Due date.

Tomorrow was the day we were supposed to meet our litle guy.

Tomorrow was the day that we were dreading. Why? CDH kills half of the babies that have it. We didn’t know if Charlie was going to succumb to that fate. Luckily, he didn’t suffer. He didn’t have to struggle to take his first breath. We didn’t have to watch him be put on a ventilator or watch him be wheeled away for his hernia repair surgery, knowing he might not make it out alive. He didn’t have to be a NICU baby and we didn’t have to be NICU parents. He was spared from the ECMO machine, the feeding tubes, the monitors, the needles, the constant revolving door of nurses that would’ve been by his side. We were spared weeks and months of worry, wondering if his next breathe would be his last or if we’d ever be able to bring him home.

I remember hiking after our 18 week ultrasound, right before we found out how bad his CDH was. I remember stopping in the middle of the trail, looking up at the sky, and asking for God to take him soon if he wasn’t going to survive. I didn’t think I had the strength in me  to watch him die in the hospital.   I remember the next step I took, I tripped over a rock and nearly fell. I took that as a sign that God heard me. He must’ve heard me and listened, because just 6 weeks later I was in a hospital bed, giving birth to the most beautiful tiny human I have ever seen. 

Dan and I will constantly wonder what kind of person he would’ve been. What would his personality have been like? What about his eyes? We never got to see them. What color were they? Would he have grown up to be  a firefighter just like his daddy? Would he be silly or serious? A jokster like his father? Probably. Short or tall?  We’ll never know.  I’ll never get to make him his first birthday cake or take him to his first play date. I’ll never get to read him a bedtime story, help him with his homework, or put him on the bus for the first day of school. I’ll never get to watch him graduate or get married or have a child of his own. When he died, we lost our dream of raising a child, of having a family.

I know he’s in a better place now, watching over us.  I’m thankful we decided to cremate him, because if we want to see him, all we have to do is walk over to his urn and say hello. We say hello every single day and I always wonder if he hears us. If I could turn back the hands of time, I would hold him a little longer.  Really, that’s all I want. I would give anything for one more minute….

 

We love you , Charlie. Hope you’re having fun up there buddy.