17 years old.

Seventeen years.

Who would you be?

Would you have been driven and empathetic like Emily? Would you have been loyal and funny like Matthew? Would you have been kind and forgiving like James? 

No, you would be Luke. Just like your siblings, you would be your own person. But what would you be like? I think about your eyes. Your beautiful, deep blue eyes. People always comment about your eyes. About how wise they were. How you somehow knew that your time on earth was short. I think you would have been very wise. Very pensive. Contemplative. I don't think you would have been reckless. You would have been cautious. I think that you would have been easy going and compassionate. I think that your experiences would have helped you to be able to support others and to be a rock when they needed strength. Speaking of strength, I think you would have been so very strong. So, so strong. Nothing would be able to match your courage. I think you would have been quiet, yet still be able to command a room, just by being present. I think you would have been everyone's favorite person.

Luke, you would have been the good that is needed so badly in this world.

There is one way in which I think you would have been a lot like your brothers and sister. I do think that you would have followed a similar path in your faith. I am in awe of the way that Em, Matt, and JB are embracing their faith. I like to think that the gift of your life had a lot to do with their faith and why they believe. They know that one day we will all be together again and they recognize that God showed you mercy when you left this earth to live in paradise.

Luke Thomas, you are our forever baby. Our Wittle Bubba. Our precious child. We only wish that you would have been able to grow up so that we could have known who you would be. 

Until we meet again, we will believe in who we think you would have been. And I will continue to pray, to ask God for a little glimpse of who you are.

Happy birthday, Luke. Thank you for blessing us with your life.

***********************************************************************************

Emily messaged me today, asking if she could add something to the blog. Of course, my heart melted a little and then I teared up. 

I think that sometimes people forget that Emily and Matthew, although only five and three at the time, were profoundly affected by Luke's life and his passing. He was their brother and they lost a lot of innocence when he passed. They went to bed one night and he was here. The next morning, he was gone. There's not a way to explain that to little ones. Death is a very grown-up concept, and asking our children to understand and accept it seemed (and still seems) crazy to me. Even though James was born after Luke, even a part of his innocence was taken away, as he has always known that he has a brother who we lost, but who he never knew. It's just unfair. 

So when Emily asked if she could write something for Luke's 17th birthday, I was so grateful. I was thankful that she doesn't look at the sadness, but she looks at the joy of Luke's life. She knows it was a privilege to have him with us, if only for a short time. As she told me one day about a year ago, she only remembers the happy parts about Luke's life, and none of the sad parts. For that, I am eternally grateful.

Thank you Emily, for being a part of Luke's birthday blog post. I love you and our family more than anyone could imagine.

From Emily:

I asked my mom earlier today if I could write a little note for Luke’s blog this year. I am nowhere near as equipped as her, as she is always successful in relaying her emotions in writing and really leaving an impact on everyone who reads the blog year after year. With that being said, I wanted to share a few short words about Luke and what his life means to me and I hope it has half the impact hers always does.

I was five years old when Luke was born. For those who knew me at that age, I definitely had a teenage attitude. Funny aside, five years old is young. Even if I thought I was thirteen, I was far from it, especially emotionally.

I don’t remember much of Luke’s life. I don’t remember the day he was born, I don’t even remember his funeral. I remember me and Matthew running to his bassinet and seeing that Luke wasn’t there. I do remember the day my dad told me Luke went to heaven and that “mommy was very sad”. I’m not sure what five year old Emily thought at this moment, but boy would I love to know. I remember his strawberry blonde hair. I remember how fragile he was. I remember Matthew and I having to wash our hands after school before touching him and we could only kiss his feet so as to not risk him getting sick. I remember his adorable smile and some of his cutest outfits. I remember his wake and seeing him in his light blue Easter outfit, an image forever engraved in my brain. I remember how amazing those five and a half weeks were.

I am about to graduate from the University of Georgia with a degree in Human Development and Family Science. With this degree, my coursework is heavily focused on development across the lifespan. Last semester, I took a course called Death, Loss, and Bereavement. I had this class at 8AM Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. What a doozy of a class for 8 AM, right? Believe it or not, this is one of my favorite classes I’ve taken my entire college career. In short, this class discussed the impact of death across the lifespan. This class allowed me to think back on the memories I have of Luke’s life. A few months ago, my mom and I were at dinner and I was explaining to her how much I loved this class and how it’s teaching me a lot about myself and how Luke’s death impacted my life. I told her, “The memories I have of Luke’s life are all positive and happy”. She started tearing up and said that made her so happy.

Little Emily had to grow up very quickly in a lot of ways. I think she would be so proud of present Emily and her journey to becoming a nurse. I know Luke would also be incredibly proud. I truly believe my calling in life is to serve children and families in this way and I have Luke to thank for this calling. His life taught me to be empathetic, to be kind, and to be loving. I could not be more thankful for him.

 

My mom sent me this photo tonight. The way I am looking at Luke in this photo brings me to tears. He was my baby brother. Little Emily had no idea what his sickness meant. She had no idea how sick he truly was. I wonder what he would be like today and I just know we would be the best of friends. He will always hold the most special place in my heart and I will always think of him every time I see a cardinal. Happy 17th birthday baby Luke, I love you!

In the weeds...

I'm not a big fan of weeds. Weeds are full of ticks, snakes, and other creepy crawlies. Weeds grow uncontrollably. They overtake other plants. And when I walk among the weeds, I feel gross.

Which is why it has meant so much to me when people have walked in the weeds with us over the past sixteen years.

I took Luke's box out a few days before his birthday, but my emotions finally allowed me to look through it tonight. It's the box that contains many important things from his life: the stuffed animals he never got to snuggle, the blankets that no longer keep him warm, the booties that he never got to wear.

But Luke's box also contains some very cherished things. Things that helped us get through the terrible weeds in the days, weeks, and months after we lost him.

His box contains notes, mass cards, donation cards, and so much more.

Luke's box contains a copy of the homily that Father George shared at his funeral mass. This story still makes me tear up:

Luke's box contains notes, cards, mass intentions, and books. It contains the sleep 'n play he wore a few times and also the holy water that we kept from his baptism. It contains the program from his mass and the guest book from the funeral. It contains the most sacred words of love from friends and even strangers and the most precious pictures from children who were praying for our family.

Luke's box contains all of the cards from the hundreds of donations that were made in his memory. My mother and Nana took the time to collect all of the donation cards and tied them nicely together. There was so much kindness shown to our family and we are so thankful for the generosity that was shown in his memory.

I want to share these things with you because I want to show how many people were in the weeds with us sixteen years ago. How many people held us up while we trudged through the thick brush. Who walked with us as we faced the impossible. To those of you who took the journey with us sixteen years ago, I pray that you can look at these pictures and know that your love and support got us through the unimaginable. I hope that you can see how much even the smallest gesture meant to us. We saved these things for a reason: because they showed empathy, kindness, and love to a grieving family. 

And there are people who are still in the weeds with us. The people who visit his sacred place, because we do not live near. The people who donate to NICU families through Luke's Legacy Boxes. The people who pray for our family. The people who remember him. The people who say his name.

Our family is blessed.

Today, sixteen years from the day we last heard his voice, we are so very thankful for the people who we are blessed to call friends and family. We are thankful for those who walk in the weeds with us.

Walk through the weeds. Don't fear what you may face in the weeds. Walk through them. Because even in the weeds, there is beauty. 

And that beauty is love.

Happy angel day, precious Luke Thomas. 

I am honored to walk through the weeds to celebrate the miracle of your life.

I had to share the picture above, because he is wearing the he sleep 'n play that is in his box.

Sixteen years old.

 

Do not complain about growing old. It is a privilege denied to many.

-Mark Twain

Sixteen years have gone by since we first saw his beautiful face and heard his tiny cry. 

So many things have happened since Luke was born. And there are so many things that he has missed since we lost him.

The Haberkids have reached some important milestones this year. Emily turned 21, and enjoys being legal. Matthew started school at the University of Georgia and is thriving. James started high school and is now almost as tall as Matthew.

But Luke.

Luke is forever 5 and a half weeks old. He will never reach these milestones.

I think about all of the experiences that Em, Matt, and James have had thus far in their lives, and all of the things that Luke will never have the opportunity to experience,

Luke never laughed. He never learned how to walk or how to talk. Luke didn't learn how to swim or ride a bike. He will never graduate high school. He will never go to college.

And this year. His sixteenth year. 

I won't take pictures of Luke sitting in a car. I won't feel my eyes well up with tears as I watch my baby boy drive away toward a new independence.

These are all things we take for granted. Natural milestones in our lives.

But there are other things that happen as we get older. Things that aren't milestones as much as they are life experiences.

Luke will never feel the sand between his toes, nor the feeling of waves in the ocean. He won't feel the nerves that come with final exams, or the fear that comes with forgetting to do homework.

Luke won't know the butterflies that come with falling in love. And he won't experience the pain of heartbreak.

Luke won't have the opportunity to get on one knee and ask for forever.

He won't ever be a father.

He won't give us grandchildren.

No, none of these things will happen for Luke. 

And we won't be able to experience life with him. We will always be missing an important piece of the Haberman puzzle.

As much as our hearts break for what Luke is missing, we find peace in what he has in heaven. He is surrounded by loved ones. He is in the arms of Jesus and Mary.

Luke is whole. He is not hurting. He is happy. I believe this with all of my heart.

And that is what I need to remember in the midst of my grief: that no matter what sadness I have for what Luke has missed, he is fortunate in that he has only ever known love.

Grieving the loss of a child is a process, it begins on the day your child passes and ends the day the parent joins them.

-BJ Karrer

Fifteen years gone

“A mother’s joy begins when new life is stirring inside… when a tiny heartbeat is heard for the very first time, and a playful kick reminds her that she is never alone.”

– Author Unknown

This picture was taken the night before we lost Luke. I am so thankful that my father insisted on taking lots of photos of Luke while he was here with us. We didn't realize how short his time with us would be, so these pictures mean everything to me and Tommy.

Fifteen years have gone by since Luke passed. Some days, it seems like yesterday and others, it feels like forever. The grief is odd. There is never a perfect way to grieve, but I often question my grief: is my grief too strong? Too weak? Am I grieving the wrong way? How can I grieve better?

Tommy has been my rock since the day Luke was born. We left the hospital after Luke was life flighted, and we met with the cardiologist that evening. When we arrived at the hotel, Tommy held up his grieving wife. His wife who had given birth only hours before. His wife who should have been lying in a hospital bed, recovering from giving birth. He was my rock.

When Luke died, Tommy continued to be my rock. I was virtually catatonic. I stayed in the bedroom most days. I was numb. I didn't want to eat and I wouldn't go outside. But Tommy was so strong. He and my father went to the funeral home to discuss arrangements. He and my father went to the church to discuss the funeral mass. He made sure that I was ok. He didn't try to fix me. He was there through it all.

So you're probably wondering why I am jumping around in this post. Bear with me...because there is a point. A point between my grief journey and Tommy's unwavering support.

I remember one day when I was melting down. It was shortly after we lost Luke. I was explaining how I was having these horrible thoughts. Thoughts about what was happening to Luke's perfect body. Thoughts about him hearing gunshots from Greenspoint Mall (my Houston friends know what I'm talking about). Just very awful thoughts that were racing through my head.

And then I asked him. I asked him the question that had been bothering me so much, but the question that I was so fearful to ask. Maybe I was embarrassed. Maybe I was ashamed. Maybe I was just so deep in my grief that I didn't want to know the answer.

I asked him why I was crying so much more than him. Why my grief seemed so much more intense. Why he didn't seem as sad as me.

And his answer has stuck with me. I will never forget his words and how much they meant to me. How much I needed to hear them. Because with Tommy's answer, I was given a huge sense of peace about my grief. I knew that what I was feeling was perfectly ok.

He said that I was the one who knew Luke the best. I was the one who knew Luke the longest. And because of that, I was the one who would grieve him more deeply.

Tommy's words were the words that I needed to hear. They were what got me through the next few deeply sorrowful weeks. Tommy's words allowed me to fully feel my grief and to "dive in", which helped my own heart heal.

Because you know what? I was the one who knew Luke best. He lived inside of me. His broken heart formed in my womb. He grew inside of me. I felt him move and I cherished each kick.

And I knew him.

I knew that boy so well. 

And I am so thankful to have a husband {and a best friend} who helped me when I needed it the most. And who has been my rock ever since. I love him a lot.

If you know someone who is grieving, please just support that person. Don't try to fix it. Just be there, and let them know that they are loved.

“Before you were conceived I wanted you. Before you were born I loved you. Before you were here an hour I would die for you. This is the miracle of Mother’s Love.”

– Maureen Hawkins

Our baby boy is 15!

At sunset the little soul that had come with the dawning went away, leaving heartbreak behind it.” –  L.M. Montgomery

I read this quote today, and it really struck me. It also made me think more about the brief time that Luke spent here on earth. And the grief that followed.

Fifteen years seems like a long time, but it truly feels like yesterday. I remember seeing Luke for the first time. I remember looking at his little hands as he nursed right after birth. I remember noticing that they were still blue. When I asked the nurse about his hands, she reassured me that it takes a while for blood to circulate through a newborn's body. She heard a murmur a few moments later...

I would by lying if I said that I have never asked God "why Luke"? Why did our baby have to die? Why wasn't our baby one of the ones who made it? Why did we have to bury him? This boy was so wanted, he was so loved. 

One day, I will know the answer to these questions, but not until I enter eternity with Luke.

I'm not going to lie. This post has been weighing heavily on my heart over the past few weeks. I have been writing on this blog for almost fifteen years. At the beginning, I wrote one or two times a week, just to share our triumphs and our setbacks. To share the happy and the sad. 

It's not an exaggeration to say that this blog is one of the things that has helped me in my grief journey. Openly sharing my feelings has been a way for me to deal with my own grief, while hopefully showing others that it is ok to be sad, to encourage, to remember.

But this year, it has been really difficult to post. 

I just can't think of anything that will be encouraging or uplifting. 

Fifteen years of writing in the blog, and I'm lost.

I just don't know what to write, but I feel an obligation to write.

Because, in my mind, if I don't write then I fear that people will forget about him. And I have always said that Luke can't make his legacy, so it is our responsibility to make one for him.

I am well aware that {some} people have grown tired of me talking about Luke. I'm not blind to the fact that some of our closest friends have stopped reaching out. And that is heartbreaking.

But we will not ever stop talking about Luke. Because that is our responsibility as his parents. So I really want to apologize to those who I make uncomfortable. It is not my intention to upset others, it is just my intention to allow people know Luke. I look at it as a privilege to know and love our precious son.

When I say that this post is probably the most difficult one I have written, it is probably because I have been writing on it for such a long time. Fifteen years. 

It's a difficult concept to think of all that he has missed: high school, driving permit, dating...but then I realize that those things don't matter to him, because Luke is in heaven. He finished the good race, just a little earlier than most. 

I read a comment on social media the other day, it was on a video that a mother posted about the loss of her child. The poster said that to us, we grieve the life that the child didn't have. But to the child, he knew love his entire life, so he lived a full life {I summarized}. 

I pray that Luke felt how much he was loved. I pray that although his life was short in our eyes, in his eyes his life was full.

I feel the need to apologize for this post. It isn't the kind of post I am used to writing. But it is my heart and it is truth. Fifteen years is a long time to write about your child's death.

But if it helps one person know and remember our Luke, then I have done my job as his mother.

God bless our little Saint Luke, and may he intercede in all of our prayers.

 

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.