Loving Silas: Birth Part 3~ The Kidnapper With The Moses Basket

I have been struggling to write this post. I knew I had to do it when the time was right and I felt ready to share it. Today my heart is filled with an immense amount of peace, but sorrow still lingers. When I actually have a good day I question if it's okay and if I am moving on too quickly. However, I let these good days triumph over the days where I feel like I want to crawl into a deep dark hole and slowly rot. It's okay to have good days just as much as it's okay to have days that are dark. It doesn't mean I am moving on or I don't miss my son constantly. It means that I am still alive despite having my soul ripped to pieces. It means I am able to rise from the ashes of what once was my perfectly figured out life. It means that I am able to find pieces of myself when most of me is lost in the sea of melancholia.

After Karl and I took our time with Silas, we welcomed our family to come and meet him. It was a beautiful thing to share him with others who loved him. Knowing that he was loved and that he touched the lives of others is a blessing. Sharing our time with him just validated the importance of his fleeting life.

Ezra came marching into our room with a huge smile on his face because he was ready to take on his big-brotherly duties. He was ready and excited to meet his little brother in person. They had already been getting acquainted for several months as Ezra would read, sing, talk, and tell jokes to his baby brother. Silas would kick and squirm in response. Ezra loved to snuggle up to my belly, tell Silas a secret or a joke, and listen for his response... usually a few kicks to Ezra's ear. That was Ezra's favorite and always prompted laughter. Ezra knew that it was unlikely his baby brother would live, but he remained hopeful. We had so many discussions, read several books, and tried our best to prepare him. He remained hopeful that Silas would be coming home with us. We were all hopeful. I knew when he marched into the room, gleaming with excitement that he was completely unaware his brother didn't survive. Just when I thought every piece of my heart had already crumbled... the last few pieces hit the floor. I had to tell my first-born that his beloved baby brother had died. In a split second, his excitement slipped away and I could see his heartbreak. His heart laid in pieces with mine. As parents, we want to protect our children from immense emotional and physical pain. When we can't protect them from it, we feel it with them and it hurts us just as much.

Ezra held his brother and asked questions about what happened, but he needed time to process. The last time he saw me, Silas was alive and now he wasn't. That is a lot for a little boy to grasp. He stopped holding Silas and was just taking everything in. After a few minutes he wanted to hold Silas again and we talked about how much his baby brother looked like him. He was still a proud big brother and he still loved Silas. Ezra made sure to give Silas the heartbeat teddy bear that he had made for him. The conversation I had with him is very foggy. All I remember is that he asked questions and I did my best to answer them, but mostly I was lost in my thoughts about how unfair it was that this had to happen to my boys. Neither one of them deserved this outcome. Silas didn't deserve to die and miss out on a lifetime of experiences, and Ezra didn't deserve to lose his brother and feel such sorrow. My children did not deserve this. In fact, none of us deserved this, yet here we are.

Eventually, everyone went home and left Karl and I to be alone with Silas for the rest of the evening. We were going to be discharged from the hospital that night so we wanted all the alone time we could get. Part of me wanted to just run out of the hospital and head straight for home. The other part knew I couldn't take Silas with me and wanted to stay confined to the hospital bed forever. The hospital staff continued to be great and made sure we had all the time we needed. At one point, a nurse came in and went over a plethora of information that I just couldn't bring myself to pay attention to. She went over it swiftly and then gave me a teddy bear. "It by no means replaces your son, but once you get home it's nice to have something to hold onto when you cry." She handed me two books to read and a packet of information on recovery and grief. While the mom next door received information on how to properly breastfeed and care for her newborn... I received an education on how to stop milk production and what grieving the death of a baby might be like while your hormones crash. This was useful information because I will have all the signs of having just given birth, but with no baby to show for it. This is just salt on large open wounds.

The last thing the nurse gave me was a small blue memory box. It already had a few contents inside of it, which she briefly showed to me. With my permission, she cut a lock of Silas' hair and placed it in a tiny zip baggy. She nestled it safely in the memory box. By this point, it has started to dawn on me that I never really prepared myself for letting go of Silas' physical form. Is it even possible for a mother to prepare to let go of her child? I decided to pull myself out of bed and get out of the oversized hospital gown. I wanted to be ready to go home right after we said our goodbyes, because I didn't want to stay longer than I had to. Karl sat and had his alone time with his son. He rocked him in the rocking chair until I was finished. We had worked it all out so that we would leave directly after someone from the funeral home picked up Silas. This was the last bit of mothering I could do for him. I wanted to make sure he got to where he was going. I wanted to see him off.

I put on a light house robe to keep from getting chilly. Karl gave up his seat in the rocking chair so that I could rock Silas until it was time to say goodbye. I held Silas against my chest and wrapped my robe around him because I didn't want him to lose any more of his warmth. This was both the first and last time I would ever rock my son. I continued to love on him while I could, but we felt it was time to say goodbye. We had the nurse call the funeral home to let them know we were ready. It was well past 8 in the evening when a skinny elderly man cautiously entered our room. It was the owner of the funeral home. He was gentle, kind, and soft-spoken. He did his best to be as comforting as possible, but my heart ached more than ever. He started to tell us that he was going to put Silas in a beautiful basket that was sitting right outside our door. It was a special basket that the Amish helped him make and he was going to carry our son out of the hospital in it. I wasn't quite sure what he was saying... this was so unreal. This couldn't possibly be our life. It had to be a nightmare! It was here in this moment that I could feel myself starting to lose grip. I started to slide down into this dark pit of anguish and despair and I was grasping at whatever I could in order to keep myself from reaching the bottom.

With tears running down our faces, we said goodbye to our son. We kissed him one last time and whispered our final words to him. I brought his cheek to mine and told him, "Mommy will always love you, Silas." I handed Silas to the kind old man. That was the last time I would ever hold my son.

The man sat while he held Silas. He talked to us for a few more minutes... I think to make us more comfortable before he left with our son. He stood up and headed for the door and Karl walked out to see Silas off. I could not bring myself to stand. There was nothing left for me to grasp. I slammed down to the bottom of that deep dark pit; the place I tried so hard to avoid. I wept loudly and ferociously. All I could do was weep and cry out, "He's taking my baby!" Just like he had kidnapped my child right out of my arms. It felt like Silas had been ripped away from me and I wanted so badly to chase that man down the hall and tell him to give me back my baby. All I knew in that moment was that I would never see Silas again and I wanted him back with every ounce of my being. My world was shattered.

My baby! He's taking my baby!

Those were the only words that fell out of my mouth. I sobbed uncontrollably and Karl did his best to hold and comfort me. Joy had finally been completely smothered out of my heart and desolation overcame me. This moment, the moment I let go of my son, was the worst moment of my life. Never have I felt such anguish. I just wanted my baby back in my arms. I wanted to rewind time so that I could go back to the previous weekend when my family was complete and I felt whole. Rewind to a time where there was still hope and Silas was still thriving. I was completely empty from the inside out. There was no longer a baby in my womb and no longer a baby in my arms. He was with me for every moment of his life and now he was gone.

A nurse came in to our room to give me my final Rhogam shot so that we could go home. Karl decided to take our bags out and bring the car to the front of the hospital. The nurse grabbed a wheelchair for me and we proceeded to leave the room. I had the heartbeat teddy bear in one hand and the hospital teddy bear in the other. As she pushed me down the hall, there was a group of cheerful people gathered right outside of a delivery room. Clearly, they were there to welcome a new addition to their family. They stopped their lighthearted conversation and stared at me as I rolled past them. Their eyes filled with pity and they just watched me cry for a few seconds before returning to their happiness. Their life carried on while mine was burning and fading away into ashes.

When we reached the car, the nurse helped me stand and asked if she could give me a hug. She embraced me and shared a few kind words even though she knew it would never be enough to ease my pain. I got in the car and we left. On the drive home, we drove passed the funeral home. Karl and I saw a car and a small elderly man. We were sure that it was the owner of the funeral home. It brought us a little comfort to think that Silas' body made it safely there with him. After a short car ride we were home. With broken hearts and empty arms.

Our story doesn't end here... We are continuously trying to figure out how to live without our son.
Yesterday, I found myself dancing and singing with Ezra in the kitchen while dinner was on the stove. We had the music turned all the way up and we both were enjoying ourselves. We laughed at our ridiculous dance moves. Eventually, the timer for the stove beeped and our dance session was over. The heaviness in my heart quickly returned as I got lost in thought. It's moments like this that I wanted to share with Silas. He should be here to laugh along with us and to dance with us, but we will not get to share these moments with him. It is a painful realization, but I know that should he have survived, he would have a very difficult life and he would always have to fight to beat the odds.

I have lost such a huge part of myself. I lost it when I lost Silas, and I am trying to rediscover who I am because most days... I just don't know anymore. I am trying to rediscover my path in life because I have temporarily lost my way. I don't quite know how I will go about the rest of my life missing such a large piece of myself and constantly missing my son. However, I do know that I am alive, still standing, still breathing, and I am climbing my way out of the dark pit I fell into that night. I know I am a mother to two beautiful sons, one on earth and one in heaven. I know that I am blessed in so many ways and these blessings keep me going. I know I am a better person because of Silas, and I know that his brief life holds within it so much meaning and purpose. I know that I will always live my life for the both of us and through me his life will change this world for the better. This much I know to be true.