The story of a boy….well, he was much more than that to me……
This is the 7th in the series. And **this** my friends is perhaps the most important part of the Story of A Boy….for it is the part in which ~~in every sense of the word ~~HE LIVED.
Before I begin; let me say that this post will not be funny. And it might contain information that upsets you and not in the usual way with offensive language and politics…..but in a human, sad and guttural way. I may very well ramble at times and for all of these things: I am genuinely sorry. Please read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 before reading this. It will just make more sense that way.
May 29, 2007….the date in which my 2nd dearly loved, desperately wanted, son lived…..and died.
He was born amidst hurt, anger and rage….but once he was born…..there was only love. There were calls to be made, people to inform, relatives to tell…same as any birth of a new baby………and yet: profoundly different.
For we KNEW, 4 full days before he came, we knew, his life would be brief, his impact profound, we KNEW he was special. And into the world at 6:03 pm and a whopping 6.8 ounces and 8 inches long he came. And despite the odds….he came into the world ALIVE and then he LIVED. And He changed the lives of all who knew and truly loved him: for 1 hour and 47 minutes, he lived.
Before He was delivered into the world, my beautifully sweet and infinitely strong husband had said that he was unsure if he would be able to hold Him, our son, the child we had prayed for and loved and wanted. My husband had said he was unsure if he would be able to hold our boy; knowing what we did, that he would die.
And yet as SOON as He was born into the world, ALIVE and amazing…my dear husband almost immediately said: “I want to hold him”. And his first words looking at our beautiful boy were~ “he is so warm” and “he is beautiful”.
He **was** tiny; no doubt about that. He was born amidst chaos and despair; no doubt about that. But he was born to a much HIGHER purpose; no, no, NO doubt about that.
I can NOT TYPE these words without crying, as those who loved me then and now will attest…..but I also can NOT type these words without gratitude: for the boy he was, and the HOPE and FAITH he always will be.
For an hour and forty-seven beautiful moments in time we loved Him in life…and forever we will love him in death.
We did what normal families of newborns do: we looked at him and guessed who he looked like most. We called family and friends to alert them that he had arrived. We planned for the days that would follow. We named our Son…after parents, grandparents and those long deceased, we named him. We took pictures with his siblings and extended families. And we LOVED him. For as long as He was HERE and long, long after: we loved him.
As my husband held this ~ our tiny son~ in his arms.~ loved, desperately wanted, prayed for ~~~our son….in my husband’s~ in his father’s arms~ he was pronounced dead.
I remember being in the hospital room alone with him. After family had gone home. After my husband, who has the patience of a saint, taking our almost 2 year old son who did NOT have the patience of a saint home. ….and we were alone……..just the Boy and me. Footprints and measurements were taken. Hundreds of photographs~ meant to fill a lifetime~ but NEVER able to~ were taken.
I relive it in my dreams and in my nightmares.
The nurse coming to me and asking if I was ready for the baby to be taken to the morgue. As if ANY mother would EVER be ready for THAT.
I held him. I memorized every single feature of his tiny face and body. I told him over and over and over again how much we loved him. How he was part of our family. How we would NEVER forget. And when there was no other choice: I let him go. And after he was gone I would forever wish that I would have held him just a little while longer.
He is my son. He will always BE my son. Both my husband and I, profoundly changed by his existence and very brief life, carry his footprints on our person.
He is our son. And his name is William.