Jayson is his name.
I just found out that his parents have decided that tonight will be his last night.
And tonight, he'll finally be at peace. He is one of many, many babies with Heterotaxy syndrome. One of three babies I know to have died because of it. I've asked myself before why I let it hurt me so much. He is Rowen's age, you know. So little.
So, what can I do about it? Absolutely nothing.
I crawled into bed next to Emma and put my arms around her. It was one of the saddest feelings I've felt. Knowing somewhere a mother was crying and watching her baby slip away.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to sob as I laid there next to Emma in the dark.
I don't think I can ever take them for granted again. It would be selfish of me. I don't think it would be right for me to complain because Emma decides she doesn't like to pray, or listen, or do anything I ask her to do. And I shouldn't complain when she pushes her brother or screams or pees in the backyard. Or when Rowen is fussy, or wakes up at 330 am and wants to cuddle, or refuses his bottle because he just wants to play. Because you know what? They are here. With me. How can I complain?
I can hug them whenever I want. I can hold them close to my heart and feel them breathe...whenever I want.
And there is a mother out there who can't.
So I'm going to try. I really am. I'm gonna' try to remember the feeling I had tonight, as I lay next to my very healthy little girl. And when I find myself complaining, I hope I can stop. Stop and remember exactly what I have to be grateful for.
Stop and remember all the little Jayson's out there.
And the ones who are left to miss them.
I just found out that his parents have decided that tonight will be his last night.
And tonight, he'll finally be at peace. He is one of many, many babies with Heterotaxy syndrome. One of three babies I know to have died because of it. I've asked myself before why I let it hurt me so much. He is Rowen's age, you know. So little.
So, what can I do about it? Absolutely nothing.
I crawled into bed next to Emma and put my arms around her. It was one of the saddest feelings I've felt. Knowing somewhere a mother was crying and watching her baby slip away.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to sob as I laid there next to Emma in the dark.
I don't think I can ever take them for granted again. It would be selfish of me. I don't think it would be right for me to complain because Emma decides she doesn't like to pray, or listen, or do anything I ask her to do. And I shouldn't complain when she pushes her brother or screams or pees in the backyard. Or when Rowen is fussy, or wakes up at 330 am and wants to cuddle, or refuses his bottle because he just wants to play. Because you know what? They are here. With me. How can I complain?
I can hug them whenever I want. I can hold them close to my heart and feel them breathe...whenever I want.
And there is a mother out there who can't.
So I'm going to try. I really am. I'm gonna' try to remember the feeling I had tonight, as I lay next to my very healthy little girl. And when I find myself complaining, I hope I can stop. Stop and remember exactly what I have to be grateful for.
Stop and remember all the little Jayson's out there.
And the ones who are left to miss them.
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