Permanent

For links to the previous posts, click here.

We are back in room 75. My Dad and sister are sitting on the couch...it seems almost like they're afraid to get up and come see, but I know they're giving me some space. There's a lot of shuffling and adjusting wires.

I just sit and stare in awe of this tiny boy in my arms.

I keep asking to have his heart checked.

He's still here, honey. Each time.

I am joyful that he is here with us still, but I bring him close to me, cheek to cheek, and I whisper to him: It's okay to go sweet baby. I love you.

My heart aches for more time with him.

But it aches more that he's alive and not breathing.

At one point, I ask if anyone would like to hold him, and he goes around the room, being loved on by everyone there. I remember taking a photo of Jamey kissing him. I'm only able to capture a shot of the top of his head, but the photographer has a better angle.

He is placed back in my arms within minutes and I continue to stare, trying to take a mental snapshot, knowing it will eventually fade. The photographer is snapping away, and all you can hear is the click of her camera and the beep of the blood pressure cuff each time it measures high. I have one distinct memory of a photo I ask for. Could you please get these tiny little feet? I want a picture right now please. She reassures me that she will capture the detail images later, but takes a picture anyway.

It's one of my favorites.

Those precious, tiny toes. All the wrinkles. Perfect. I can still feel his little foot in my hands when I look at this picture. I can see the photographer to my right; I can hear my voice asking for THIS photo. I don't know why this particular image is so powerful for me, but it is.

I feel this sudden urge to be skin to skin. Unwrap him please. Put him on my chest. That's where he should be.

He looks so peaceful. So content. All new babies look that way when they're snuggled close to Momma. He's still so warm. I can smell his new baby smell. I close my eyes and savor this moment. I want to stay here forever. Just like this. I want time to stop. right. now. Although it's not the strongest, this is my very favorite memory. I pretend for just this moment that he is here to stay.

Eventually it's time to check him again.

2 nurses place their tiny stethoscopes on his chest and listen.

And listen.

And listen.

It's too long. One closes her eyes and looks at the clock. Time of death...

One hour and 53 minutes he stayed.

I hold him for just a little while longer before handing his body over to be cleaned, dressed, and more photographs taken. He is weighed and measured. One pound. Fourteen ounces. Twelve inches long. Our tiny fighter.

His life here on earth is finished. And our grief begins.

❤

It's been almost 3 months since this moment. It feels like an eternity. And yet, when I look at that photo of his little foot in my hand, I am taken right back as if it were yesterday. I loved those teeny feet. I loved that they looked just like mine and Mira's. 

I loved them so much, I made them permanent today.

I cradled him right in that spot. I held him, kissed him, whispered to him, and loved him all the way to Heaven right there. 

It's the perfect place for those tiny perfect feet.

Update as of June 2019:

Big brother's feet are now there as well. So when I hold my middles...I feel like all 4 are in my arms. ❤