13 Seconds

I'm glad that last post is under my belt because I have more important things on my mind that are much more worthy of my thoughts, fears, and emotions...

Emma was home sick last week and wrote a post about how much we miss her baby brother and she was spot on. We know we love our kids with our entire being. But we don't really experience how much that is quantitatively speaking until we lose one and we lose part of ourselves with them. Then we really feel how much is lost. Most people never realize this emotion because the natural order is to grow old and die before our kids do.

My sister sent me this video this week and though I had seen it before, it has been a while. There are certain things I don't look at unless I truly, truly want to. So many things take me to such a dark place that I have to prepare myself and then let myself revisit them. This video is one of them.

I don't know if I can even put into words what this video does for me. What it does to me.

It is the only live video I have of Chase. Therefore, it is one of the most precious things to me ever. It is evidence, better yet, proof that he was born. He was mine, ours, in flesh and blood. He looked just like his brother and sisters when they were born. He was a big baby! He definitely did not belong in the NICU. He was beautiful. Perfect in Every. Single. Way.

I love this video because it was on Wednesday night. When he still looked like my sweet little Chase. Before his skin became all blotchy and before he got puffy from all the medication, blood products and fluids they were pumping into him. My favorite photo of him is one that was taken on this day and this is what I see in my head 99% of the time I think about him. This is what he looked like. I can feel his so soft hair and his rose petal like skin. I can smell him and breathe him in. My head so close to his head. My nose on his forehead, at his ear. Whispering to him, asking him, begging him, to please keep fighting. Carefully leaning over his isolette, I silently wished my incision was as numb as everything else in my body was. I listen to our pastor's words but I don't really hear them. I am watching his tummy move up and down, like every mother does millions of times "just to make sure...." when you bring home a newborn. I didn't get to hear him cry and I really, really missed that. I wanted to hear him so badly. He did open his eyes for us and his brain waves on one machine indicated his undeniable response to our voices and touch. But I wanted so much more. I couldn't pick him up and hold him to my chest, wrap him in my arms, tuck him under my chin like I wanted to so badly. I wish so much that I had done that one of those 3 days. There was a point when I was convinced that had I done so, I could have miraculously healed him. Made him all better, like I always seem to do with the other three.

Wathcing the 13 seconds of this video is like watching him live again. But it's not a happy feeling. I wanted him to get better, but I didn't want him to hurt, either. I could't bear the thought of him in pain and I didn't know if he was or not. I couldn't tell like a mother should be able to. I did not feel good in the NICU. I knew it was bad. But I did not want to let go. I did not want to give up hope. Watching this video makes me feel that way again. Like not wanting to give up hope, but knowing you have to. And you only get 13 seconds. It feels like that's about how fast it went. A life. HIS life. So painfully short. So incredibly precious. Beautiful. Adorable. Proud. Happy. Yet so intensely sad.

I love you baby boy. Mommy loves you so, so much. You are almost 6 months old and I miss you so badly. Please, please come to me in my dreams. I need you to be there. Won't you?