Daniel is on my mind tonight. He's on my mind a lot, but extra tonight. I think it is because tonight I read a post on the Thanatophoric Dysplasia Facebook group page about a baby boy who lived with TD with only oxygen support for seven months. He was a really beautiful little baby, too. My Sammy (my rainbow) will be seven months in a couple weeks. It made me very emotional to put myself in this other mother's place, imagining getting to know my son for seven months before having to say goodbye. How difficult that must have been.
I got to thinking about that day in the hospital when Daniel was born. The hospital staff was so good to us. They were very patient with us and they let us hold him and admire him as long as we wanted. I remember gazing down on his sweet little face. He didn't look like other babies. But the more I looked at him, the more perfect and beautiful he was to me. It was as if the disorder melted away and I could just see HIM. I could see how he looked like his big brother. I could see how he looked like Dave and me. And there is no doubt in my mind that his spirit was there with us, even though it had left his little body.
I never felt ready to part with him. How could I? How can a mother ever be ready to physically let go of her child, knowing she would never hold him, ever again? I would never feel his cheek on mine again. Never kiss him on the forehead again. Eventually, I realized I would never feel ready.
When the man from the funeral home came (at our hesitant invitation), it was time. I don't even know what to write about that time, because it was just so hard. For me, I think it was the most intensely painful moment of our whole experience with Daniel, and of my whole life thus far. And anytime I think about it, that pain comes right back. I couldn't give my baby to anyone but David. I asked him if I could please give Daniel to him, and for him to give Daniel to the man from the funeral home. The man was very reverent about it and very patient and kind. He had a good spirit, which had to be the case or I couldn't have done it. I lifted Daniel into David's arms and watched him walk over and place our baby in this man's arms. As he left our room, I put my face in my hands and shook my head back and forth, trying to deal with how badly it hurt to let Daniel go. I had never been so sad in my life.
Our room was our sanctuary for those next few days in the hospital. We kept the TV off and kept it very quiet and peaceful in our room. It felt like a very safe and special place to be. I believe we were comforted by the prayers from our loved ones, and that Daniel himself was there keeping us company. I know it.
