Henry

Ever since Gabe was born, people have told me stories of their preemies. Some people's stories include their cousin's friends niece who was born six week early and is now doing great, which, to be honest, isn't particularly helpful. But then there were the moms who came out of the woodwork to tell me about their little tiny babies, moms who had walked exactly where I was. Moms who had looked at little tiny babies, attached to wires and tubes, sleeping in their incubators and wondered how on earth they'd gotten here. Moms who also knew the sheer pain of leaving your baby in the hospital every day for months at a time. Those were the moms that I needed because they understood it.

Since Gabe was discharged, I've become that person. I've reached out to ladies that I don't know (but my sister-in-law does) just to say that I understand. I've walked that path and I get it.

Six months ago, my brother Matt told me about a friend of his who had a little boy, Henry, at 24 weeks. He asked me if I'd reach out to his mom Leigha. I did and she and I talked a bit. Then I watched this little guy's journey for the last few months. Poor Henry had a rough journey. He had massive lung issues, which led to him being intubated for a very long time. As he hit his due date with no end in site, I started to feel bad talking to Leigha. Her son was not doing well, but mine was already home by the time he was his age. Survivors guilt is a nasty thing.

A couple of weeks ago, he got transferred to a new hospital so he could have surgeries that would finally allow him to go home. This week he had a g-tube placed and a tracheostomy. Once he recovered from the surgeries, he would be very close to coming home. Instead, yesterday he got a horrible infection and this morning he died.

He was in the hospital for six months and the poor sweet little boy never even got to go home. I can't even imagine. 

And once more, I find myself grieving over a little baby that I've never met. And I cry for his poor parents, who wanted nothing more than to take their little boy home and watch him grow into a little man. And once more, I think about how that could have been us. My dear little Gabe could've very easily been the one fighting chronic lung disease. He could've been the one with the g-tube. Or the one that we didn't get to bring home.

But he's not. For some reason, God had a different plan for our little guy. And while I'm so, so grateful that He does, tonight my heart is broken.