A bittersweet day. Today, five years ago, our sweet baby Jacob was born. Yes, that’s his real name. The world can’t hurt him now, so I’m not bothering with a pseudonym. The bitter–he was born because he had died within three days of his premature birth, and nine months after Trooper’s dramatic early entry into the world. The sweet–our son is in Heaven. I know this. It would be impossible for most people to understand how much I feel his presence, how he’s interceded for me when I pray.
I will not pretend that the pain of losing a baby ever goes away. It does not. I still tear up whenever we visit his tiny grave in a child cemetary. I still wonder whether anything could have been done to save him, and why exactly my body refuses to carry a child to term without progesterone supplementation (unless it is that simple). However, there was a silver lining to this cloud. The doctor who delivered Jacob ended up becoming my current OB, and came to prescribe the progesterone that enabled me to carry Rascal, Dinosaur, Princess, and (so far) Li’l Bean to term.
I hate those memorial gifts that always make it seem like you want the lost person to be back with you. Of course we miss our baby boy, and wish that we had had more than that one hour we held him after birth. But to wish him back on earth? After Heaven? Not likely. No, I’ve read my share of grieving poems and heard music, but the best thing I ever heard was written by Eric Genuis after his son Joseph was born at five months gestation. I can’t find the lyrics now, so I apologize if I butcher them a bit, but I remember it ending something like this:
“It’s good my child to know,
It’s so good Joseph to know
My son, you’ll see…
You will see God.”
And knowing that, it’s impossible to stay sad. We love you, Jacob.