How to Mourn the Loss of Your Child?

I wish there was a book on "How to Mourn the Loss of Your Child?" or  how to survive after your child dies or how to move on after watching your baby die. But there is no such book. No manual for this. No one right way to grieve, mourn or move on.

I remember feeling so numb as I held my precious son in my arms as his heart took its last beat. He was so limp. So cold. So lifeless. I knew he wasn't there anymore. That it was just his shell and that he was with Jesus and his sister. He was smiling and giggling, just not with us anymore. I felt heavy. Empty. Hollow. And I felt so many emotions at the same time, I was blank. And heavy tears slipped down my cheeks as I thought I was going to fall over. This couldn't be happening to us. We couldn't believe it. He wasn't there anymore. He was gone. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to start sitting up and rolling over and say "ma ma" first. (My silly desire.)

He was supposed to finally finish getting his first tooth in, start running after his brothers earlier than we would have been ready for, get potty trained, go off to kindergarten, be there when we took the kids to Disney World in 7 years and graduate, go off to college and get married. He was supposed to live a full, long, rich life. He was supposed to hold our hand when we died and grieve our loss instead of the other way around.

He had just started living!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No!!!!!!!!!!!

"Andrew!" I cried out in anguish after the doctor left the room as my husband knelt down and wrapped his arms around me while he sobbed. 

And then in an instant, he was gone.

How do you handle that? How do you live with that? How do you say good-bye to such a dear one as our baby Andrew. I don't know how we live now. But we're having to find out each painful day at a time.

The house is quieter now with only 3 boys running around it. It's emptier. In short, it's just not the same without him.

About 100 showed up at his visitation/celebration of life service. That was amazing. And I was so sad that so few knew him and had had a chance to meet our darling boy. We kept him at home to protect him from germs since the doctors said he was more vulnerable than a full term baby is to them. And in the end, it wasn't the germs that got him.

After a grueling and awfully long, difficult week, we celebrated his life with worship music, testimonies about him and prayer. God was good. For some odd reason, I was fairly collected during it all as Mark really struggled. In fact, many were struggling through it. And I was at peace. Calm. Mostly collected. Not that I didn't shed a tear or feel sad. I did. This was my son, my flesh and blood that I carried for 7 1/2 months. The dear one I nursed at my breast. One whom I held close as he cried and comforted him. I hated to let go of his body. I hated to let go of him.

With a closed smile of the mouth only, I am grateful that we were told of a monastery in Dubuque that hand-crafts caskets as they pray for the deceased and those that remain here in this life. And then they bless the casket and do a mass for the soul that passed on. It seemed fitting to rest his darling body in such a beautiful, handmade, solid oak piece of art. It was gorgeous and seemed more personal to us.

Before closing the lid, Mark and I tucked him in one last time in one of his special blankets, told him we loved him and felt a new part of the loss as we walked away.

So we celebrated that he lived. We worshipped our God because He is always worthy of praise no matter what is happening. His worthiness does not change just because circumstances do. And I even danced. Some would say that was inappropriate or sacrilege or wrong. But I danced. It's something I was made to do. It's something God placed in me when He knit me together in my mother's womb. It's a way I connect with God and feel closer to Him. It's a way I bring His presence down to earth. It's a way I worship Him. And it was something I did in front of Andrew during his short life. So I danced to honor my God. And I danced to honor his little life. And I danced to let the devil know that he hadn't won. He may have taken my son, but he wouldn't get away with it.

Then my mother in law, brother in law and myself told those attending of what a delight he was. I started out because I wanted to introduce Andrew to everyone. Even in death, I am still a very, proud mother.

I shared about how he was my first child that really wanted to nurse. The nurses said preemies don't do it well. So I was saddened that I would not get to breast feed him. Then on the 5th day of  his life, he rooted so persistently and anxiously that I tried it and he latched on like a pro. He already had my heart before that moment but then, he really grabbed it as he fed with great contentment, relaxed his tiny body and peeked up at me with his little darling eyes. How could I deny him this special bonding? So that was our special thing that I treasure. He looked forward to it every day. And I know that because one day I didn't come in to nurse at the usual time and the nurses said that he acted up and was quite upset. I never missed that nursing time again.

And I then I told about how he would get me when I changed his diaper. I consider myself a veteran diaper changer. And having all boys, I thought I knew how to handle "the fountain". But Andrew proved me wrong. He got the nurses and he got me too. The little stinker. I think he was a joker. A prank puller in the making. You see, he only got daddy once. But he got me over and over again and even seemed to smile like, "ha, I got you mom!" when I would look at him afterwards. Little pill. It was like he was waiting for the exact moment I would open the diaper and then let loose. It even makes me chuckle right now as I write this and shake my head at the memory of it. 

Grandma Jean shared of how special he was to her. How he touched her life. And Uncle Terry sang a song he wrote for him about how sweet he was and that He's in Jesus' arms.

After the close of the service, we filed out of the church behind his casket, drove 12 miles to this quiet, country place and laid the last traces of his body in the ground. I didn't realize how hard that would be. It was so difficult to walk away from him in the hospital. But that moment at his casket seemed impossible to bear. I stroked the sides of the oaken container. It was soft and smooth except where the grain ran in its circular patterns. I gently traced my finger along the curves of the roses in the spray that would stay behind when we left. And my gaze fell to the ground. This was really it. I felt so hollow again. So emptied. So lost. Someone put their arm around me and led me back to the limousine. I guess I sat down and stared blankly at the tent under which the casket lay with the beautiful spray on top. There were conversations going. People were milling around hugging, wiping away tears, sniffling, leaving. Everything blended into one. Then the door closed. And I heard the gravel crunching beneath the wheels of the car. And then it happened. Intense balls of pain, loss and sadness welled up from deep within me. The feelings erupted from me as heavy sobs as we pulled away in the limousine. He was really gone. Andrew really was no more in this world. We really had to go on without his bright personality in our world. Andrew was gone.

It's been over 3 weeks since he passed away. I can't handle seeing babies. And I can't bring myself to pack away his belongings. I try to push myself on because the other 3 deserve it.

We are looking for a house to move into and want the pain of his loss to be gone. Somedays we're fine, almost normal feeling. And somedays, it hurts so much we can hardly stand it.

Our pastor shared with us that we really aren't grieving his life. He had a great life. Andrew was very happy and very content. Well, except he probably did want to be able to run around with his brothers. Otherwise he was such a wonderful addition to our family. We were truly blessed by him. We may have been a bit uncertain when we found out we were having him last June but that changed quickly as we got used to the idea of having a 4th around the house. And then we met him and fell in love. Such a doll. So we don't mourn that. We mourn for the life we thought he would live with us. Not that we had preconceived notions of him becoming this or that. It's the natural dreams you dream for your child. That they will learn to walk and talk, go off to school, prom, graduation, the firsts, the family trips, their wedding and kids. All that that you unconsciously begin dreaming for your child whether you realize it or not. Sure it's vague, but it's still there. They will life through certain milestones. They will share your milestones. And now we are sad because he won't. We're heavy of heart because a part of our family is no longer with us here and now. And that is what you grieve when a child dies.

So we live one day at a time. Try to love our 3 boys that are still here the best we can. Try to love each other as we both grieve in the opposite ways that we do. Try to move on and get used to the new routine we have now without his presence being with us. And feel the pain so that we can move beyond it quicker. It's not always easy. But God is faithful. And we will move on. And eventually it won't hurt so bad.

I'll close with the poem I wrote to put on his headstone.

With us but a moment, full of love and great joy,
And now you're with Jesus, little special, little boy.
We'll love you for always, greatly missed in our story,
But one day we'll see you, may God receive the glory.
- KK