Henry Sean Stewart, Born 1/12/17
My husband and I became pregnant almost a year after we miscarried our first baby, right about the same time we had pretty much given up on the idea that we would ever be parents. We miscarried right at the end of the first trimester, so the first several weeks of our second pregnancy were especially difficult and full of anxiety. But once our second baby had settled safely into the second trimester, the bond bloomed. Our hearts, every aspect of our lives, and our visions of the future flooded with hope, excitement, and expectation of our new lives as a family.
We never found out if the baby would be a girl or a boy, but the whole time I just knew it was going to be a boy, and I knew he was going to be huge. My husband and I had picked out some possible names, but the one we liked the most for a boy was Hank. "Hank the Tank" was the nickname we privately called the big, sturdy son we imagined growing in my body. His full name would be Henry Sean Stewart; Henry had a more official ring to it, and to follow my husband's family tradition, Henry would take on his dad's first name for the middle. We kept his name private, waiting until birth for his formal presentation to the world. We picked out a couple girl names too, just in case, but I knew we wouldn't need them. It was totally going to be a boy.
As the pregnancy progressed, the more vivid my dreams grew of what our son would be like, and the more I felt connected to him through every kick and movement. I was pretty miserable until the third trimester, but any ounce of misery was instantly replaced with bliss every time I felt him wiggle, roll or jab. The stronger he got, the more satisfied and complete I felt. My husband and I couldn't wait to personally meet whoever it was that was having such a wild time in my belly. We were so excited to finally get to know who he was and to be able to watch him grow, learn, and explore the world.
I had a strange fascination with labor and was oddly looking forward to the pain. Though I didn't know exactly what to expect, I knew I would rise well to the challenge, and I knew the more intense it got, the closer I would be to meeting my sweet baby. Henry's due date was New Year's Day, and although I was originally hoping for a New Year’s baby, I was unexpectedly overjoyed when he was late. It was a relief to have some free time after the hustle of the holiday, and I was truly feeling fantastic and loving being so ripe with pregnancy.
My labor started 10 days after his due date. The 29 hours of labor that followed were intense, but I was proud of how I navigated each wave. During the 29th hour while actively pushing, I was rushed by a team of nurses and doctors to an emergency cesarean section for reasons I am still not ready to understand. My sweet baby was removed from his safe haven, and the next 55 minutes were the most difficult I have ever had to endure as I waited to hear him cry. I couldn't see him behind the surgical curtain but I was told he was in fact a boy, he had color and a heartbeat, but he was unable to breathe on his own. After 55 minutes of intense resuscitation, my baby was still unable to breathe. He was taken to the NICU and I knew that after so long without oxygen my baby would either not survive or he would live his life with profound disabilities. There was no chance in my mind that an end result of this would be a healthy baby. After the c-section, when I saw my husband with a sorrow on his face unlike any I had ever seen before, I knew our baby didn't survive
I held Henry in my arms and stroked his soft, smooth skin. Never have I seen a more beautiful, precious person in my whole life. His big, hearty size was a perfect fit in my arms. I had so much love for him, and I was already so proud to be his mom, and it was so confusing and unreal that he was not alive. Though time seemed to freeze while I was holding him, I still wish I held him and looked at him longer. I wish I could have held him forever, and that he was still in my arms. My arms, chest, mind, and heart ache without him.
All the days since then have been a blur. As my body heals, my heart becomes emptier and the sadness grows darker and more profound. But despite my grief and pain, Henry continues to shine light into my life; my relationship with my husband has previously never had any shortage of love or affection, but the life and the passing of our baby has brought us even closer, led us to be more open, and has even given our relationship a sweeter, more precious quality. Henry has brought out a deeper level of support, trust, and generosity from those around us as well as from people we don't even know. Strangers have expressed being genuinely moved by the story of Henry, and over a bridge of compassion, some of those strangers have crossed into the intimate circles of our greatest support. While the grief from my miscarriage felt incredibly lonely and isolating, since even the beginning moments of Henry's birthing and death, Sean and I have been wrapped up in protective blankets of sincere love, help, and caring from almost every person we have encountered.
Even though not having him physically here brings me unmatched pain, I do feel like his spirit is always with me, and that brings me a quiet sense of comfort. I can't help but to fantasize how he would look and be as he grows older, and in a sense, I still have hopes and dreams for him and look forward to what he would have become. I will always love him, want the best for him, and be so, so proud to be his mom. Henry will always be my beautiful, precious son.
