Miracle babies.

Early in the day Oliver died, my friend drove me to the hospital to spend the day with him (Ani was sick and Brandon couldn’t come). She picked me up later that afternoon. She was telling me about a website for mom’s of preemies or something I think…she’d sent it to me while I was on bedrest. Anyway, I remember I’d looked at it and I remember telling her that one of the things that I kind of had an aversion to were the “miracle baby” stories. The stories about these babies faced with just tremendous odds against them not only surviving, but thriving. I told her that I really struggled with wanting to read those stories because even though Oliver was doing so well, I didn’t feel like I had my miracle yet – I just couldn’t handle it. I remember saying exactly that – “I don’t have my miracle yet.”

He died less than 12 hours later….I did not get the miracle I wanted.

I wonder sometimes what I knew, in the very depths of my soul. If I knew that I wasn’t going to get to keep him. It’s so horrible and wrong that he isn’t here…but at the same time it feels sometimes like the only way it could have gone. I don’t know if that’s because now I don’t know any other way, or because….I knew, even then. Somehow, I knew.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. Even if someone had told me flat out what was going to happen would I have loved him any less? Of course not. How could I? Would I have prepared for it in some way? No. Of course not. You can’t prepare for something like that – even if you think you have, you haven’t.

It surprises me sometimes though…how the miracle baby stories kind of make me almost angry. Not for those babies, those children – of course not. I’m just so bloody sad that my baby didn’t get to be one of them. That I’m not writing a blog that says “my baby should have died but look what happened! He is such a little fighter!” or something like that. I hate that even writing that makes me feel like maybe my baby just didn’t fight hard enough or something – totally not true; I know that it’s not true. He fought hard; I watched him do it. But even so, I’m not writing that other blog.

I still can’t believe sometimes that this is my truth, my reality. I was lying on the floor with Anika today, and I looked at her and thought “Wow, I can’t believe I’m a mom to a two and a half year old. Who on earth thought it was a good idea to trust me with *that* job???” And then I think about everything else that’s happened since she was born, and the weight of it almost pinned me to the floor for a minute.

The thing is, I’m good at being a mom to a two and a half year old. I love it. We made brownies on the floor today. (Well, to be clear, we baked them in the oven. We just put them together on the floor because that’s what she can reach). We have a really good time together and we do fun stuff. And I was scared to be a mom to a boy but…I think I would have been a good mom to him too.

This whole “miracle baby” thing…I think I’m still searching for the ways in which his life *has* been a miracle. I can point to a number of ways, I think, but…maybe it’s that in some way I’m looking for the miracle that makes this “worth it.” That elusive something that would make his loss okay, or justified. I don’t know if that exists though. Probably not – at least probably not something I can wrap my head around in this world.


3 responses to this post.

  1. If you find something that makes his loss ok or justified, please let me know. I’m still looking, and I can’t find ANYTHING. I love my children very much, but nothing makes it “worth it”.


  2. I know that you would have been a good mom to Oliver. Don’t ever doubt that. I love reading about all the things that you and Ani get up to, you are an inspiring mom. My J will certainly never have such a stylish bathrobe! Still impressed by that. I wish that Oliver could have been with you and Ani today, making brownies on the floor. Well probably not so much making at his age. More just enjoying messing with the ingredients.

    Of course your sweet Oliver fought hard. My Georgina fought hard. Sadly I don’t think fighting spirit or determination or love have anything to do with the case. I also had a strange sinking feeling of inevitability about it all.

    I consider both my daughters to be miracles even though only one would be termed so by the world at large. I think that your Oliver’s life was a miracle. Sadly, I don’t know that you will ever find anything that makes his loss alright or worth it. Or at least not something that we will understand in this world. But I may be wrong. I simply don’t know.



  3. I don’t ever think that only babies who beat the odds are miracles. ALL babies are miracles, in their own ways. All 4 of my children are miracles for who they are. Even though 2 of them are now playing with angels, they are still miracles. They both fought, were brave and strong. Sure their stories didn’t become “miracle stories” of babies who beat all the odds, but to me they did everything they were supposed to. Oliver is a miracle, has been since the day he was conceived. Don’t ever think differently. I didn’t get the outcome I should have had, twice…and you didn’t get it with Oliver. I can’t tell you why it has happened, I am still asking and looking for answers. I wish our stories had happy endings, I wish that we didn’t have to question so much, or hurt so much. Too many things in this world don’t make sense. *hugs*


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