Goodbyes

Today is the day that I dread each year:  the day we lost our little Luke.  The day we said goodbye. 

But we didn't really get to say goodbye to Luke, not in the literal sense.  

I will always believe that Luke fought to stay alive that last week because Tommy was out of town for work.  Luke had been "off" the entire week.  He was vomiting during most of his feedings and his weight was fluctuating to the point that it made my mama heart worry.  But he fought through the week, making sure that Tommy could see him one more time.  I think that he knew his time with us was waning, and that Tommy would need to see him one more time.  He went into distress within hours of Tommy returning home.

On the night we lost Luke, there was so much chaos.  The call to 9-1-1, the firefighters arriving first, Matthew waking up and rushing him back to his bed, the EMT/paramedics arriving.  The ambulance ride and being told that "babies do this all the time"{ummmm, how many babies who have half of a heart do this "all the time"?} and telling our baby boy that he would be ok and that we were going to get him to the hospital.  And then those dreaded words "pulse is dropping", and consequently being rerouted to a closer hospital.  They took him away and we were never able to give him a proper goodbye.  By the time we saw him again, he was gone.

Lately, I have been thinking of saying goodbye to writing on this blog.  Over the past 14+ years, writing has been cathartic for me.  Posting my fears, my triumphs, and my hopes has helped me through my grief journey.  It helped give me strength when I was pregnant with James.  But it's just not the same...I feel like it may be time to say goodbye to this page.  The jury is still out on that one...

But there is something that I want to share as I close out this post: a little hello.  If you have been reading the blog for a while, you know that one of my biggest fears is that Luke will be forgotten.  That people will not know his legacy.  We have a finite number of pictures, and even fewer videos.  But, after a lot of years of trying to figure it out on our own, my sister Katie was able to convert a couple of our videos so that I can post them on the blog.  The first video is a little longer and it was filmed on Easter Sunday 2008.  Luke was a few days out of his Norwood (open heart) surgery and he was still in the CVICU.  It was tough being in that room, and when I listen to the questions I asked, it is so apparent that I was overwhelmed and had no idea what was going on with Luke and his recovery.  The second video is quite a bit shorter, but so precious because you are able to see the beauty that was Luke's face.  He was the most beautiful baby I have ever seen.  This video was taken at home, after his bath, about a week before we lost him.  I look at this video and can see how scared I was, even to hold him.  But the way he looked at me while I held him?  That is something that I needed to see tonight.  It is something that I needed to feel.  Because if we cannot have Luke here with us, at least we can have the memories.

So without further ado, I would like you to say hello to Luke Thomas:

He was real.

It has been 14 years since Luke was born.  And in about five weeks, it will be 14 years since we lost him.  A beautiful life lived in just over five weeks.  

But most days, none of this seems real.  It's like a dream.

Speaking of dreams, I had a vivid one last night.  It was one of those dreams where I was back in college {we all have those kind of dreams, right?}.  I was selected to be a Fish Camp Co-Chair {my Texas Aggies know}.  But I was no longer in college.  I was in my mid-forties and I had a family.  I remember thinking while I dreamt: "why would they choose me to be a Co-Chair again?  I am married, a mom, I have a job, and I am old!"  I knew while dreaming that none of it made sense.  And when I woke up, I was relieved that it was only a dream.

But this dream.  This one is real.  This is a nightmare.

Each morning when I wake up, it only takes a few moments for me to realize that he is really gone.  That this is real life.  That this is a nightmare from which we will never wake up.  

As much as this nightmare hurts, our world is better because he lived.

He was real.

He was the best parts of me and Tommy.  He had his Grampa's ears and his father's nose.  He had my grandmother's mouth and his brother's curly hair.  

He was real.

He was such a good baby.  He rarely cried.  He watched us.  His eyes were so wise.

He was real.

His legacy lives on in me and Tommy.  In his siblings.  In his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  His legacy lives on in Luke's Legacy Boxes and in the countless families who have been helped through the generosity of our family and friends.  

Because he was real.

And I am so thankful for this real baby boy, despite the endless nightmare of being an angel mom.  I count myself blessed that Luke was mine and that we were able to share nine months, just me and him.  How lucky am I that I carried a saint for nine months and that I was able to meet him face-to-face?  As much as I wish I could wake up from this dream, I am able to recognize the important part that he played in my life:  that every life is worth being lived.

He was real.

Happy 14th birthday, beautiful boy.  I so wish I could wake up from this dream and you would be here with us.