There are two things I knew about this pregnancy all along; 1) my baby was a boy and 2) he would come early. Of course, I had no idea that my second prediction would be fatally right. It all happened too fast and too soon. One minute you’re worrying about how you are going to stuff 2 kids and 2 adults into a small room over Thanksgiving this year, and the next you realize that all of that means nothing anymore.
At almost 20 weeks, I was a normal, no risk pregnancy. We had just had a rough day of having to say goodbye to Kevin's parents and grandparents who were visiting. I hadn't felt right all weekend, but chalked it up to the massive amount of fat I was digesting through good food and fun. Almost in a premonition, I made Kevin stay in the bathroom that night while I took a hot bath. I didn't want to be alone. That's when our whole ignorant "of course everything is fine" thoughts were ripped away as my water broke getting out of the tub. As panic seeped into our veins and the realization of what was happening hit us, we rushed to the ER leaving Clare behind with some neighbors.
I think when most people think of losing a baby, they think it's a fast process that is all of a sudden over, but the reality can be much worse. Nothing ever happens fast in a hospital. Hours will creep by and a day later you could be released. We didn't know what to think when we got there, but my heart sunk to a new low when they decided to take the heart monitor off the quick heartbeat of my baby echoing through the speakers. They gave me a sleeping pill and told me to try and get some sleep, but that seemed like the last thing I would be able to do. A blessing came in the form of our priest Fr. Will coming to my side. I always thought our first conversation would be over our Texas Tech/A&M rivalry, but we decided we could save that for another time. We talked for a long time, and I was finally able to get my mind to stop swirling with thoughts. After my blessing, I felt calm enough to finally fall asleep.
The next day, our options were laid before us. My body had not started contractions, the baby was still alive, and I hadn't contracted an infection yet. We could induce now, or hold onto a 10% that my body would heal up and regain some of the lost fluid. Even if that happened we still had bleak chances of making it to full term. We decided to hold onto hope, be cautiously optimistic and head back home to our beautiful Clare. The waiting game was mentally draining. Kevin and I would swing from optimism to pessimism in a span of hours. Every baby kick I felt was bittersweet. On one hand, it meant the baby was still alive, but on the other you couldn't help but wonder if that was the last one I'd feel.
At almost 48 hours past my water breaking, we were about to congratulate our selves on making it 2 days when fever and pain hit my body like a ton of bricks. We went back to the hospital, and I was put on antibiotics for an infection. My doctor was still optimistic that after my IV treatment, the infection would clear and we could go home again. But soon after she left, my contractions started and we knew our baby’s fate had been sealed.
I have never gone through true labor pains before, having epidurals as my best friend, but for whatever reason, I was only given a shot to take the edge off the pain. The exhaustion, fever, pain from my IV treatment, and contractions seemed to blend perfectly into the emotional pain of trying to figure out how to say hello and goodbye to your child at the same time. When it came time to push, my wonderful charge nurse talked me out of getting an epidural and just opted for some IV drugs. It all happened so fast, that it wasn't even needed at that point.
I couldn't help but to flash back to when I started to push when I had Clare. The cheers and excitement from the nurses, family, and doctor were absent in my now dim and quiet hospital room. I couldn't even remember the proper breathing techniques to use and relied on Kevin's voice to get me through the waves. We were quickly told it was a boy, but in our hearts we already knew that.
Honestly, I wasn't sure if I would be able to look at my son. I didn't know how 'human like' a 20 week old baby would be. I was completely blown away with how beautiful he was. Not scary at all, but 100% precious. He was another mini-Kevin from the button nose to the long torso to the thick neck. Kevin must have the most dominant genes in the world. The one trait of mine that we could tell that snuck in was my crooked pinkies. They were the most beautiful site I've ever seen. We were given plenty of time to talk to him, hold him, take pictures with him, and just lay down with him, whispering his name and singing him lullabies. We got to watch his little heart pump under his skin for a few minutes before it lay still.
We decided to name him William Joshua Morris. The first name William comes from Fr. Will and God's Will. Without Fr. Will coming to comfort me that first night and answer all our questions, I don't know how I would have ever been able to sleep. And William is also part of God's Will. There is a beautiful verse that kept coming to me through all of this. "For your thoughts are not my thoughts, nor your ways my ways, say the Lord." While I will never know the reasons why we couldn't keep William, I have faith that there is greater good to come for William, Kevin, and me. The middle name Joshua came from my mother. After many years of pain from having an abortion, she was finally able to find some peace and name her lost son Joshua. While her Joshua and my William never made into this world, both of their lives matter and has made a huge difference to us.
The funeral was on a cool, cloudy morning. It was only appropriate that the strong warm rays of the sun were blocked out by thick grey clouds. Kevin and I got there early to pick a bouquet of wild flowers to lie on his grave. As cars kept pulling in, we were surprised to see how many people came to be with us. We often think of how alone we are out in Georgetown, so far from our families, but we now realize that we have always been surrounded by friends that support us whenever we need them. The service was simple and beautiful.
Thank you to everyone for your love, support, and prayers for our family in this difficult time. We have moments when we feel at peace and moments when it’s hard to see the point of getting out of bed. I just keep praying to God that he love, snuggle, and play with my baby William, because that is thing I wish more than anything that I could get to do.
You are our child, you are our William.
You are God’s child, you are His William.
You are God’s Will.
