Ten years ago I rushed my four young children through their day in an effort to attend the closing program for the library's summer reading club, eat lunch and still make it to my routine OB appointment in the late afternoon. I was annoyed that I hadn't been able to find a sitter for the Dr. appointment which to me always meant a moment of tranquil solitude while waiting to be seen. Taking four children with me to the appointment would entail reading Clifford the Big Red Dog and Dr. Seuss instead of People Magazine. Hopefully, I would be able to keep everyone happy and stress could be kept to a minimum.
Ironically, the wait was short that day and my "party of five" moved quickly through the exam process of being weighed and listening to the baby's heartbeat. The baby's heartbeat....the baby's.....wait a minute.. The nurse couldn't find that heatbeat for some reason. No worries...the Dr. would be able to track that little guy without a problem. It was evident that the baby was just playing a little game of hide and seek.
My gentle and patient Dr. had no luck and whisked me to room number two for an impromptu ultrasound. My four kids squealed with delight in hearing they would get to see their little brother or sister on the ultrasound. I caught my Dr.'s very serious and sad expression as he gazed at their enthusiasm and suddenly wanted to run. The ultrasound confirmed our worst fears....the baby had died.
Surrounded by my four little kids and my Dr. I found myself having to answer my eight year old's question as to why I was crying. Arrangements were made to have my Mom pick up the kids and get me to a nearby hospital. I would need to deliver this baby as soon as possible as the risk to my health would increase the longer we waited. My routine office visit turned into my worst nightmare and a life changing event for all of us.
About two weeks later we held a memorial service for our little boy, Ian David. I was having a very hard time processing through the grief associated with child loss and decided to write my son a letter. I wanted to read the letter at the service as a shout out to the world that I was in pain. I wanted the world to cry with me and was selfishly trying to faciltate that.
What I intended for evil God chose to use as a testimony of His love and providential care. So many people at the memorial told me my message "changed" them, helping them realize the value of life. It brought meaningful tears to their eyes. I had inadvertently been used by God for His purpose. Understanding this truth actually allowed me to see that Ian's life and death had some sort of meaning; a purpose.
Over the past ten years I have shared Ian's letter with many people by email and personally at the time of child loss. I am always amazed at its impact and thank God each time for bringing more meaning and value to my son's life. August 18th will mark the 10 year "birthday" for my little boy. It was the beginning and end of his life, a tragedy, a deep aching sadness for me, but an anniversary for our family which marks a more intimate knowledge of God's love, compassion and intervention in our lives.
I am sharing Ian's letter on this blog to honor his memory. My hope is it will bless you greatly too.
My Dear Sweet Ian,
I just looked at your pictures once again. So small, so perfectly formed, God’s little miracle, lying in a little bassinet. As I look at your face I see the little boy you were becoming. Perhaps it is a mother’s love or a gift of vision from God, but I can see you. My sadness, Ian comes from having to say goodbye to tomorrow with you. No dirty little tennis shoes to trip over by the door, no chocolate covered face to wipe after your first Oreo, no sweet smelling baby to snuggle with. I wanted to tell you so many things. Mothers are like that---chatty.
I wanted to hold you in my arms snuggled up in little receiving blankets smelling of Dreft. We would sit by the windows in the big white wicker rocking chair in my room, rocking, singing lullabies and watching the snow fall. There is lots of snow in January in Ohio and for the first time of my adult life I was looking forward to the snow because it would mean winter and you!
You have made such a difference in our lives, little Ian. Some people say,”Oh, just 17 weeks- the baby must not have been very big”. But, oh Ian, the changes that your little life brought to this family are the size of mountains. When I found out you were on your way, the joy I felt was incredible. I know this is a common experience for many women, but I must admit, little Ian, it took me a long time to embrace the reality of a new pregnancy with joy and not fear or worry. You, little man, brought that gift to me. As you grew and I grew I was so excited because each day brought me closer to meeting you face to face. People would tease me saying “Five Children! Oh! How will you cope!” Never once did I fear, because I finally realized motherhood was not about me. Children are God’s gift to a family to make it stronger and never a burden or inconvenience. You and God brought this gift to me. Thank you!
Your life brought joy to your brother and sisters. Courtney and Samantha were looking forward to being ‘babysitters”, miniature Moms. We would look at little outfits when we shopped and imagine you wearing them. When Jonah was loud and charging “dragons” through the living room we would give each other a knowing look, shake our heads and say, “Oh what will it be like with two little boys making noise”. We were looking forward to the chaos.
Jonah, your big brother was planning adventures with you. You would share a room with bunkbeds, you on the bottom of course, and plan your little boy adventures. He even announced to us one day that he’d better learn to change diapers.
“Why?”, we asked.
“Because”, he said, “when this baby is born I’m going to share a room with him and I’d better learn to change his diapers!”
Dad and I laughed and told him we were sure we could help him out with that.
When we would see commercials on TV of little babies, Jonah would say, “Will my little brother really be that small”? “At first”, I would say, “but then he will grow and you can teach him all about being a boy”. Jonah loved you and will always love you.
Micah, although too small to express herself, knew you were coming. She loves babies. As she held her baby doll or saw a baby somewhere she would say, “Baby!” with joy and recognition. “Yes”, we would say, “that’s a baby and you are going to get a new baby at your house right after Christmas. Did you know there is a baby in Mommy’s tummy ? Your little brother or sister”? Sometimes, confused she would look under my shirt and say, “Baby?” Near the end of your pregnancy, she occasionally would pat my tummy and say, “Baby” with a smile of understanding. She knew you were with us.
Your Dad does not have the soul of an poet and is usually a man of little words. He is a logical thinker that loves to solve problems that drive other people crazy. He is a wonderful loving father and even though you did not get to spend time in his company he loved you.
Daddy was the first person to announce your impending arrival to cousins and aunts and uncles. We had decided to wait a few weeks to make sure things were “okay” before we told family and friends about you. A week later, we were at a party and guess who was leaking the best kept secret? Daddy. He was excited about having a new baby to hold.
In the past month, he had begun to talk about you and how wonderful that you would be born in the winter. All of your brothers and sisters were born in the summer months when days are long and busy. Daddy’s thinking was that being born in the winter would give you time to sleep peacefully at home, growing and getting healthy and strong before meeting the rest of the world. It would give our family time to bond as we snuggled by the fire, watched you sleep in your little bassinet, and rested in the quiet peacefulness only home can bring.
I knew how proud Daddy was of you after a conversation I overheard at a wedding last month. He saw an old work associate who he hadn’t spoken to in 11 years. They were catching up on each other’s lives when the man asked Daddy if he had any kids. “Yes!” He said proudly, “Five”. I had to remind him that number five, you, were not officially here yet and perhaps he should explain that. It didn’t matter Ian that you were not in his arms because you were already in his heart.
Our family is planning a big vacation to Disney World in September. We talked about you and joked that you, Micah, and I would not be able to ride the roller coasters this time. We would pick out a sweet little souvenir, perhaps a Pooh Bear, to give to you when you were born. We would always tell you the story of your first vacation to Disney World and remember our first vacation together as a family.
You are so much a part of our family, Ian David. We have cried buckets of tears over the cancelled dreams, tomorrow's memories lost, and the pain of your presence being taken from us. The comfort we find is from God and caring, family and friends. We know you are in a perfect place with no sorrow, no pain, no fear, no loneliness. Our world, although it has its Disney Worlds, is not a perfect place and you have been spared. You will never have to look at a beautiful flower only to have it make you sneeze, enjoy the beautiful sunshine only to have it burn you or fail in love with someone only to have them break your heart.
The love you are experiencing is beyond my little mind, but I thank God for eternal life, eternal love, eternal comfort for you and all His children. We will miss you sweet boy and as we go through life’s stages we will always wonder, “What if Ian were here?” and remember our love for you.
As painful as it has been to lose my dreams of your growing up and growing older with me, I praise God that you were in my life. You have brought joy to this family, but even greater a bond for us that will never be severed. We now know that nothing, even death, can separate our love for each other. There are a long list of earthly memories lost, but I have come to realize Ian they are my problems, not yours. For you are in heaven and as painful as it is for me to let you go it is better for you. True love, I have learned, must be unconditional and self-less. God expects that of parents.
How does a mother say, “Goodbye” to her child? Well, she can’t. It hurts too much. So today, I am here to say, “Au Revoir” sweet boy. I have always loved the French language, France and now I am so grateful for that culture because they have a simple phrase which allows me to say goodbye” without finality. “Au Revoir”. It means until we meet again. And so, I don’t have to say, “Goodbye”, but “See you later!”
Love, Mommy
Comments
Oct. 11, 2009 - Your sweet Ian
Posted by debso
Thank you for the precious letter. I lost a baby 16 years ago, and like you, writing helped me heal. Here is the poem God allowed me to share with others:
Little One
My little one, I never knew
Your days of life would be so few
But I'll always remember my little one
Your mommy always loves you.
Daddy and I felt so much joy
To learn oof our tiny little boy
Your siblings, too, would always smile
"Our baby's coming in a little while"
I'd dream about you, little one
Were you a daughter, or a son?
When would I feel your tiny fist?
Which names should we choose from the list?
In my secret place, you were made
Before the world His plans were laid
Your days were numbered one by one
The Father knew your time had come.
Although your life was much too brief
I still feel a deep, wrenching grief
Yet it comforts me to realize
You're a treasured child in God's eyes.
One day I will understand
The awsome wisdom of God's plans
He'll take care of you for me
Till one day in heaven I can hold you
I'll have forever just to hold you. . .
My little one, I never knew
Your days of life would be so few
But I'll always remember my little one
Your mommy always loves you.
My little one.
Debbie Maxwell Allen
Nov. 10, 2009 - Thank you
Posted by LarabaK
I've lost 4 babies to miscarriage, all first trimester -- 3 were lost this year alone. It is shattering to lose a baby. I praise God for 4 little ones rejoicing in Heaven, but so wish they could have made it. We do have six healthy little people in our home, I thank God for them. Sometimes I can hardly wait to meet my little ones in heaven.
Thanks for your letter and your remembrance of your precious child.