So what's a mother to do when she's carrying a baby that has no need for cute little bibs, or one of those spaceship looking rockers, or hand knitted blankets? What's she to shop for, what is she supposed to prepare for? I dont know. Honestly. I didn't know. So what I did was prepare for his death. I couldn't shop for cribs, but I could shop for coffins. So that's what I did. I didn't know if my son would be 38 weeks gestational age when he passed, or if he would be born alive and live a few minutes or hours, I didn't know how big or small he would be. But what I did know, was that he would need a tiny coffin.
I showed up at Forest Lawn (it's a local cemetary for you out of town readers, I see you in Swaziland) alone, my mom was waiting for me, she had drove separate, there was no need to greet each other, we were there to pick out a coffin, nothing worthy of a pleasant exchange. I had an appointment. The coffin salesman, that's not really what they're called, they're called "memorial counselors" or something like that, I say salesman because I was pitched at the different cemeteries I visited, even offered to buy a plot big enough for my baby at the foot and me, when it was time, at the head! Anyways, the saleswoman was waiting for me. We entered the conference room. Explained the future need of a coffin and burial, received the expected condolences, and then were led to a two way elevator. You know where you walk in and turn around, expecting to exit the same you entered, except you're the only one turned around because there's two doors, ya, one of those.
Stepping off the elevator was where this all started. I don't know if you've ever shopped for coffins, but let me tell you, all the white satan and gold foil in the world could not make the environment any less depressing. Some were cherrywood, others ornate and gaudy, a few black, a few white, there was a vast selection. Within seconds I was overwhelmed. But that was just the beginning. The counselor and her trainee she was lugging around directed my mom and I towards a door that was off to the side. The trainee opened it, the room was the size of an average walk in closet. The counselor stepped in, the trainee motioned for my mom and I to step in, then he stepped in and closed the door.
This room was brighter than the much, much larger room we had just stepped in from, but at the same time, this room was much, much, much darker. This room was filled with tiny coffins, coffins no bigger than 2 feet long. Some were baby blue, others pink and some white. These were the baby coffins. I was in a tiny room full of tiny coffins. At that moment I felt like all the oxygen was slowly leaking out of the room, I thought I might suffocate, I thought I might faint.
The tears welled up without me even realizing it. I guess part of me was concerned that I might actually stop breathing due to the overwhelming weight of the room's morbidity, but the emotional part of me just couldn't bear the sight of all the tiny coffins. The tears built a wall between my eyes and the terrifying scene in front me, I had to flee, I had to run, I had to get out of there. And that's what I did. Two words made it out of my mouth "I can't" before I reached for the door knob, and with that we were all off towards that awkward elevator.
It wasn't soon after that, days, maybe weeks, I don't really remember, but my son died, in my womb at 18 weeks. However, the day I heard the words "the little one has passed" was not the day he actually passed. The perinatologist doing the ultrasound was supposed to be telling me how aggressive his heart defects were and how his anatomy was developing so we could have an idea of how long he might make it, but there was no need for that, so she said those five little words, but couldn't tell me when he passed. Babies with trisomy 18 are smaller, considerably smaller, than your average baby. So the normal crown to rump and skull measurements they would use to see what gestational age the baby was when he stopped growing, those wouldn't help in this case. So I was told "he could have passed anywhere from a few days to a few weeks ago, I don't really know."All I heard was my baby was dead and I had been carrying him without knowing that for either days or weeks.
They say that there's a chemical reaction in a woman's body right before her water is going to break and she is going to deliver her baby, it's called nesting. Women start incessantly cleaning, some knit, others paint, whatever it is, it's comparable to a mother bird preparing the nest for the hatching of her eggs. I guess you could say I nested. For me, shopping for tiny coffins and burial plots not even two weeks after receiving my son's fatal diagnosis, that was me nesting.
You know, one thing you don't really think about, after hearing your unborn baby is dead, is how they're going to get the baby out of you. I didn't. Didn't think about that all. It wasn't until the perinatologist interrupted my empty train of thought and asked if I would like him to be surgically removed, which would be less painful and take less time, or if I would like to be induced and deliver him, that's when I realized I still had to give birth to my son, alive or not.
I chose to deliver him. It meant that I would get to hold him, taking the surgical option meant that that wouldn't be possible. I wanted to see this little life that had been growing inside me, I wanted to hold him, I wanted to kiss him, I wanted to have something to remember him by. I wanted to go through the process of labor, like any other mother would, I wanted to experience the pain and the tears, I felt I owed that to Corban, I felt like I needed to experience that.
I showed up at the labor and delivery wing of the hospital the morning after learning of his death, and the sweet nurses prepared a room for me at the end of the hall, at the opposite end of all the rooms that had sounds of happy screams and babies crying floating out of them. There would be no happy screams, there would be no baby crying in my room. So I took that walk past those happy rooms, past many empty rooms into my room, the very last room. I had some amazing nurses. They made me feel like a normal mom, that was delivering a normal baby, I wasn't treated any differently, and for that I'm thankful. It took 18 hours for the inducing drug to take effect and for me to deliver my son. It happened much differently than any of the nurses and doctors had advised me it would happen, and how I expected it to happen.
There was supposed to be cramps, contractions, labor pains. There was supposed to be pain, physical pain. There was none of that. These things would have been a warning that he was coming. There was no such warning. I was frankly so tired of waiting for these things and from being up for so long that I asked for some sleeping meds and went to sleep. I woke up 2 hours later discovering that my water had broke, and my son had came out. I woke up and saw him lying there, lifeless. No pain.
I remember being so scared. I hit the nurses button in a hurry and said into the speaker "my baby is here." I was answered with an "excuse me, can you say that again?" To which I responded "I think my baby just came out." Nicole, my sweet nurse, ran in, looked at my baby, then her eyes met mine and she said "I am so sorry, that must have been so scary, I know you weren't expecting that." She grabbed a receiving blanket and put my son in it, then took him to the warmer. She explained everything she was doing, she made sure I knew exactly what she was doing, and I appreciated that.
I spent five hours with my son. I held him, I read to him, I photographed him, I cried, I smiled, but mostly I just stared at him. I couldn't stop staring at him. I was so in love, and so in awe, of my beautiful little baby. He was so tiny, but so beautiful. He was smiling, he had a beautiful little smile on his face. And at that moment, I was no longer thinking about the tiny coffins, I was thinking about how perfect, and how much fun he was having in heaven, at that very moment.
I knew I was holding just his empty tent, I knew Corban wasn't there within my touch, I knew he was in heaven, in the presence of Jesus. I just wanted to redeem all my rights as mother as I could. Hence the reading and the pictures and the gazing. I wanted to claim it all, like any new mother would get to do. And I did. But after a few hours, I placed him back in the warmer and I slept. I slept peacefully, and I slept happily.
I no longer had to wonder about when my son would die, because now my son was alive, fully alive, in the presence of the God of the universe, the One who spread out the heavens like a canvas and hand created all of creation. My son was born alive, directly into heaven, into the arms of the One who created him, and the One that saved his momma. I no longer had anything to worry about, my son was free, and my son was without pain or suffering or tears, he was alive, and alive forever.
I'm not sure if I dreamed of my son that night or if God just painted a picture on my heart, but I saw Corban, and he was so happy and so full of life. I saw the same smile on his face as the smile he left behind for me to see. At that moment I was free too. And I made I promise. I made a vow. Knowing that the Spirit of the Lord that lives in me is the same Spirit that resides in heaven where my son now lives too, I promised the Lord that I would serve Him, that I would place no one before Him, and I would one day make it to heaven too, by His grace, and there I would meet my son, in all of eternity.
That was five months ago, today. And today would be the day that had my son not had a rare, fatal condition, that he would be due, today would be his birth day. I've been dreading this day, even trying to hide from it and pretend like it wasn't actually approaching, but it's here, today is here. But a dear friend of mine, whom I love so much, who also lost a baby, gave me some pearls of wisdom when she said "his due date was never God's date for his birth, it was man's date, God had His own date." How true that is. God knew, from the very beginning of time itself, the day and the hour that Corban would take his last breath in my womb and his first breath in heaven, God knew. And it happened exactly according to His divine plan.
I have to believe that. I have to believe that all of this is part of God's perfect plan for my life. I don't have to understand it, but I know that if God allowed it, then it must be okay. Now that's a hard pill to swallow, painful even, but it's my cross to bear. Jesus was sent from heaven, down to earth, to suffer a horrific and torturous death in order to make a way for man's sin to be forgiven to receive eternal life, that was His cross to bear. He had to endure a death that none of us will ever have to endure, all to give us life. I too had to endure a death, the death of my precious baby boy that he might get to live forever in the presence of God. And this gave me life, in a way, too.
Carrying and delivering Corban, as traumatic as it was, gave me a second chance. I had endured much in life, before finding out I was pregnant, but I can't say I had unshakeable faith. My faith was weak. This whole experience, of becoming a mom and finding out my child was going to die and having to carry that life anyways, this has strengthened my faith in a way that I can't even express with words. And as you can see, there's no shortage of words here, but I can't explain how the Lord has built up within me an unshakeable faith and breathed new life into me. Having gone through this, and through a different kind of loss just four weeks after that, I have discovered that there is no one I trust, no one I love, no one I yearn for, more than Jesus. He promised to be with me in the fire, and let me tell you He is, He is right here with me. He promised to not let the waters overflow me and He hasn't, He has been my shield and lifeguard. He promised that I would not be consumed, and He has kept that promise, because I am here, I made it through this. I truly believe that my God lives, and that He saves and restores and that He is who He says He is.
This seemingly tragic event has not made me question who He is, but it did make me question who I am, who I want to be, and who I could be. I made a promise. I made a vow. And I am going to keep that promise, to God and to my son, to live a life on this earth worthy of the Lord, a life that aims to glorify Him in everything I say and do, to scream from the rooftops that my God is real, and that He loves us and that He desires to spend all of eternity with us. For the glory of God, in honor of Corban, I will serve my God.
My world has been shattered, yes. Much of what I have has been taken or stolen from me, but one thing that man can't take, that the enemy that seeks to devour and kill can't take, is my faith. I believe in a big, big God. And when that God creates a life within my womb and then uses that life to change my life and others around me, when He steps down from eternity directly into my life, I have to believe that He loves me, that He is for me, and that one day He will take me to dwell with Him forever. I have to.
I should tell you, I never went and bought that tiny coffin. After seeing his tiny face and tiny smile, I realized that I didn't want to think of him in that tiny coffin. I wanted to think of him high above the earth, soaring with the angels in heaven in the presence of a big, big God, the God I love, the God I serve. There was no burial, but there was a beautiful little memorial service where we released 18 balloons, one for each week of his life and where we remembered the beautiful little life that was so full of unteachable lessons and unearthly wisdom.
My journey with Corban Elijah is not over. It will never be over. I will forever carry him with me, in my heart, in my soul, until I'm reunited with him in eternity. Everyday I live, I live with him on my mind. Today it hurts. Yesterday it hurt, and tomorrow it will hurt. There is still pain, I still ache for him and long for him with every breath I take, but every day is one day closer to getting to finally hold him in heaven forever.
Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth. - Colossians 3:2
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