Stories of Lost Children
A Story of an Angel - Joshua Alexander
by Deborah Shillito, Victoria, B.C., Canada
It's been an extremely hard year since the birth and death of my son, Joshua. It had been a difficult pregnancy. Joshua was my eighth pregnancy and only my third child to reach 20 weeks gestation. I worried everyday. I was a "high risk pregnancy" as I had delivered my older son (3 yrs) and daughter (1 yr) very prematurely … my son at 30 weeks and my daughter at 27 weeks. Both were healthy and happy children … we were blessed! But I worried excessively. Every week I completed was a small victory. I counted obsessively against the days towards a safe delivery. I remember hitting the crucial 25 weeks, when babies could survive outside of the womb and I breathed a sigh of relief. My daughter had only made it to 27 weeks after all and she was fine. I prayed harder. At 26 weeks, at a weekly doctor's appointment I explained the tearing and pulling sensations I felt in my lower abdomen. The doctor assured me it was normal, since I had had a c-setion only months previously. I went home nervously ... and waited. But I knew something just wasn't right. November 7th, in the early morning hours, my uterus ripped apart and I was introduced to the most blinding pain ever. As I was whisked away for an emergency c-section, the doctors assured me that despite the ruptured uterus, the baby's heart rate was strong and steady. I knew I was losing a lot of blood and the pain was beyond unbearable, but I was relieved to know that my baby was fine. Upon waking, confused from the anaesthetic and the amount of blood I had lost, I took one look at my husband's face and knew our world had collapsed. He told me that the doctor's had to perform a hysterectomy to save my life. He then reached over and held my hand as he sadly told me that our son died 2 hours after he was born due to delivery complications ... he had developed a cord haemorrhage essentially bleeding to death. I am so upset that I now only have the memories of Joshua during pregnancy. The soft kicks, gentle rolls, the need for a grapefruit at 1 o'clock in the morning, the way he tenderly kicked to get my attention, and the subtle silence of his peaceful dreams. I did have time with him after he was delivered. The nurse brought him to me all wrapped up in a warm blanket. He looked so peaceful and innocent, totally unaware of the heartbreaking circumstances of his death and of the impact he has forever engraved in my life. I know in my heart that he knew I was his mother and that I loved him very much. But I regret that I was in surgery for the 2 hours my son was alive. I look at his pictures every day and get my husband to re-tell me everything of his so short life over and over again. I light a candle on the 7th of every month in his memory and I feel his presence in our house. His cremated remains are waiting to be buried with me upon my death and his memorial stone is in our back yard surrounded by flowers and butterflies. We "visit" him all the time … and we miss him.
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