matthew

February 27, 2001. Lou and I had gotten up early in order to be at the hospital at 7. We had found out the night before that the baby I was carrying had died, and we were having labor induced. The labor took a while to get started, and we (helped out by our awesome nurse, Michelle) filled out papers and made decisions and thought about things that never occur to most parents to even consider. Did we want a service? Would we have our child buried or cremated? What funeral home did we want to choose? (I forget which one we went with - it's in downtown Beverly - but they treated us very, very well.)

Finally, labor kicked in, and our tiny, beautiful son was born. We named him Matthew William, after Lou's grandfather and my uncle who had passed away a couple of years before. He weighed just over 2 pounds, and every tiny little feature was just exactly like his father's. Three children later, I've still never seen a more beautiful baby. (Although the rest of his body was riddled with defects, his face was perfect.) We spent the rest of the afternoon holding him, rocking him, singing to him. There was a lot of crying - and a lot of laughing. Helped out by the amazing nursing staff at Beverly Hospital, we made that room, and those few hours with our firstborn child, into a temporary home. When it was time to go home, we placed our baby in the nurse's arms. The next time we would hold him, he'd be in an urn - and we will never see him again, except in pictures.

And then we went home, to restart our lives without him. And that was very hard, because life goes on. Time passes, other people forget - and fair enough, because they didn't hold him. To the rest of our friends and family, he was just a dream.

Time did pass. Lou and I grew stronger together, and soon there was another baby on the way. And then another, and finally one last one. All beautiful and special in their own way - but none of them the one I can never hold again. I wonder sometimes - what would he be interested in, what would he wear, how would he act, at the advanced age of 5?

But that's only sometimes. Because something beautiful happened as time went on and Matthew's brothers and sister arrived. Somewhere along the way, I found peace. I realized that to wish away what had happened to Matthew would be to wish away the child I love - for his strength and courage in hanging on as long as he did, for his generosity of spirit in letting go when he did, so we never had to see him in pain. (Is that anthropomorphizing? Ascribing feelings, thoughts, and willful action to a 7-month fetus? If so, so be it. I believe that my son had a personality, and that he loved us and wanted to be with us as much as we loved him and wanted him.) I came to see Matthew as someone to live up to - one more person who makes me want to be the best mother and person I can be. I can still mourn the dream that died with my littlest baby, but I know that I would not have wished life on him the way he was - and I would not have wanted him to be anyone but who he was.

Happy birthday today, little boy. We love you!