Love

I remember the moment distinctly when I made the decision to let my baby go.  And even though it was nearly eleven years ago, I can still feel it like it was yesterday.  You don’t easily forget the moments that change you completely; the moments in which you give up a chunk of yourself out of love for another.  I was drying my hair.  It had been 4 weeks since we learned our baby was very sick.  And three weeks after the initial diagnosis, we had learned from the doctor that not only was she very sick, but she was going to die.  And not only was she going to die, but she was fated to die a broken death.  Yes, that’s right:  death by broken bones.  The doctors told us she might survive gestation, but if and when she did, she would die shortly after birth.  But either way, she would die of broken bones. 

So sit with that out there.  All you mothers or lovers of others.  Sit with that one…  If you have ever loved a child I’m sure you can understand the ridiculous, unimaginable pain of this situation. You could see her little broken bones, even in the sonograms.  Her tiny little bones with breaks all over.  Tell me, mothers, how do you sit with that?  With knowing that every movement your child makes within you could mean another broken bone?  And the irony lies in the decision I had to make.  Because it broke me, too. 

Yes, I remember the moment distinctly.  I was drying my hair and crying and loving the baby girl who was living inside of me.  And it came to me in a single instant, that I would give her this gift.  That I could, as her mother, allow her suffering to end.  And that I would do that for her.  And so I did.

I wrote this letter to her on June 1, 2003:

To Jillian

Tomorrow we bury your tiny, frail, perfect body in a wooden box under the soil.  How cruel and unfair that I don’t get to keep you—for you are mine and will always be.  How can I give you up so soon when all that I know of you comes from the gentle and rhythmic thumps I felt from within.  When you were born I couldn’t stop looking at you—more perfect than I could have ever imagined.  And still, I reach for you.  I held you and held you and then I had to let them take you away—how could they when you are mine and I never even got to know your smell?  I love you, Jillian, and my heart aches for you and my body cries milk for you.  Carrying you wreaked havoc upon me as my body fought to give you all you needed until I didn’t think I could be sick anymore.  But I would do it all over again for you—to have that time with you again—as your mother.  I would do it all again.

 I had to let you go because I couldn’t bear to let you suffer.  How unfair that I had to worry about what people would think when, for you, I made a decision that killed me inside so that I will never be me again.  How unfair to have to worry about what people would think when letting you go was for me, the ultimate sacrifice—my gift to you.  Now you can be at peace, but still, and always, I am reaching for you. 

My Jillian.  My baby.

So, where is the Light in Between on this one, you might ask?  The light is in the love.  And in truly realizing and understanding the depth of love…