why? I’ll stay then, for a little while. For my mama, my dada, my brother, my twin. To show them how strong I would have been, how inventive, how patient. To give them smiles, to help them to know me. Once I do all that, then I can go. Not in an operating room, cold and surrounded by strangers. On my mama’s heart, surrounded by peace and light and love.
And so it was.
Shhh, lili. You don’t need to try so hard anymore. Please rest, sweets. Go to sleep, go back to that place you already know, and wait for us. Be high in the sky, be the stars and the trees and the loons waking us in the morning, and watch over your brothers, and wait. When I am old and grey, fates willing, I’ll find you and come to you. I promise. Even if I’m a hundred-and-one I’ll use my mama magic to turn back into this Me, right now, and we’ll pick up where we left off and I’ll feed you and hold you and we’ll cuddle forever. I promise. So please lili, please go. Please, for mama and for dada.
We held him, all of us naked, for twelve hours through the night. As it was meant for him, if not in my belly, the way his soul wanted to go.
Now we need to take his last gift, I think: permission to feel relief. Liam gave us peace by finding his own.
This morning on the way home we looked in on Ben, suddenly robust in comparison. As he passed through Liam stopped at Ben’s bedside, curled up beside him and whispered to him of patience and promise and inherited hopes and dreams. Then he was gone, and Ben lies with rosy cheeks, belly full, nasal prongs wrestled free, chest rising and falling in deep contentment, blanket kicked off and toes twitching languorously, ready for life to begin.
Then we left the hospital to recharge, to find our way back to being parents of two, to give our sons everything we have left.
Later today I stood at the ocean wearing two-day-old clothes, clothes I’d put on when my son was still alive. And I felt Liam in the sky, brushing my cheeks with breeze and crashing spray. A sapphire sky peeking out through portholes in the fog. I put my right hand over my belly where his naked, warm rump lay throughout that endless night, and my left hand over my heart, where he let go.
And I stood with him, remembering, just being his mama.
Peace, light, love for Liam, our son.
From: http://ingliseast.typepad.com
