My son died thirteen years ago today.
It’s strange; sometimes the anniversaries bother me, and at other times I don’t think about it very much. But last night I had such dreams, and I find I can’t concentrate this morning.
I tweeted that, and @HisFireFly tweeted this back:
Maybe God desires your concentration to be on your memories, there is much to remember…
Perhaps she’s right. I’ve been having a running conversation with Christopher in my head all day, and so maybe I’ll just write it out. I keep trying to turn it off, but perhaps that’s not the right thing to do. Maybe I need to walk through this today. It’s been a long time since I’ve done so systematically. So here goes.
Hi Christopher,
I can’t stop my mind today from going back thirteen years ago. Imagine! You would have been a teenager now. But back then, on September 3, you were in the PICU, recovering from massive heart surgery four days ago. I was sitting with you when I noticed that your blood pressure was down to 54 over something very small. No one else caught it. The nurse was preoccupied with someone else, so I tracked down a doctor, who yelled at me for bypassing the chain of command. But when he came over he was quite alarmed and immediately gave you two units of fluid. And he had you re-intubated. That broke my heart, because we had been so excited when the tube had come out that morning and you were breathing on your own. It just seemed so barbaric to stick it back in.
I used to be able to remember your cry. I heard you cry for the last time right before they stuck that horrible tube back in, but I can’t remember now. That bothers me.
Daddy and I visited you together that night, which was unusual. Usually we came in alone since one of us had to be with your sister, but that night Nana had her and we both went in and sat with you. We left at 9:45, and on my way out of the ICU my last words to you were “Mommy loves you, sweetheart.”
At that point you were doing well. Your blood pressure had come back up and you seemed all right. I actually went to sleep peacefully.
The phone rang at 1:45 that morning. I knew something was wrong as soon as it rang, and I was right. I woke Daddy up, and called Judy who lived in an upstairs apartment to come and sit with Rebecca while we rushed down. We didn’t have a car, but it was a 15 minute walk. We made it there in 7 I’m sure.
When we got the hospital the doctors put us in a little waiting room, and came in to tell us that your heart had stopped and they were trying everything. I told them not to hurt you, and if it seemed like it wasn’t going to work to stop. Your little body had been so tortured already.
They brought your body out a half hour later. They had wrapped it in a blanket, and your little tongue was sticking partway out, the way it often did. Your blonde hair was wisping over your forehead.
But you weren’t there. It was the worst feeling of my life. I so wished I had never held your body like that, because it wasn’t you. I knew you were gone already, and the whole experience felt so empty. Daddy needed it, but I didn’t. I wish my last glimpse of you was when I said, “Mommy loves you, sweetheart.”
Instead I found myself saying, over and over again, “I’m so sorry.” I don’t even know what I was sorry for. I wasn’t sorry for you that you had died; I knew that you were with Jesus, and it was so hard to see you in pain with all those tubes and so blue, and I knew that now you would be able to run and play and do all the things little boys are supposed to do. But I was still sorry. Sorry that I couldn’t have been there to comfort you. Sorry that I couldn’t hold you after your surgery. Sorry that I couldn’t have spared you all of that. Sorry that you had to be so tortured. Sorry that I wouldn’t see you grow up.
They cut us off a lock of your hair, and gave us your handprints and footprints.
I didn’t feel like I had said good-bye then. I had said it earlier. The day before your surgery, when the doctor came in to talk to us, he said you only had a 25% chance of making it through the next day. We had thought it was closer to 60%, but you were so small, you see. You had lost so much weight since your birth and you were down to four pounds. Our friend Tommy came in to take photos, in case it was your last day. Here’s us together right after I heard the news:
That night I couldn’t sleep, and I walked to the hospital at 5:30 a.m. to sit with you for two hours before surgery. That was when I really said good-bye. I sang with you and prayed over you and held you in my arms, even with all the tubes. I told you that it was okay to go. I told you that Daddy and Rebecca and I would be okay, and if it was just too hard you could go to be with Jesus. I told you that I so wanted to watch you grow up, and to hold you and to love you and to be your Mommy, but I knew life was so hard for you, and you were having trouble breathing, and I told you that it was okay. I loved you, and I would always love you, and I would be with you again.
They let me walk with you down to the pre-op room, and I was the one who handed you over to the anesthetist as they took you in to surgery. Passing you over was the hardest thing I ever did in my life. I really didn’t think you’d come back to me. I felt like I was handing you over to your death. Daddy and I had prayed over you in that room, and Daddy gently lifted me up and helped me hand you to her. She was a nice woman. She wore a little surgical cap with teddy bears on it, just like Auntie Allee wears. She smiled and told us that they were going to do everything and that they would take care of you.
It was a gift when you made it through surgery, and then made it through that night. And the next night. And the next. I guess I thought we’d really have you now. I started letting myself dream about you growing up, and what Rebecca would be like playing with you, and how you would laugh.
But it was not to be.
I don’t know how to feel now. It’s been so long, and I share your story with others everytime I speak. I know you made such a profound change in my life, and in Daddy’s. Rebecca was at summer camp this year and she always spends a lot of time with the Down Syndrome kids. They love her. You would have, too, and one day you will have time to get to know her.
When Katie was born she looked so much like you (though she was twice your size!). She had the same wispy blonde hair, the same blue eyes. She gets sad that she never shared this earth with you the way Rebecca did, I heard her telling a friend a few years ago that when she gets to heaven you will be the first one to greet her, to show her around. You will have such fun with her.
I find it harder to remember you today. It’s just fading so fast. I keep replaying certain moments in my head. I remember when you got feisty when they came to do yet another blood test, and even though you weren’t feeling well you kicked that nurse hard for someone who was only 4 1/2 pounds! And I love the look on your face when they gave you that gross medicine. Auntie Allee caught it in a photo:
But lately I’ve been thinking less about those moments and so much more about heaven, and I know that when I get there I’ll get to know you so well. It’s not that I’m moving away from you, even after thirteen years. It’s more that I’m moving towards you, and I’m closer to seeing you again now than I was then.
I’m so blessed that I got to be your mommy. I did sing over you, and cuddle you, and pray over you, and kiss you. I wish I could have done more, but that time will come.
It’s just that sometimes I feel so sad, and today it seems worse than usual. I’m remembering that day. It’s 10 in the morning now. Back then I was making phone calls, trying to find a funeral home we could afford. We had already called Grandma and Grandpa early this morning and told them that we wanted to bury you in Belleville, and Grandpa was out already looking for a good place. He found a perfect one; the most peaceful cemetery just outside the town.
That doctor called around 10:30 to apologize for how he yelled at me the day before. I found out later that he had lectured his residents to not rely on nurses but to listen to parents’ concerns, since it was me who had caught your deterioration. He actually had a lot of grace to make that call. It must have been hard, and I respect him for it.
The minister was due at our apartment at 11 to talk about the funeral. Your sister was playing with her friend Alison, Judy’s daughter. They were three weeks apart. I don’t think Judy had had any sleep after we called her in the middle of the night, but she was there first thing in the morning to watch Rebecca. She found me recently on Facebook, and it was good to reconnect.
Oh, Christopher, I miss you. A few weeks after you died Auntie Allee had her pictures developed, and there was one that made me burst into tears. I was holding you, and your eyes were open (you were so rarely awake), and you were looking right at me. I am so blessed to still have that picture.
And I am blessed to be your mommy. I know that if you had lived you would have always had health problems, and been short of breath. Today I imagine you playing baseball, and running, and singing, and laughing. I know you are with Jesus, and He loves you so much. I will join you someday, too, and then we will finally be able to laugh together.
UPDATE: I’ve since written a post that has gone viral about what grief really looks like. It doesn’t ever go away, it just changes. And that’s okay. Read it here!
>My thoughts are with you today…
>Amen and HUGS! Thank you so much for sharing. I know this helped you a lot. You and your family are in my prayers.
Here is my prayer for you right now. Heavenly Father, into whose keeping we entrust our loved ones, especially baby Christopher, help us look to you in our time of sorrow, remembering the cloud of faithful witnesses with which we are surrounded. Grant that one day The Gregoire family may share in the joys of Christopher who now rest in Your presence- Through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen
hugs @susieqpie Susan Buetow
>Dear Sheila,
Thinking about you and your family today. My heart still aches for our beautiful son and it has been over 30 years since his passing! There will always be that place, reserved for our Jesse, that is my "memory room"…treasures that I visit or that visit me, sometimes quite unexpectedly ! The Lord is such a great comfort and I pray you will be comforted.
>This is so beautiful…..one day you will meet him again and the reunion will be SWEET. You are in my prayers and thoughts today.
>Such a beautiful post Sheila. Praying for you today.
>Sweet Sister,
Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I read your post. My heart aches for your loss and yet I rejoice with you in knowing that you'll see Christopher again. What a day that will be!
Praying for you and you today Sheila.
>Sheila…reading this flooded my eyes with tears as I saw your pain, but see your heavenly gift waiting.
The pain of NICU is unlike any other pain.
Thank you for reminding us all of the gift of life, grace and mercy.
Love you friend!
>Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I read this, my sweet Sister.
I am deeply sorry for your loss.
As if Heaven wasn't enough to look forward to – you have the added blessing of being reunited with this little one who you have loved so well.
Kate
>It's hard to understand why God has taken babies away from us. (Mine was a miscarriage in May.) Yet, we must continue to love and put our trust in God. It is okay to cry! It is okay to have times spent in memory! Thinking of you today!
Love in Christ,
Tami
>Thank you for sharing that post. It was a beautiful letter to your son. My heart aches for you and I will keep you in my prayers today.
>Thank you for sharing that post. It was a beautiful letter to your son. My heart aches for you and I will keep you in my prayers today.
>I am reminded of the praise song "Trading my sorrows." We are truly able to trade our sorrows and pain to the Lord and in return he sends us his Joy. I know that the thought of your meeting with dear Christopher in heaven is truly the Joy that you can have every day. My thoughts are with you today as you are down. Thanks for sharing with us.
>I'm very sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing that touching letter to your son. Praying for you.
>(((HUGS))), Sheila. big hugs.
>Sheila,
Thank you for sharing this. I lost 2 pregnancies, and I still get melancholy when those times come. One was 22 years ago. The other 11. I never held those babies, so I cannot begin to imagine that grief. God be with you.
>"It's not that I'm moving away from you, even after thirteen years. It's more that I'm moving towards you,…"
Exactly. You walk in good company with the ancients of old and with the "settled confidence" that there is an "out there" and that God holds the key. He's holding Christopher this day.
Thank you for painting your heart with such truth and depth and calling forth the love in my heart for the children I've been given. I've been guilty of not always seeing them that way.
blessings and peace~elaine
>Hi! I am so glad I came upon your blog. I have read one of your books and really enjoyed it. I will read more now that I see them here on your blog. This post touched my heart and there are tears on my cheeks. Thanks for being open and sharing. I only wish I could see you when you are reunited with Christopher. What a beautiful day that will be.
>I'm so sorry you have to go through this pain! The pain of losing a child must be the worst in the world! I almost didn't leave a comment because I really don't know what to say. And i know nothing i say could make it better, although i wish i could. But I didn't want to leave with out letting you know that your son touched my life today. As I read this. Thank you for sharing him with us this way. I hope you know there are many people out here praying for you today. Lifting you up and asking for HIS GRACE to be yours in full measure today.
>Praying for you.
JoAnn
>I will be praying for you and your family. Just picture your child curled up in those great big hands of God, safe, sleeping and waiting until you come!
>Thank you for your transparency. I've never felt the grief of losing a child, but I am so thankful that I belong to my heavenly Father, who has. I will give each of my precious children extra love today. Thank you for the reminder.
>((((((((((((((Sheila)))))))))))))))
>Praying, Sheila. (And feeling a tad guilty about celebrating my son's 13th birthday this week.)
God is so good to carry us through our pain and to help us help others. May you and your family sense Him holding you even in today's melancholy.
I know you wouldn't have traded those moments with Christopher for all the world, and I'm so glad you have the certain hope of reunion in Heaven.
(((hugs)))
Joanna
>Just reading this today, and weeping for you. There is so much hope in this post, though. Thank you, Jesus, that this is not all there is.
Our youngest niece died after 52 days and many heart surgeries, and this brings back so many of those memories.
Not easy, but I'm so grateful for her life. Truly.
Praying for you this morning.
>Prayers are with you…..here's to playing baseball and running with God.
>Such a touching post. Tears are running down my cheeks as I write this. You are in my thoughts and prayers today.
Oh Sheila. My heart breaks for you.
It breaks because I am the father of Triplets who will be 13 in four months. They were born 10 weeks early. They have no ‘premee’ issues with their health or learning. My wife and I are blessed. Greatly.
My heart breaks, I think, because I don’t know that I have ever adequately giving thanks for the gifts my children are. Oh, I sang the Doxology in church the first Sunday after they were born. And I meant it with every breath and note and beat of my heart. But reading about your loss challenges my gratitude.
Your Letter to your son deeply touched me and greatly honored him. And I thank you for your words.
Thanks for your kind words, Dave! I’m glad your children are doing so well.
Thanks for having the courage to post this in the first place, then to repost for the 1000th Post. My heart breaks for you. Can’t wait to meet you both in heaven. {tears}
Thank you for sharing your story. Tomorrow marks nine years since our daughter was stillborn. So much of the emotions you expressed, I have felt, am feeling! Thank you too for the video. It made me cry, but it was a good cry. Thank you for your heart.
My heart and prayers are with you, Sheila.
Sheila, my heart breaks with you. My son was born 6 weeks early and spent 2 weeks in the NICU. It was two of the hardest weeks of my life. He is 3 months old now and is doing well. I am so thankful. I can only imagine what it is like to lose a child but I can relate with the ICU experience and what it is like to not have any control, to not be able to take care of your baby the way you expected. It was very difficult. However, I remembered how, during my pregnancy, I had given my son’s life back to God. I had determined that I wanted God’s will for my child’s life, whatever that may be. I think us mothers can rest in God knowing this His will and purpose for our children is far better than our own, even if that purpose is not at all what we would have wanted.
Thank you for sharing your story. Know that you are not alone and just keep thinking about Christopher being with Jesus. That is the best place for him to be.
Wow. I needed that today. Even though it hurts…sometimes that hurt is necessary. I had already been feeling sad for some unknown reason and then came across your letter to Christopher.
“I’m so sorry” – that was all I could say to my daughter for weeks after she died. Only I would repeat it the way she said it “I sorry mommy” – “I sorry KaraLynn; I so sorry”
And I’m so glad you shared that your memories have faded and you have a hard time remembering him. Our KaraLynn was 28 months when she died (9 1/2 years ago) and I feel like I’ve betrayed her by forgetting so much. Throughout the years I’ve written down memories but there is so little I remember about her and it breaks my heart.
Thanks for sharing your pain as it helps others in their pain.
Hugs and prayers to you.
Kristin
Oh Sheila, thank you so much for sharing this painful memory. Love and prayers are coming to you from Texas.
Praying for peace for you today, Sheila.
I totally get it. My daughter Hannah would have been 15 this weekend…and it’s been a rough weekend for me here, too.
Blessings,
Lucette 🙂
I am so sorry! Our youngest was born May of 1990. At 2 months old he had heart failure symptoms. Any sooner than that and they would not have caught it. Any later, dead. Surgery that day, then as planned, open heart surgery at 8 months. He survives, but with signficant or severe and rare genetic syndrome. The mystery of why God allows some things, and takes some away while leaving others! Heaven will tell. I’m so sorry!
I JUST FOUND UR BLOG TODAY! I AM SOOO HAPPY THAT I DID! MY LITTLE SON ALSO MOVED TO HEAVEN WAY TOO SOON. I HAVE TO WRITE IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE, EVEN THO I WAS YOUNG AND VERY ATLETHIC, I HAD A MASSIVE BRAIN HEMMORAGE, THAT THE DOCTORS COULD NOT STOP THE MEMORRAGING IN MY BRAIN SO THEY HAD TO OPEN MY HEAD AND DO MAJOR 6 HOUR SURGERY, SO THEY HAD TO TAKE OUT SOME OF MY BRAIN ON THE LEFT SIDE WHICH LEFT ME PARTIALLY PARALYSED ON THE RGHT SIDE OF MY BODY AND LEGALLY BLIND, SO I HAVE TO PRESS THE KEYS WITH ONE SIZE CAPS ON OR OFF, CAPS OFF MAKES IT TOO HARD TO SEE, SOOO I USE CAPS ON. BUT ANYWAY I HAVE THE MOST WONDERFUL HUSBAND WHO LOVES THE LORD WITH ALL OF HIS HEART!!!!!!!! AND HIS NICK NAME FOR ME IS BEYOND BEAUTIFUL!!!!!! ISNT THAT AWSOME EVEN AFTER THE SURGERY FOR YEARS I WAS BALD. I AM SO BLESSED ME AND MY HUSBAND ARE BORN AGAIN CHRISTIANS THAT LOVE GOD AND LOVE EACH OTHER VERY VERY MUCH. THANKS FOR TELLING ME ABOUT UR SON, MY SON AND YOURS ARE MOST LIKELY FRIENDS IN HEAVEN!! HE IS OLDER THAN UR SON MAYBE 20 IF THAT IS HOW PPL GROW IN YEARS IN HEAVEN. I DONT KNOW, BUT I DO KNOW THAT THEY ARE WELL WHOLE AND EXTREMELY HAPPY!!!!!!!!! CAUSE JESUS GAVE THEM THEIR FIRST BIKES OR JETSONLIKE CARS!!!!!!! JESUS IS SO LORD! AND BY HIS STRIPES I AM HEALED!!!!!! LOVE U SHEILA, AND I AM GLAD I FOUND U!!
Sheila,
I just visited your blog for the first time. This post brought tears to my eyes and at the same time greatly encouraged me. I have a 10 month old daughter, and shortly after she was born I was diagnosed with postpartum psychosis. Since then, I have been in a mental hospital twice, on several medications, and through difficult treatment. My husband, daughter, and I have moved, lost jobs, and are in the midst of waiting with uncertainty to see where God is planning to take us. It has been nearly impossible not to shout “WHY?” at God over and over. I am encouraged to see your faith and peace despite this tragedy in your life that also does not make any sense. I am also reminded to be thankful for the good health that God has blessed my daughter and husband with and is restoring to me. These things are easy to take for granted.
Thank you for sharing.
You’re so welcome, and I pray that this season of difficulty in your life will soon be over, even if you do learn a ton from it! Many blessings,
Sheila.
No words…only tears and prayers. Heaven will be so sweet.
In tears. I’m so sorry.
Thank you, Beth. I can remember him usually with smiles now, which is a blessing!
Sheila,
I’ve been following along your blog for awhile but didn’t know about this part of your story until you linked it to your recent post. 🙁 Crying for you today. This breaks my heart!
I love that you are following God’s call on your life and how you encourage other wives in their marriages. We’ve been blessed as a result! Thank you so much.
Hi,
Thank you sharing your story. I, too, lost my son, Joshua, when he was two years old to a car backover in our church parking lot. It has been six years, and I miss him so much. God gave me a verse that night~Psalm 18:30 “As for God, his way is perfect.” I have the assurance that I will see him and hold him again one day, and that our Lord is always in control. Thank you for the reminder that we are not further away from our child but that much closer to Heaven.
God bless you and your family. Thank you for your testimony and your blog. It is a blessing to me.
Sincerely,
Page
So sorry for your loss. May God’s healing touch your heart today and everyday!
Sharing in just a little bit of your pain today, Sheila. Blessings & Comfort.
Sheila I am sobbing right now. Right along with you. We almost lost our precious Micaela (my great-niece) last month. She is 14 months old. She stopped breathing and the doctors couldn’t figure out why. They hooked her up to a ventilator and feeding tube and did hundreds of tests for days with all of them coming back negative. They thought she had pneumonia, but it came back negative. They thought she had brain damage. They thought all kinds of things! She seemed to be getting better and they took her off the ventilator, but then she stopped breathing again. Prayer was going out across the country that God would heal her because the doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then as suddenly as she stopped breathing, she began breathing again! She woke up. Test results started coming back. She did have pneumonia. A very rare strain and C. difficil which is very dangerous. She is home now and I am praising God for his mercy towards us. I don’t know what to say when I hear a story like yours. Why are some children taken and others are given back to us? Why do kids have to get sick at all? I am overwhelmed with grief right now for you. I can’t explain it. Perhaps it’s a delayed reaction to almost losing Micaela. Thank you for sharing with us. I’ll be praying for you.
I would like to be weighed on the quality time I spend with my children, the effort I put into going to school and the time I spend helping others.
This post is so touching and poignant. My prayers are with you today. I recently lost a loved one and while the pain is different, (I am not a mother. Losing a child must be the worst pain) I understand that it never goes away. God bless you.
…I had been offline for awhile now am trying to catch up with all the posts…i followed a link from a recent post and happened here…thank you for sharing.
I have learnt some personal things about your life which have just made me realise that truly
there are certain negative situations which we go through, but God makes something “good” out of them…Romans8:28.
Learning that you grew up with your mother after your father left you made me realise what has made such a virtuous woman!..passionate and determined to be a great wife and mother! this is what has made your Sheila…through the “Refiners fire” and into the hands of “the Potter”…
I know the pain of losing a loved one..i lost my mother 17yrs ago…i am comforted that she died in the Lord and i live in the hope of a blessed resurrection. I am now seeking for ways to help others cope with their loss.
God richly bless you for reaching us all out here with your great posts! truly blessed by your openness.
Oh, thank you for those words! I really do feel that God has been so gracious to me. Even with the things that have happened, He always held on to me and gave me great love.
Thank you for sharing your heart. We lost our daughter when she was 5 years old. She had so many complications due to Down Syndrome, and we spent so much time in the hospital. But I wouldn’t trade one moment of that time with her! It has been 7 years.
You so eloquently put to words my heart in saying that we are moving closer to them, not farther away. Life moves on and some things fade, but in every day of us continuing to live, we are moving closer to our precious babies. I pray this writing brought you comfort.
Oh, wow, Lori, what a deep ache you must have! Thank you for your encouragement, too. Blessings.
Tears. This is such a beautiful tribute and my heart breaks for you. Praying for you.
Thanks. I wept reading it as my memories of a similar journey flooded back. It is odd how some years often the milestone ones catch you!
Blessings
Andrew
Our Heaven Day Anniversary for our son is is this Sunday 9/10. It’s been 4 years and we have since had our 3rd daughter. Did you struggle with not having a son at all? I am beyond blessed by my girls and wouldn’t trade them for anything, but I really struggle with literally everyone I know having a son, especially my 2 sisters and brother. I feel robbed.. or like I’m missing out on some amazing part of life being a boy mom. Is it just sinful jealousy? Did you ever experience it or have advice? It’s likely freshest now with the anniversary so close, but I don’t like the feeling.
I think the fact that my girls were so close growing up really helped. It’s like it was so obvious they were meant for each other.
I used to really want a son, but now I’m at the stage where I’m looking forward to grandchildren in a few years, and I’m sure I’ll get at least one grandson. I think the simple fact that I just had a really good relationship with my daughters and they had a great relationship with each other really helped. But there definitely is an ache there.