I’ve been wanting to do this post for a while. My husband and I lost our first child on March 19, 2009. This was only days after we had finally begun to tell our friends and family that we were expecting. I’ve never gone through anything so painful in my entire life, both physically and mentally. It was a turning point in my life. It made me a different person, and I will never again be the person that I was before that loss. I am now a mother, though my child does not live. My husband is a father, though his son was lost before we knew him.
I say our son, though we do not know the gender of our lost child. While I carried him, those short few weeks (he died around 8 weeks, though I had the miscarriage at 11 weeks) he was my son. I felt the child inside of me was male, but I will never know that for sure. I did not plan to find out the gender of our child until he was born, but I thought that perhaps he was a boy. That’s why I refer to him as my son.
Since the loss, I’ve been trying to come up with a way to have some closure. Not to move on, never that. Not to forget – I never could…but to have some way to acknowledge this child who should have been. I contemplated a sort of funeral or burial of some sort. Maybe burying the ultrasound pictures, or the journal entries that I wrote to my child. Maybe planting something in his memory – a living reminder of a lost child. I may still do some of these things one day, but the most important thing I wanted to do was have a name for my child. He deserves a name, and I wanted to give him that.
While my child was growing inside of me my husband and I referred to him as Zippy the Zygote, or just simply Zippy (past the zygote phase). While this is a cute name for a growing fetus, it is not something I wanted my lost child to be called forever. I’m a big believer in names having a meaning…any name I give my children will mean something, I will know the meaning of their name and the country/culture that it comes from. I want that name to reflect who my child is, or what that child means to me. I have long lists and books of baby names that I scoured over in hopes of the birth of our child. The name that I’ve decided on is an Irish name which means “man of prayer”. Since we had hoped for a prayed for our baby for many years, I feel this name is the perfect choice.
I’ve talked with my husband and told him the name that I wanted to give to our son. He agreed it was a good one. I’m happy that now I can refer to my lost one with dignity – with a name.
This post is to my son, to my lost child, who I will love forever. Though I never had the opportunity to hold you, to nurture you and watch you grow you are my son and I will love you for the rest of my life. Rest well my little one. Rest well my Declan.