Dear
Gabriel,
My sweet son. I have thought day and night about what I might say to you if I had the chance. If only you could have known how much you are loved and the impact you have had on your father, me, and everyone around us. Since you did not have the opportunity to live your own story, I would like to share it with you now.
Your daddy and I tried for five long
years to have you. We went through
fertility treatments and many failed pregnancy attempts but we didn’t give
up. We wanted you so badly. I finally got the phone call that I had been
waiting for for so long. I was pregnant
with my precious baby. I was sick
in the mornings but I didn’t care. I
dreamt of the day that I would hold you and I imagined what you might look
like. I wondered if you would inherit your
father’s amazing sense of humor. I
couldn’t wait for you to meet all of your cousins and your grandparents. You were already so loved.
Shortly into my pregnancy, I got very
sick and had to go to the hospital. I
was terrified that I was losing you.
They reassured me that you were fine but they needed to do regular
ultrasounds to monitor us both. I was
excited about that because more ultrasounds meant that I got to see you more
often and hear that precious heartbeat that warmed my heart.
On one of the ultrasounds that they
did, they found a bulge coming from your belly.
They told me they could fix it but it was going to be a tough six weeks
after you were born. I was worried but I
took comfort in their confidence that this could be fixed.
They sent me to a specialist who
performed more tests. It was then that
our true nightmare began. You had some
other abnormalities that were consistent with a disorder that was fatal. They would have to do yet another test to
confirm this but I knew in my heart that this was really bad news. That evening I went for a walk. I walked around our neighborhood and I felt
you moving and kicking in my belly. You
were so active. How could something be wrong? I started to say goodbye at that moment. I felt so guilty. I had not even received a confirmation that
we were going to lose you and yet I was already saying goodbye. If your own mother didn’t think you could
survive this, how could anyone else? For
that, I am so sorry. I think that maybe
if I had just believed a little harder, you could’ve had a chance. I know deep down that isn’t true but I carry
that guilt with me anyway. Unfortunately,
my guilt was only beginning.
When we got the call from my doctor
that our fears were confirmed, my whole body went numb. I heard some of the words he was saying but I
was having trouble stringing them all together.
I heard words like “incompatible with life” and “will not survive childbirth.” After rattling on for what seemed like
forever, he asked if I had any questions.
The only question I could manage was, “Is the baby a boy or a
girl?” He told me you were a boy. My precious son that I had wanted for so
long. I knew then that I would name you
Gabriel as you deserved the name of an angel.
Our lives became a whirlwind at that
point. Our doctors’ recommendation was
to induce me early. If we continued with
the pregnancy and you, by some miracle, survived childbirth, you would suffer
in a way that was unbearable for me to even imagine. I was faced with a decision no mother should
ever have to make. I had to choose
whether to induce early and let you go peacefully or continue with the
pregnancy knowing that you would suffer and that the odds of you surviving were
almost zero. The death blow had been
struck. We knew this was the beginning
of the end.
Your father and I made the decision to
induce early and let you go peacefully in the only environment you had ever
known rather than introduce you into a new world where you would feel nothing
but pain and fear. I will never forget
the feeling of standing in that hospital staring at the doors. It was surreal. I felt you moving and kicking inside of me
and I knew when I walked through those doors, you were going to be lost to me
forever. What kind of mother was I to do
this to her son? Why couldn’t I save
you? I felt completely helpless.
After 26 hours of labor, you were
born. My precious Gabriel was here. You were perfect in every way and we loved
you instantly. You were so tiny. You had your dad’s nose. We held you for 12 precious hours. I never knew how short 12 hours really can
be. Those were our only 12 hours to be a
family. We talked to you, took pictures
with you, took footprints, and held your tiny hands. Your dad told you all about Notre Dame
football and his thoughts that Michael Floyd might, indeed, be Superman. You even got to meet your Aunt Susi who
instantly adored you. She would have
spoiled you rotten. Those 12 hours were
the saddest and yet the happiest hours of my life. When we had to hand you over to the funeral
home, your dad and I held each other and cried.
We felt a pain that went so deeply into our souls that I knew our world
had forever changed and we would never be the same again. We lost a piece of ourselves that day and it
took me a long time to understand that that was okay. It is a piece of us that belongs to you alone
and it is that void in our lives that will hold on to your memory and keep you
alive in our hearts forever.
After we said goodbye to you, I went
through a period of time where I felt robbed.
I felt robbed of the hopes and dreams that we had for you. I felt robbed of the opportunity to watch you
grow up, push you on a swing, and teach you how to ride a bicycle. The holidays became torture. I plastered a smile on my face and tried
really hard to be happy when I watched other kids open presents on Christmas or
hunt for eggs on Easter but, inside, I felt angry, jealous, and alone. I would walk into your nursery and stare at
your empty crib and cry. It infuriated
me when people said things to me like, “Don’t worry, you can still have more
kids.” I didn’t want any other
kids. I wanted you. People did not understand the pain of our
loss because they never knew you. They
had never met you. I felt that this
diminished your existence and it made me angry.
Little did I know that nothing could
diminish your existence. As time went
on, I witnessed something amazing. I
watched as our friends and family came together in support. I watched my relationships grow and
change. I watched our friends hug their
kids a little bit tighter and tell them just one more story at night. Their appreciation for their children had
changed, because of you. I watched as my
relationship with your father grew. We
became stronger and closer than we had ever been and we have you to thank for
that. You gave us the greatest gift we
could ever ask for. You made us
parents.
I have had the ability to help other
parents through the agony of losing a child and you give me the strength to do
that. Every time I talk a mother through
her grief, I feel closer to you. Not
only did your life serve an amazing purpose, you helped me find my purpose as
well and, for that, I can never repay you.
You gave the ultimate sacrifice.
You gave your life to enrich ours.
You give us hope, strength, and courage.
You remind us every day about what is truly important in this life and
to hold on to the precious time we have with our loved ones. Do you know how proud that makes me? I’m such a lucky mother to have had you for a
son.
I’m about to do one of the most
difficult things I’ve ever done. I’m
going to get on stage and share your story with other parents. I thought it was only fair that before I
share your story with them, that I share it with you first. I hope that you are there, somehow, to hear
out loud how much you are loved and missed and how proud of you we are. I know that your story will continue to help
other parents through their grief so, rest easy, my sweet Gabriel, that we will
keep breaking the silence and never let your memory die.
Until we
meet again,
Your loving
mother.
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