I Will Always Remember

Happy Birthday to my sweet boys (one day late here, because yesterday was a super busy day). I can't believe it's been four years since that dreadful c-section. I wrote the follow several weeks ago, but just haven't posted it yet. I actually submitted it to Still Standing but never heard from them so I am assuming they did not choose it for posting, which I am fine with. I suppose I should just let it all out here instead of there.

I remember the sound of my sobs after they told me my son’s heart had stopped beating. It felt like an out of body experience, almost as though I was floating away from reality because the pain was so deep. 

I remember going to the funeral home to sign paperwork and fighting the urge to run and find his body. Later I realized that since we chose cremation he wasn’t there, but at the time it took all I had to leave him for what I thought was the second time. 

I remember praying with my husband for God to heal our son. We slept in the NICU night after night and held each other as we cried and prayed for a miracle. 

I remember it all. 

But even more than that, I remember seeing his face for the very first time. His frail little body was hooked up to a ventilator and he looked exactly like his healthy twin brother, and I fell in love instantly. I reached through the incubator and touched his leg and he stole a piece of my heart he always has with him. 

I remember when he first opened his eyes what it felt like to know that he knew what his momma looked like. Later that day I got to change his diaper for the first, and only time. He peed on me. Twice. 

I remember when he had a silent baby fit only NICU mommas can understand. I held his hands and sang to him and he opened his big blue eyes and looked at me memorized and stopped fussing. He knew his momma, and it that moment our bond was unbreakable. 

I remember when they placed him in my arms for the first time. It was just hours before he died, and in a strange way life was as it should have been for a few moments. My son was in my arms, exactly where he should have been every day the previous five weeks. 

Every day, every moment, I carry the moments with me. I remember the perfectness that was my son, and the horridness that encases his death. I am his momma, and he is my son. 

And until I see him again and form new memories in Heaven, I will remember.