I am sorrowful.
Grief is my constant, unrelenting companion. Everything around me reminds me of David. When I see a picture that was taken before David, I think to myself, "I had no idea when I took that picture that I was going to have a baby boy that would die." When I walk by the baby section in Target, I get choked up thinking about the fact that I should be shopping there. When I hear a baby's cry, I wish that it were my baby.
Every day when I wake up, I am confronted with the harsh reality that my baby boy is not going to cry for me today or any day. In going through my daily routine, I am constantly thinking of all the things that I should be doing with my newborn son, and I am flooded with feelings of loss and emptiness.
I am afraid.
I am scared to "move on" because I feel like moving on means forgetting David, and I do not want to forget him or move on with my life without him. I feel as if I am in a time warp while all of the world is moving on without me. It is as if I have boarded a ship that is sailing farther away from David with each day that passes on the calendar.
I know that I will never "get over" David, and I will most certainly never forget him. David changed my life forever, and somehow I have to learn to adjust to the new "me." This new me is less controlled, more emotional, and much more uncertain than ever before.
I am angry.
I asked God to do something miraculous. In fact, God put it in my heart to ask for David’s healing, and then He said, “no.” His answer to my prayer was a no, without any explanations. Well-meaning people try to find a miracle in the situation by saying that that the fact that David was born alive was a miracle. I do not deny that the seven hours that we got to spend with David alive outside of my womb were truly a gift from God, but this was NOT the miracle that I asked God to do.
In God’s sovereign control over the work of His hands, He knit David together with bones that were not strong or big enough to sustain his life. I do not need to make excuses for God about why David was not healed. The truth is that I know that God was able to heal him. It would not have been difficult for the Creator of the Universe to heal my baby boy. But He chose not to do it, and this makes me mad. I do not understand. "O Sovereign Lord, you alone know." (Ezekiel 37:3)
I have hope.
If only for this life do I have hope in Christ, then I am to be pitied more than all men (I Corinthians 15:19). But thanks be to God. "Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (I Corinthians 15:55-57).
Therefore, I will stand firm and let nothing move me because I know that my labor in the Lord is not in vain.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
A Letter to David
My Sweet Baby David,
There are so many things that I want to say to you. First and foremost, I love you and miss you so much. It is hard not to have you here with me. My arms ache to hold you close. I want to run my hands through your soft, black curls and touch your beautiful, little face. How I wish that I could hold you once again.
Our time together was too short, but I would not take back one moment of it. I did not want for you to be born one day early because I wanted to spend every possible moment with you. I am thankful that our Heavenly Father allowed my body to go into labor on its own - that way I will never have to wonder how many hours that I missed out on spending with you in my womb.
Carrying you in my womb was sometimes difficult, but if I could have kept you there for the rest of my life, I would have done it. As each day drew us closer to your "due" date, I wondered how I was going to get through your birth. I did not know if I had the strength to make it through, and the truth is that I did not have the strength, but our Heavenly Father carried me through. It was painfully beautiful, bittersweet, excruciating and wonderful ... all at the same time.
I was worried about how "being born" would affect you. I did not want for you to suffer. I knew that you were fragile, and I prayed so many times that God would place a hedge of protection around you. He did. My labor was very quick. We arrived at the hospital sometime after 8:00 p.m., and you were born at 11:01 p.m. When Dr. Joe came to "deliver" you, your bag of water was still fully intact like a beautiful pool of water protecting your precious little bones. Amazing grace!
You cried when you were born. I had prayed that you would cry. I knew that healthy babies always cry when they are born. I prayed that your cry would be the sweetest sound that I had ever heard, and it was. It was not a strong cry, but it forced oxygen into your little lungs. That cry kept you alive and allowed you to spend sweet time with us. David, those seven hours with you will forever be etched in our memories.
I wanted for you to weigh five pounds because I had made up my mind that the five-pound marker was a milestone, and it marked the sign of a thriving baby. The scale told us that you weighed 4lbs. 14.5oz., but your Aunt Jenny told me that you were at least 5 lbs. when you were born because you peed several times before we weighed you. I think that she was right. You were five pounds when you were born, even though the doctors all said that you would not be an ounce over 4lbs. 8oz. You showed them!
Before you were born, part of me was afraid to see you because I did not know what you would look like. I am sorry for being afraid, sweet baby boy. I tried to be strong for you, but sometimes I was scared. When I saw your beautiful face and your head full of soft, black curls, I immediately fell in love. You were absolutely gorgeous! You looked just like a little porcelain doll. I had always wanted a baby with lots of hair, and God gave me this gift in you, David. What a gift you were to us.
You cried for over four hours after you were born. I wanted so badly to comfort you and make things better for you. I felt so helpless because I did not know how to help you feel better. Your daddy was the one who was finally able to calm you down around 3:30 in the morning. You laid on his chest and slept peacefully. This time was such a precious time for you and daddy. I had been blessed to take care of you for nine months, and it was daddy's turn to take care of you for a little while. What a gift to you and daddy.
Even though you were sleeping peacefully, I could not rest my eyes. As you and daddy slept, I stared intently at you, watching every breath. I was afraid that if I took my eyes off of you for even a second, you might stop breathing. Around 4:00 a.m., the nurse came in to check your vitals. Your heart was still beating strongly, and you were still breathing, though your breaths were labored. I asked daddy if I could take a turn holding you for a while. He gladly handed you to me.
After I laid you on my chest, I was finally able to close my eyes to rest. We fell asleep together in the stillness of the night. It was so peaceful. I woke up about 6:00a.m. and looked down at you. I questioned whether or not you were still breathing, but I was not sure that I wanted to know the answer, so I closed my eyes for a few minutes and tried to go back to sleep. I did not want for our time together to end. It was like waking up from a good dream and trying desperately to fall back asleep ... I did not want it to be over.
I woke up your daddy a few minutes later, and he could not find your breath. I started to cry. We called the nurse into the room, and she could not find your heartbeat. Our hearts broke as your daddy and I wept together in those early morning hours. We did not want to let you go.
As the sun rose, the snow fell peacefully to the ground the morning of your passage from earth to heavenly paradise. We had given your life over to God, but it was so hard to cut the strings of release. It is still so hard, David. I suspect that those strings will have to be re-cut many times in the coming days, weeks, and years. Letting go of you while holding fast to the memories is a seemingly endless cycle of love and pain.
We spent the day in the hospital with you, holding you close. We did not want to put you down for even one minute. Every second of time with you counted as a week, a month, or a year that we would never be able to spend together. I stared intently at your precious face, trying to etch every little feature of yours into my memory. I did not want to forget anything about you ... your long fingers and toes, your sweet smell, your soft skin, your tiny nose, your adorable lips, and that head full of curly, black hair - your crown of glory! You were so beautiful.
We had many precious moments with you that day as the snow fell steadily outside of our hospital window. We laughed, we cried, we hugged, and we LOVED you, David. I could not give you enough kisses to last a lifetime, but I gave you as many as I could that day. I knew that we could not stay there forever, but I did not want our time together to end. I did not want to leave that hospital without you. How could I bear to go home without my precious baby boy in my arms?
Dr. Joe and the hospital staff graciously arranged for us to leave that evening when the funeral director came to take you. I held you close as the nurse wheeled us out of the hospital. I could not look up. I wept as we moved down the halls and out the door. The time had come. The funeral director was waiting in his white van to take you away.
I hugged and kissed you and handed your small, fragile body over to him. You were wrapped tightly in your soft, white blanket. Oh David, that was the hardest thing that I have ever done. The memory of that moment is still almost too difficult to bear. As we walked to our car and the white van disappeared into the distance, it took every bit of strength that I could muster to hold myself back from chasing after you. I knew that I could not keep you, but the pain of letting you go felt unbearable.
We met with the funeral director the next morning to finalize the arrangements for your service. I sat at the table and cried as we discussed the details. Once again, I had to tie myself to the chair because every part of me wanted so badly to come find you. My arms ached to hold you.
Somehow, by God's grace, we made it through the next couple of days. On Friday, your Mimi took me to buy a new outfit. I wanted to look nice for your service. I wanted to honor your life. When we walked into the store and started pulling clothes off the racks, the lady at the store asked me, "What's the occasion?" I could not tell her. I just wanted to buy something and get out of that store as quickly as possible. I looked at her and replied, "Trust me, you do not want to know." She was very sweet and gracious to us.
On Saturday, we woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. It felt like spring outside. The irony of it all was strange ... a snowfall on the day of your death ... spring on the day of your funeral. We forced ourselves to go through the motions of getting dressed and ready to go. I felt like I was watching a movie of someone else's life. As we arrived at the funeral home, I kept thinking, "What are we doing? Why I am here?"
It was good to see your sweet face once again. In my heart, I knew that you were not really in that tiny, white casket. I knew that you were alive and well with your Heavenly Father. Your daddy had often prayed and reminded me that you would be given a new body one day - a frame with strong, healthy bones. I can picture you in my mind's eye running and playing with your brothers in the heavenlies one day ... no more broken bones, no more pain, no more tears.
God was glorified by your life and in your death. Your life served a great, big purpose, David. You touched so many hearts. You were and will continue to be an indescribable gift to us. It has been such a privilege to be your mommy. I am forever changed.
Always loving and missing you,
Mommy
There are so many things that I want to say to you. First and foremost, I love you and miss you so much. It is hard not to have you here with me. My arms ache to hold you close. I want to run my hands through your soft, black curls and touch your beautiful, little face. How I wish that I could hold you once again.
Our time together was too short, but I would not take back one moment of it. I did not want for you to be born one day early because I wanted to spend every possible moment with you. I am thankful that our Heavenly Father allowed my body to go into labor on its own - that way I will never have to wonder how many hours that I missed out on spending with you in my womb.
Carrying you in my womb was sometimes difficult, but if I could have kept you there for the rest of my life, I would have done it. As each day drew us closer to your "due" date, I wondered how I was going to get through your birth. I did not know if I had the strength to make it through, and the truth is that I did not have the strength, but our Heavenly Father carried me through. It was painfully beautiful, bittersweet, excruciating and wonderful ... all at the same time.
I was worried about how "being born" would affect you. I did not want for you to suffer. I knew that you were fragile, and I prayed so many times that God would place a hedge of protection around you. He did. My labor was very quick. We arrived at the hospital sometime after 8:00 p.m., and you were born at 11:01 p.m. When Dr. Joe came to "deliver" you, your bag of water was still fully intact like a beautiful pool of water protecting your precious little bones. Amazing grace!
You cried when you were born. I had prayed that you would cry. I knew that healthy babies always cry when they are born. I prayed that your cry would be the sweetest sound that I had ever heard, and it was. It was not a strong cry, but it forced oxygen into your little lungs. That cry kept you alive and allowed you to spend sweet time with us. David, those seven hours with you will forever be etched in our memories.
I wanted for you to weigh five pounds because I had made up my mind that the five-pound marker was a milestone, and it marked the sign of a thriving baby. The scale told us that you weighed 4lbs. 14.5oz., but your Aunt Jenny told me that you were at least 5 lbs. when you were born because you peed several times before we weighed you. I think that she was right. You were five pounds when you were born, even though the doctors all said that you would not be an ounce over 4lbs. 8oz. You showed them!
Before you were born, part of me was afraid to see you because I did not know what you would look like. I am sorry for being afraid, sweet baby boy. I tried to be strong for you, but sometimes I was scared. When I saw your beautiful face and your head full of soft, black curls, I immediately fell in love. You were absolutely gorgeous! You looked just like a little porcelain doll. I had always wanted a baby with lots of hair, and God gave me this gift in you, David. What a gift you were to us.
You cried for over four hours after you were born. I wanted so badly to comfort you and make things better for you. I felt so helpless because I did not know how to help you feel better. Your daddy was the one who was finally able to calm you down around 3:30 in the morning. You laid on his chest and slept peacefully. This time was such a precious time for you and daddy. I had been blessed to take care of you for nine months, and it was daddy's turn to take care of you for a little while. What a gift to you and daddy.
Even though you were sleeping peacefully, I could not rest my eyes. As you and daddy slept, I stared intently at you, watching every breath. I was afraid that if I took my eyes off of you for even a second, you might stop breathing. Around 4:00 a.m., the nurse came in to check your vitals. Your heart was still beating strongly, and you were still breathing, though your breaths were labored. I asked daddy if I could take a turn holding you for a while. He gladly handed you to me.
After I laid you on my chest, I was finally able to close my eyes to rest. We fell asleep together in the stillness of the night. It was so peaceful. I woke up about 6:00a.m. and looked down at you. I questioned whether or not you were still breathing, but I was not sure that I wanted to know the answer, so I closed my eyes for a few minutes and tried to go back to sleep. I did not want for our time together to end. It was like waking up from a good dream and trying desperately to fall back asleep ... I did not want it to be over.
I woke up your daddy a few minutes later, and he could not find your breath. I started to cry. We called the nurse into the room, and she could not find your heartbeat. Our hearts broke as your daddy and I wept together in those early morning hours. We did not want to let you go.
As the sun rose, the snow fell peacefully to the ground the morning of your passage from earth to heavenly paradise. We had given your life over to God, but it was so hard to cut the strings of release. It is still so hard, David. I suspect that those strings will have to be re-cut many times in the coming days, weeks, and years. Letting go of you while holding fast to the memories is a seemingly endless cycle of love and pain.
We spent the day in the hospital with you, holding you close. We did not want to put you down for even one minute. Every second of time with you counted as a week, a month, or a year that we would never be able to spend together. I stared intently at your precious face, trying to etch every little feature of yours into my memory. I did not want to forget anything about you ... your long fingers and toes, your sweet smell, your soft skin, your tiny nose, your adorable lips, and that head full of curly, black hair - your crown of glory! You were so beautiful.
We had many precious moments with you that day as the snow fell steadily outside of our hospital window. We laughed, we cried, we hugged, and we LOVED you, David. I could not give you enough kisses to last a lifetime, but I gave you as many as I could that day. I knew that we could not stay there forever, but I did not want our time together to end. I did not want to leave that hospital without you. How could I bear to go home without my precious baby boy in my arms?
Dr. Joe and the hospital staff graciously arranged for us to leave that evening when the funeral director came to take you. I held you close as the nurse wheeled us out of the hospital. I could not look up. I wept as we moved down the halls and out the door. The time had come. The funeral director was waiting in his white van to take you away.
I hugged and kissed you and handed your small, fragile body over to him. You were wrapped tightly in your soft, white blanket. Oh David, that was the hardest thing that I have ever done. The memory of that moment is still almost too difficult to bear. As we walked to our car and the white van disappeared into the distance, it took every bit of strength that I could muster to hold myself back from chasing after you. I knew that I could not keep you, but the pain of letting you go felt unbearable.
We met with the funeral director the next morning to finalize the arrangements for your service. I sat at the table and cried as we discussed the details. Once again, I had to tie myself to the chair because every part of me wanted so badly to come find you. My arms ached to hold you.
Somehow, by God's grace, we made it through the next couple of days. On Friday, your Mimi took me to buy a new outfit. I wanted to look nice for your service. I wanted to honor your life. When we walked into the store and started pulling clothes off the racks, the lady at the store asked me, "What's the occasion?" I could not tell her. I just wanted to buy something and get out of that store as quickly as possible. I looked at her and replied, "Trust me, you do not want to know." She was very sweet and gracious to us.
On Saturday, we woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. It felt like spring outside. The irony of it all was strange ... a snowfall on the day of your death ... spring on the day of your funeral. We forced ourselves to go through the motions of getting dressed and ready to go. I felt like I was watching a movie of someone else's life. As we arrived at the funeral home, I kept thinking, "What are we doing? Why I am here?"
It was good to see your sweet face once again. In my heart, I knew that you were not really in that tiny, white casket. I knew that you were alive and well with your Heavenly Father. Your daddy had often prayed and reminded me that you would be given a new body one day - a frame with strong, healthy bones. I can picture you in my mind's eye running and playing with your brothers in the heavenlies one day ... no more broken bones, no more pain, no more tears.
God was glorified by your life and in your death. Your life served a great, big purpose, David. You touched so many hearts. You were and will continue to be an indescribable gift to us. It has been such a privilege to be your mommy. I am forever changed.
Always loving and missing you,
Mommy
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
David's Celebration Service
A memorial service to celebrate the life of David Nathaniel Watson will be held at 2 p.m. on Saturday, March 6, 2010, in the Chapel at Crowell Brothers Funeral Home, 5051 Peachtree Industrial Blvd., Norcross, Georgia. Our family will receive visitors on Saturday from 1-2 p.m. at the funeral home.
In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the National Christian Foundation, 11625 Rainwater Dr., Suite 500, Alpharetta, GA 30009, for The David Nathaniel Giving Fund - fund #759371. This fund was established to continue the legacy of David's small but powerful life. All contributions will be used to support the ministries that have loved and encouraged us through this journey.
In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the National Christian Foundation, 11625 Rainwater Dr., Suite 500, Alpharetta, GA 30009, for The David Nathaniel Giving Fund - fund #759371. This fund was established to continue the legacy of David's small but powerful life. All contributions will be used to support the ministries that have loved and encouraged us through this journey.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
David Nathaniel is Born
Our beloved gift from God, David Nathaniel Watson, was born on March 1, 2010, at 11:01 p.m. He weighed in at 4 lbs. 14 oz. We enjoyed precious time with our beautiful baby boy. David went to be with his Creator on March 2, 2010, around 6:00 a.m.
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