When you get married and have dreams of your potential family, nothing can be more heart breaking than to have those hopes dashed for one reason or another, and unfortunately Tim and I were no different.
We wanted to add another child to our family so badly and had prayed, planned, and dreamt about it for years. But because I had previously had a tubal ligation, I had to have a tubal reversal which at the time was not an exactly easy surgery, nor was it considered highly successful. But I wanted a child with the man I loved and we were too young not to at least try. So try we did, and I underwent the surgery. Which, for all practical purposes seemed to be deemed a huge success so we were quite optimistic that in six months, we would be getting pregnant with our child.
Six months later the fertility dance began and each month was a never ending circle of meds, temperature taking, ovulating, and carefully planned romance (that soon became more of a job than an adventure). Making a baby was way tougher than I'd remember it being, and poor Tim wasn't real sure on many days if he actually wanted to make one with me since my crankiness level was reaching an all time high. The girls were getting pretty curious too since Mommy lived around the clock eating, sleeping, and dreaming baby.
And then finally, I missed my cycle...and so Tim raced through the door with the bag that held the test that could make all of our dreams come true. He quickly opened it, read the directions, and commanded me to,"get in there and pee on this stick". Since I was the "great obediant wife", I hurriedly obeyed. I nervously came from the bathroom holding the now dripping test to wait for the next couple of minutes with Tim to see whether those pink lines would appear or not. When suddenly Tim grabbed the test from me, thrust me out of the bathroom, and shut and locked the door. "Hey, what the heck are you doing?" I bellowed from my side of the door.
"I want to see it first! Then you won't be too dissappointed if there's no lines..." he yelled back.
"Bulloney," I blasted, "Let me in..." and I continued to pound on the door until it slowly opened. Tim came out with a solemn look on his face.
"We're not pregnant?" I asked, tears welling up in my eyes.
He put his arms around me and whispered softly into my ear, "No, we're pregnant!"
I looked up at him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and planted a kiss firmly on his lips. "YAY!" I happily yelled- starting a day of celebration. We were so estatic and I know that we should have waited to celebrate, and yet, we couldn't. We had to tell everyone we knew. We were having a baby!
And so the dreams began. You know the dreams of what to name it? And what will it be? And what room will we put it in? And how will we decorate the nursery? What blanket, curtains, and clothes would I sew?Everyday he would come home and we would dream. And he'd put his hand on my tummy and lay his head on it and do all those things that pregnant Daddy's do. We were in pregnant rapture...a sort of heaven for expecting parents.
We did the blood test and it was fine. We made an appointment to see the doctor. Everything was amazing. Everything was fine.
And then, I woke up and I didn't feel right. I went to the bathroom and I was spotting. And that's when I knew- I just knew that I was losing our baby. I woke Tim up and told him, but he is an eternal optimist and said," No, it's okay. I read somewhere that it's normal to spot." He wouldn't give up. He would have this child. But I knew, in my heart of all hearts, I knew that I was losing our baby.
We went to the doctor's that day, and he confirmed that there was no heartbeat, in fact, he couldn't find the baby anywhere. He ran a blood test, checked my numbers, and they were low which confirmed that we indeed had suffered an etopic pregnancy. He said he wouldn't have to do surgery, that I would pass it and I would be fine- at least physically fine. Emotionally, now that was another matter.
We were devestated. Completely devestated. This baby had meant so much to us. All of the hopes and dreams gone. Completely gone. And so we wept. Well meaning people said things like we could have more or we could try again, but to us, we didn't want another baby, we only wanted that baby. The baby of our dreams.
That day, I sat up in the middle of the night, and wrote this poem as I wept for my beautiful unborn child whom I was so sure would have been a boy...
My Little Boy Timmy
I can see you running up to me,
throwing a ball, or climbing a tree,
crying because of your skinned up knee,
My little boy Timmy.
I can hear you laughing with your Dad,
pounding his hammer, and hitting your hand,
pretending it hurt to your "old man",
My little boy Timmy.
I can watch you swinging with your Gramps,
chewing blades of grass, or taking a nap,
dreaming of Gramma's cookie filled lap,
My little boy Timmy.
I can feel us rocking in our chair,
reading God's word, learning of His care,
running my fingers through your curly hair,
My little boy Timmy.
I can know you're looking down on me,
holding God's hand, sitting on His knee,
a few short weeks you were and always will be,
My little boy Timmy.
There would be three more beautiful, hopeful pregnancies to us, but none were to result in a child whom we could hold on this earth...each would be memories of what might have beens...and the losses were each in themselves horrendous wounds that were suffered so deeply that we just didn't think we'd ever make it through.
I think that many people do not realize that in each pregnancy, especially for people who struggle to have children, that there is a world of life, plans, hopes, and dreams that will never come true. And even if that child was never met and cuddled and loved, that child held a place in a heart that wanted to do all those things with it so desperately. Sometimes we can only have the child of our dreams in heaven, and it leaves a world of hurt to have to rock empty arms in a chair meant for memories of a child never to be here on this earth.
I Would've Called You Francis
I would've called you Francis,
when I saw your newborn face,
I'd count your fingers and your toes,
and thank God for His precious grace.
I would've called you Francis,
because that's you Grandpa's name,
There never was a finer man,
who on earth's been heaven's gain.
I would've called you Francis
when I saw your Daddy's eyes,
Each time he held his little
and kissed away her tender cries.
I would've called her Francis
as I called you in from play.
I'd watch you skipping 'cross the yard,
picking flowers along the way.
I would've called you Francis,
and it truly broke my heart,
The day you left to be with God-
our life's dreams all torn apart.
I would've called you Francis,
as I have a thousand times,
Since the day you left us, Baby Girl,
only emptiness left behind.
I would've called you Francis
and I know someday I will.
I'll take you from His loving arms,
and finally hold my Baby Girl.
In lovingmemory of Francis Suzanne Burd
who went to be with our Lord on
Saturday, December 17,1995.
written by Mommy with love.
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