August 16, 2010

Ten days ago today I lost my son, Wyatt Gabriel Stef. That is an almost impossible sentence for me to write down and believe. Four weeks ago I was happily pregnant and busy taking my life for granted. How can ultrasounds every week for 24 weeks show a perfectly healthy baby boy and suddenly he "isn't growing"? How is there such a large hole in the medical field? Or, what would happen so suddenly to cause my baby to not thrive? I've hated God and myself for 10 days now. It is so needless...it didn't have to happen. Either my body failed my son or my God failed me. Now I sit, feeling more emotional pain than a body can handle. My uterus is empty and my arms should be full. My son is gone and I can't protect him, or swaddle him, or feel his soft hair against my cheeks. I watch my husband cry with such torment it almost parallels the pain I have for my son. Not us. Why us? Doesn't God know I cannot survive this? I guess He's not really listening, though, is He?
After the news our son wasn't growing we made the decision to keep him inside the womb and wait it out. We prayed for a miracle. After two weeks Wyatt has mysteriously grown, much to the doctors disbelief. His heart rate was good and his blood flows were stable. Three days later there was almost no amniotic fluid to speak of. We went in right away for a c-scetion. He never took a breath. He died thirty minutes later, for other "unexplained" reasons. "Something" was blocking his airway, some "other things" might have been wrong with him...not very settling answers. I want to know how and why. What caused these things and why did he recover just to turn around and perish? Did he feel pain? Why wouldn't God take me instead when I begged him to? Why couldn't I have willed Wyatt to live? Why couldn't I produce a placenta that functioned? I'm still so close to the life before my son died that I can hardly believe things. I've had to endure the unspeakable; posing my son while his pictures are taken, picking out a funeral song, creating memorial cards, opening the package on our doorstep containing an infant urn, explaining cremation to my six year old, and sitting here waiting for a c-section wound to heal as a constant reminder of my loss.
The pain is unbearable. I want to be with my son. I want to give him life. I want to hold him on my chest again. He is somewhere without me and that's not right. I can't bear this trial. Thanks for nothing God.