Leo, it’s been one month since you left my body, the only home you ever knew. I don’t have the words to tell you what the past month has been like or what the past several months have been like, since I found out I was pregnant with you in early May. You are one of the best things that has happened to me and losing you, one of the worst. For however brief a moment in time, I’m glad I was your mom.
I have a picture story, instead.
This is the positive pregnancy test. I’m amazed the photo is in focus, since my hands were shaking so much.
The day after finding out I was pregnant, I had to visit the Emergency Room for some tests and to ensure everything was okay. It was scary, but, It was worth it so that we both would be okay.
My medical team took great care of me. They wanted to take every precaution to ensure I was as healthy as I could be. They wanted to check my beating heart for 24-hours. I would do anything for you.
Your dad snuck a video of the first time we saw the flicker of your beating heart.
And then we got to watch you grow! Here, we called you a little alien, because you looked like one.
And here you grew even more! Now we could see your bones and we started calling you, lovingly, Skeletor. You even waved hello!
And then, because your mama is not very patient, we went in to go get an elective ultrasound to find out if you were a boy or girl … and you showed us, oh boy! We just didn’t know that it would be the last time we’d see you alive and moving. We just didn’t know, baby boy. Or we would have looked at you longer. We were so excited to be having a son. A girl would have been just as great, and a first on your dad’s side, but I couldn’t be happier to be having a little son. I was finally allowing myself to dream a little. We window-shopped for baby boy clothes. And started thinking about baby shower ideas with your Tia.
This was my last “bump” photo with you. It was my birthday. I was 18 weeks pregnant. I was happy to see my belly grow. Little did I know you were already gone. At dinner that night, the waitress brought me a creme brûlée dessert with a lit candle. I made a wish that you would be safe and healthy. That we would get through this and that I would do anything for you. Sadly, Leo, my wish didn’t come true. I worked so hard to keep you, Leo. I did, I promise.
And then, on that dreadful Monday, we saw your body lying still. We heard no heartbeat, but only the movement from happiness to sorrow at the knowing of having lost you. Maybe one day we’ll have more children, but I’ll always miss you, Leo. I’ll miss the little future that I had hoped for you, for us. And you see, that’s what I mourn. I don’t mourn that I won’t be able to have children, because I know I have options. I mourn losing YOU. You are my son and you died. I can’t change that, I can’t turn back time and bring you back. But, I can tell you how much you meant to us. To me. You were wanted. You are loved. You are missed, and your spark will live with me forever. You will always be my Little Lion.
I love you.
XO, Mom