How do we say goodbye when we never get to say hello? But that is our task today: to say goodbye.
This past week we have been in practice capturing a lifetime of memories. We’ve had seven days to pack 25,000. The 179 hours since Nathanael arrived -lifeless- have changed our lives forever; probably in some way that many of you will never know. We sympathize with many of you who have endured what we are currently experiencing: the death of your own child.
Keeping track of a schedule is hard work. We have had to be creative. I wish I could somehow register how he smells, the texture of his skin, the weight of him as I held him, his cute little features.
On Monday I lay down on the floor of the hospital room and slept with Nathanael cradled in my arms. I have kissed his face hundreds of times, but that will be far less than how much I have kissed the faces of my other children. Although there were endless interruptions from the midwives doing obstetrics, administering medications, changing drips, etc., between the doctors and thousands of visiting health professionals, we still had plenty of opportunity to bond with our son as best we could. But then, as death reminds us, there is never enough time. There is never enough time.
A week is too fast, but it is much longer than my mother and father when my little sister, Debra Leanne, was stillborn on September 21, 1973. Sarah and I honor you by the circumstances of your loss 41 years ago and the grievance you have carried with you all these years. It’s sacred. Things have come a long way since then, but we’ve learned this week that there’s still a long way to go to get parents the respect their babies deserve, especially in the case of a baby who is known to have special needs and an extremely poor prognosis. for life.
Time has slipped away and we have what we have: the knowledge that we don’t waste any of our time. As I looked at her face, her little cleft lip, her flat nose, her eyes closed and her face at peace, my eyes filled with tears. I would pray I watched as Sarah melted into tears and moaned as only a mother could understand and comprehend. Sarah’s strength through all of this has been something I have marveled at. I don’t think she knows a stronger person than her.
Nathanael’s spirit has gone to live in Jesus and now we say goodbye to his tent.
All we’ll have to show you are some photos, some memorabilia, and some clothing. It feels like we’ve known him for over 30 weeks. Most of that time, eighteen of those weeks, we’ve been sitting on a time bomb. And many of you have faithfully followed us on our way. We appreciate.
Nathaniel Marcus is our brilliant gift from God. He shines in the sky as we speak. He sits at the feet of Jesus. He is in the hands of the Father. His protection is Divine. His purpose is the glory of God.
However, we miss him so much!
© 2014 SJ Wickham.