I'm sitting here at my computer staring at the cold, icy landscape outside my window. I can't help but think how the winter scene matches the emotions I'm feeling inside. Outside that window lies a barren, icy landscape covered by a mysterious quiet that seems unique to this time of year. Everything seems lifeless, and the cold tends to take your breath away. To be honest, I've never been a fan of winter. I find myself resisting the cold and longing for the warm, carefree days of summer. But without fail, winter is sure to come.
This time last week we were enjoying the last day before our scheduled c-section to meet our little one. My heart raced with hope but deep inside there was a very present fear as to what the next day might hold. I couldn't help but reflect and be so thankful that we had been given such a gift...the gift of time. We had made it to delivery... the day I would meet my son.
Monday, I woke with such confidence. A God-given confidence that no matter the outcome, the Lord was going to be with us that day. The morning was incredibly normal, yet buzzed with excitement. As I got myself ready I listened to this song and worshipped in a way I never have before. Oh, that the Lord would let us see Him... See his mighty hand at work... For there to be miracles unfold before our eyes.
After taking the kids to school, we gathered our things and headed to the hospital. I have never had a c-section before and quickly realized how different the experience was going to be. The nurses gave me instructions about the operation and got my IV in place. I was thankful for the peace that seemed to settle on us and loved listening to our little guy's heartbeat on the monitor. At this point with our other kiddos, I was so ready for the baby to be here... but with this little guy, I was still enjoying every move, every last little kick that I would feel with him tucked safely inside. The two hours before delivery flew by without hesitation, and before I knew it, the clock read 11:45. The time had finally come.
My mind was racing. For months we have been surrounded by questions, fear, and uncertainty. In a matter of moments that was all going to change. We walked to the operating room and were greeted by the hustle and bustle of the large staff who would be present for the surgery. What a tremendous team of people we had with us that day. The prep went fast and my amazing doctor reassured me of the plan. Before I knew it, the surgery had begun.
I was praying so hard. I was begging, pleading for him to be healthy. Oh, for there to be a boisterous cry...some signal of life. The spinal block kept me from feeling pain, but I could still feel the pressure and tugging of the surgery. I knew the moment they lifted his body from my own. This sweet little boy who has been all mine for the past nine months. It had been our time. A special journey for the two of us and suddenly he had entered the world. I was desperate for his cry, but heard only silence. I was expectant for a joyous, "He's okay!!!" But no such words were spoken. I laid there, flat on my back, completely helpless and truly paralyzed. The blue curtain they had placed in front of me made it impossible to see what was happening. So I stared at the ceiling as an eery quiet filled the air. They gave him to the NICU team who had been waiting on the far side of the room and they began their work. My Mom (who had come back with me for the delivery) leaned in by my side. I'm pretty sure they were giving me updates, but I couldn't tell you a word they said. My heart had slipped into a panic and I just wanted to know, "is he going to make it?"
They allowed my Mom to walk over and check on him while they diligently worked. She came back and whispered in her ever calm voice, "We need to pray for the Breath of Life." And we prayed. The decision was made to take him to the NICU where they continued the efforts to stabilize his situation. I was left alone to wait as they completed my operation. I hadn't even seen his face.
The afternoon is simply a blur. I'm trying so hard to remember every detail, but I think the stress of it all was just too much. Most of the day was spent waiting. I was sent to recovery and given updates periodically. At one point a nurse raced into the room and said we are taking you to the NICU right away. A wave of fear raced through my body. I was still flat on my back, unable to move as they wheeled my entire bed down to his little room in the NICU. It just happened to be the same room we stayed in with Elijah just two years ago. The area was buzzing with people, and I strained to see the tiny form laying on the station.
Then I saw his hair. Goodness, what a beautiful head of auburn hair! Definitely his Daddy's thick, curly hair. It was difficult to get my bed close enough, but I could at least see the side of his face and was able to reach out and take his hand. My son. My beautiful, God-given son. My heart ached as I realized the gravity of the situation. I had been so hopeful that the outcome might be different from that original prognosis. That perhaps at some point we would be bringing him home.
Our time together was short and my bed was simply taking up too much space. They wheeled me out to the hall where we continued to wait. Josh was incredible, as always. He stood by my side, our eyes filled with tears as we watched them work from a far. They had more tests to run, more options to try, but deep in my heart I think I already knew...He was not mine to keep on this Earth.
They wheeled me back to my room where I laid with my mind racing. It was also about that time that I started to experience some pretty tremendous pain from the surgery. All I could think about was if I would be able to physically sit up and hold him. Oh, I ached to hold him. The day wore on and we had many private conversations that no parents should have to endure. I prayed that the Lord would give us a clear answer, and that we would not have to make any decisions that would leave us uncertain as to whether or not we made the right one.
That evening they came to get me so I could spend some time with him and hold him. It appeared at that point things were somewhat stable and they wanted me to have time with him. The pain from the surgery was better, but still so debilitating. We were all wondering how I could sit up, let alone get into a wheelchair. Amazingly, looking back, I don't remember feeling one twinge of pain once they wheeled me from my room. Another gift of mercy from our loving God. We arrived at the NICU and they pushed me to his bedside.
I finally saw his face. A moment that I have been anxious about for so long. His cleft was indeed severe, but in an instant the most amazing thing happened. When I looked at him, I only saw beauty. I saw a most precious baby boy... embodied by what some would call imperfections, yet perfect in every way. Oh, I beg God to help me always remember the freedom and purity of that moment. To see others the way I saw my son.... to look beyond any physical impairment or difference, and see with the eyes of heaven...eyes that look so far beyond the physical. To be filled with such love for a person, one created in the image of God.
I really wasn't expecting the next part, but in some ways, it was an answer to the prayer that the Lord would give us certainty concerning his life. The NICU doctor showed us the latest scan which showed his underdeveloped lungs. He also explained that at this point he would be unable to recover from the damage done to his tiny body. His oxygen levels had been at a low level for too long and his fragile life was just not going to be able to handle the rigor of the machines much longer.
There really was no decision to make. We knew it was time.
After some discussion, they placed him in my arms and slowly began to remove the machines that had been helping his lungs continue to function. I held his tiny hand again... stroked his beautiful hair. I tried my best to memorize every detail of his face. Tried to breathe in the smell of his skin. I checked out his tiny toes and was saddened to see the tinge of blood on his shirt from the countless efforts they had made to help him breathe. He had already been through so much.
The room began to clear and soon it was just a few of us. The next moments I'll keep private between our family, but I will tell you this... They are moments I will treasure forever. The sound of Silas' grandfather praying...the sound of countless, "I love yous,"... the sounds of gentle humming as I held him tight while his little heart failed to beat any longer. Earlier that morning I had been worshipping with my hands high to that song which says, "Open up the heavens. We want to see You!" Indeed, I believe at that moment the heavens burst open for our sweet Silas, and the beauty and splendor of a world we can't begin to imagine stretched wide before him. In those moments I believe he was immediately in the presence of Jesus. Free. Full of life. I love to think he had a greeting party like none other. I'm certain my Granny was elbowing her way to the front of the line. My Aunt Treva, who was well aware of the pain of losing a baby, there to wrap her arms around him...along with countless others...my aunt Dixie, my grandparents and so many loved ones who have already made it home.
There is so much more to be said, but I'm thinking I will save the rest for another day. My mind is exhausted from the efforts to try and put into words a day that leaves me speechless. My heart is broken in a way I have never known, and yet... there is still hope. I could speak of the sadness we feel, but I'm sure you are well acquainted with pain. As I sit here, I pray that you also have peace. I'm thankful for the King of Peace that surrounded us that day. I'm thankful that even in the darkest moments we have experienced, there is still hope. I know that gift comes from one place... a relationship with Jesus Christ. Some may look at our situation and say, "Your God failed to answer your prayers. He failed to heal your child...." But, I look and see that He indeed answered in a most marvelous way...A way that I certainly can't begin to understand or would ever choose, but I know this.... He healed Silas completely and gave our little boy the gift of heaven. One day we will see him again.
As I look outside and see the weariness of this cold, winter day, I know that the Lord will heal our hearts. I know that spring will eventually come. Probably without notice, the ice will melt and those tiny spring flowers will begin to pop from the ground. This journey of faith is definitely not free of questions or pain, but with Jesus we can make it. And the beauty he sows from the ashes is a blessing like none other.
The nine hours we had with Silas was a gift. I wouldn't trade the journey I had with our boy for anything. The pain. The sadness. The anger and frustration that came with the knowledge that we could lose him at any time. Wouldn't change a thing for that precious time I was able to spend with him. I look forward, with great anticipation, to the day I see my son again. Until then we do more of what we have grown well aware of doing... we wait.
I know that there will be difficult days ahead, and honestly, when I start to think about it I'm overwhelmed. We sat down to dinner last night I couldn't help but notice the one empty seat. Oh my heart. But if little Silas taught his mama anything, it is to be thankful for today....never take for granted the precious minutes, hours we have. Make the most of them. Learn to enjoy the process, not resist it. Find the beauty in the pain...however small, it is always there. To understand that pain is part of the journey and the waves of sorrow will come... but oh, to learn to ride the waves and not be drown by them.
I know our faithful Lord will lead us through and the prize that awaits will most certainly be worth it all.
To Silas,
Our little fighter.
Our little one who blessed our hearts without having to say a word.
Our little missionary who touched the lives of so many.
We love you truly. Your Daddy has said from the beginning, no matter what... you are ours and we are so proud of you. You were able to change lives, fulfill your purpose in such a short amount of time. If only we could all live our lives with such direction. Tomorrow we will lay your body to rest, but I'm confident this is not the end of your story...or ours. We cling to the promise and hope of our Great God. Oh to see what you are seeing right now... and one day I will.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Romans 15:13
13 And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died[a] so you will not grieve like people who have no hope.14 For since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him the believers who have died.
15 We tell you this directly from the Lord: We who are still living when the Lord returns will not meet him ahead of those who have died.[b] 16 For the Lord himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God. First, the believers who have died[c]will rise from their graves. 17 Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Then we will be with the Lord forever.
1 Thessalonians 4:13-17 NLT
Tomorrow we will honor little Silas with a visitation from 12:00-1:30. Thank you for being a part of our journey and for the countless prayers and support. We have felt it and we need it.
Also special thanks to Stacy Mayberry and Angela Spieker for the photos of our time with Silas. We will treasure them forever.
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