Cheryl Haggard
12-04-2007, 12:44 PM
Subject: How wonderful a gift
Message: I have dried my tears after sobbing loud enough to wake my daughter. I read your story of how this began with your little son.
I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. It is of utmost importance that a child not be remembered as a 'loss' , but be remembered instead as a 'gift' with a human identity... a son, daughter, grandchild, sister, brother. Unfortunately, new parents devastated by the blow of overwhelming grief are barely able to function or think past the 'now'. This is a new and separate tragedy that won't even be recognized until much later. Families finding themselves in this situation, whether it was expected and dreaded or sudden and devastating, have historically been left with too little (or nothing at all), too late. Such is our case.
The exciting day of the ultrasound, when parents may choose to discover the thrilling secret of the baby's sex, was the day we learned we had a son, but within 1 minute we also learned that he had died a week earlier.
Devastating sadness, shock, pain, loss, disbelief, anger, self-doubt... these emotions reigned king, and cheated us of the gift of spending precious seconds, minutes or hours holding our tiny son. Even though a wise and kind nurse explained that we may not want to look at our son Isaac, because his little body had already begun decomposing, she tried several times to get us to sit a moment and hold him, wrapped completely in a blanket. She explained that merely feeling the weight of him in our arms could help us begin to heal, and provide a solid memory of our little boy.
Like most non-medical people, death made us 'uncomfortable'. It was hard for us to understand or accept, was unfamiliar, and the unfamiliarity begat fear. That fear caused us to turn down our ONLY chance at knowing our firstborn son, a decision I have regretted a million times since 2001. We buried Isaac Nathaniel on Mother's Day, and as the service was coming to a close, I was looking at the tiny box that held my son, and realised suddenly this was my last chance to even be NEAR him on this earth. As everyone turned to leave, I stepped forward, wanting only to lay my head on the casket and whisper to him, to place my hands on each side of the box, and just stand there, having a few minutes with him, near him. My husband misunderstood, thinking I was breaking down, and quickly guided me away with a gentle hand. The closest I ever got to the precious, joyfully anticipated little boy I carried beneath my heart for 5 months, was a fleeting one second touch on top of his casket in the sunshine of a cold, windy cemetary.
What a gift you are giving to these families. A beautiful face, toes, fingers, a tuft of fuzzy hair, there for them to see, know and love over and over.
Even though we wouldn't have had the visual aspect of admiring his hair, fingers, nose, or toes, I would give a billion dollars to be able to go back to the moment in that hospital room. I'd say "Yes, please," walk to the rocking chair, sit and at least feel the weight of my little blanket-wrapped son in my arms... To have a PHOTO of that moment: his father, Isaac and myself, together... there is no price I can name that could cover what it would mean to me now. I hope you will minister to parents in this position as well, providing the opportunity that we missed. God in heaven will be blessing thousands and millions of people over and over, because of your service, understanding and kindness in their time of need.
God Bless You All.
Message: I have dried my tears after sobbing loud enough to wake my daughter. I read your story of how this began with your little son.
I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. It is of utmost importance that a child not be remembered as a 'loss' , but be remembered instead as a 'gift' with a human identity... a son, daughter, grandchild, sister, brother. Unfortunately, new parents devastated by the blow of overwhelming grief are barely able to function or think past the 'now'. This is a new and separate tragedy that won't even be recognized until much later. Families finding themselves in this situation, whether it was expected and dreaded or sudden and devastating, have historically been left with too little (or nothing at all), too late. Such is our case.
The exciting day of the ultrasound, when parents may choose to discover the thrilling secret of the baby's sex, was the day we learned we had a son, but within 1 minute we also learned that he had died a week earlier.
Devastating sadness, shock, pain, loss, disbelief, anger, self-doubt... these emotions reigned king, and cheated us of the gift of spending precious seconds, minutes or hours holding our tiny son. Even though a wise and kind nurse explained that we may not want to look at our son Isaac, because his little body had already begun decomposing, she tried several times to get us to sit a moment and hold him, wrapped completely in a blanket. She explained that merely feeling the weight of him in our arms could help us begin to heal, and provide a solid memory of our little boy.
Like most non-medical people, death made us 'uncomfortable'. It was hard for us to understand or accept, was unfamiliar, and the unfamiliarity begat fear. That fear caused us to turn down our ONLY chance at knowing our firstborn son, a decision I have regretted a million times since 2001. We buried Isaac Nathaniel on Mother's Day, and as the service was coming to a close, I was looking at the tiny box that held my son, and realised suddenly this was my last chance to even be NEAR him on this earth. As everyone turned to leave, I stepped forward, wanting only to lay my head on the casket and whisper to him, to place my hands on each side of the box, and just stand there, having a few minutes with him, near him. My husband misunderstood, thinking I was breaking down, and quickly guided me away with a gentle hand. The closest I ever got to the precious, joyfully anticipated little boy I carried beneath my heart for 5 months, was a fleeting one second touch on top of his casket in the sunshine of a cold, windy cemetary.
What a gift you are giving to these families. A beautiful face, toes, fingers, a tuft of fuzzy hair, there for them to see, know and love over and over.
Even though we wouldn't have had the visual aspect of admiring his hair, fingers, nose, or toes, I would give a billion dollars to be able to go back to the moment in that hospital room. I'd say "Yes, please," walk to the rocking chair, sit and at least feel the weight of my little blanket-wrapped son in my arms... To have a PHOTO of that moment: his father, Isaac and myself, together... there is no price I can name that could cover what it would mean to me now. I hope you will minister to parents in this position as well, providing the opportunity that we missed. God in heaven will be blessing thousands and millions of people over and over, because of your service, understanding and kindness in their time of need.
God Bless You All.