Letter to Josh

Dear Joshie,

You were born on Tuesday, March 18, 2003 at 10:15 am, weighing only 616 grams. I wish I could have kept you in longer, to have given you more of a chance. I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish you didn’t have to fight so hard. I’m afraid of forgetting all the memories I have of you. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you before they whisked you away. It wasn’t our plan. I wanted to have held you and nursed you and Jonah after you were born. Your eyes were supposed to be open, not still fused shut.

I’m sorry I didn’t get to read you stories or sit by your bedside. I wanted to, but I needed to stay flat to help Jonah stay inside. You were doing so well! Your O2 was at 21%– room air, and everything was looking good. Them blood started to collect in your tiny lungs. In spite of blood transfusions, your O2 saturation dropped. They suspected both brain and organ damage and that the blood they had given you leaked into your brain.

Wednesday night they told us you would not live– I had only seen you twice! We had to say good-bye to you. How do I say good-bye to my baby son? Why would God do that?

Thursday morning I showered and dressed in a daze. I remember wondering what to wear (not that I had much of a choice). What does a mother wear when she says “good-bye” to her son? No one knew the agony that your Daddy and I were in. We left the hospital room and made our way to the NICU, knowing that when we left your side, we would be leaving you behind, forever.

As I held your tiny body in my arms for the first time, all I felt was love. You were an amazing little person from the dark hair on your head to the tiny toes on your feet. I knew the battle you had been through and wished that I could have been by your side to fight with you more. Holding you felt so unreal– you were not supposed to be here, in my arms, so soon. After we had each held you, cuddled you, and told you how much we loved you, we asked Rebecca to remove your ventilation tube so you would be free. Even after your life support was removed, your tiny heart continued to faintly beat and you took tiny breaths every few minutes. We told you it was okay to stop fighting and that Jesus was waiting for you. You finally let go. Saying “good-bye” to you was one of the hardest things your Daddy and I have ever done. It was never part of our plan. Only God knows why you came so early and had to leave so soon.

I miss you Josh. I miss all that you were and all that you would have become I miss all the memories I have and all the dreams I had for you that will never be fulfilled. I’ll love you forever my sweet son.

Mummy