In the days following Harper’s birth, Eric and I felt compelled to start writing. We wanted to remember as many details of May 21st and 22nd as possible. I was still in shock when I wrote most of this. It is a very raw, detailed account of what happened to us those days.
Today Harper would be 5 months old. In memory of her, I would like to share part of her story on the 22nd of each month.
You can read the rest of Harper's story here:
-A
We sat Hudson up on the hospital bed and took a deep breath. His little four year old head was spinning from side to side as he looked for his sister in the room. “Where’s Harper?” he asked. With hearts heavy, we told him that Harper had gotten “sick” in mama’s tummy, that she was in heaven with Jesus, and that she would not be coming home with us. If it was possible for my heart to break even more that day, it did in that moment. Hudson’s eyes filled with tears and his bottom lip pouted outwards. “No Mama! Why? Nooo! She’s supposed to come home with us.” We told him that it was ok to be sad and that Mama and Dada were sad too. I hugged him close to me and tried to console him. I knew how badly his heart must be hurting. Hudson was already such an extraordinary big brother to Henry, and I knew he would have been the same to Harper. He would have been so proud of her and protected and loved her.
As soon as the nurse walked in with Harper, Hudson’s face lit up. He was excited to see that she really did exist. It was very hard for him to grasp the idea that Harper wasn’t just sleeping. We told him that her heart had stopped beating and she wasn’t breathing. This was just her body, but her spirit was in heaven with Jesus. “She’s right here! We can take her home with us!” he said confidently. We weren’t sure if he fully understood, but we wanted him to enjoy the short time that he had with his baby sister. He got to hold her, which he had been dying to do for months, and even took the time to count each of her tiny fingers and toes. You could tell that he was taking all of her in.
Next to meet baby sister was Henry. Henry was only 21 months at the time, so he really didn’t think much of the visit. He pointed to her and said “baby.” We even got him to give her a kiss, but he really was not interested. In a way, I was glad that Henry wouldn’t feel the same heartache that his brother had felt...at least not yet. Someday we will have to explain to him what happened to his baby sister. I’m also dreading that day.
Once the boys had had their sibling time and taken their picture together, Eric’s parents came in to meet Harper. I could tell that they had tried to put on brave faces, but were clearly devastated about losing their granddaughter. With tears in their eyes, they took turns holding Harper...trying to soak in as much of her as they could. As I watched these precious moments, I so wished that the circumstances were different. That they were holding their live granddaughter and laughing at all of the adorable newborn faces she was making. Instead, they got to hold her lifeless body and mourn the future that should have been.
Many things happened after they left that are sort of a jumbled blur in my mind now. We said goodbye to the boys and Eric’s parents, tried to eat something (that was a joke), talked to the hospital chaplain, and chose a funeral home. My mind felt like a heavy fog where I could barely see two inches in front of me.
We ended up choosing Scoggins Funeral Home in Van Alstyne, Texas. We really made the decision based on how we were treated by the staff there. They talked to us like we were parents whose daughter had just died...not like customers. They seemed truly sorry for our loss and chose to recognize the awful tragedy we were in the midst of instead of treating it like a business deal. We quickly learned that funeral homes can be awful places filled with insensitive people, but Scoggins was different.
The nurses walked us to the hospital chapel, so that Eric could walk Harper down the aisle (a story you can read more about here). They tried to take us through a “back way” to avoid seeing all of the living babies with happy, glowing parents, but it was the middle of the day and we still had to pass by many hospital staff/visitors. I tried to cover Harper’s sweet face as they pushed me in the wheelchair, so that no one noticed I was holding a dead baby. Most people looked at me strangely, probably wondering why I was crying and looked so depressed holding my “bundle of joy.” Others stopped to say congratulations and smiled sweetly. I just kept staring straight ahead with tears pouring down my face. The walk to and from the chapel was excruciating, but our time there was more than worth it. Shortly after walking Harper down the aisle, we knew it was time to say goodbye. Harper’s body had been slowly deteriorating over the eight hours we had spent with her (skin peeling, nose bleeding, etc.) and we wanted to remember her as perfectly as we could. I wish I could tell you what those last moments with Harper in the hospital were like, but I’ve blocked out so much of it. I know the memories must be somewhere in the corners of my mind, but getting to them has just been too painful. I do remember holding her as I wept into her face...kissing her soft cheeks a whispering over and over again how sorry I was.
How I wished I could have saved her.
*you can read part V of Harper’s story here*
