True Experiences Series – Meeting my deceased son

Nothing could prepare me for what I was about to experience. It was after 10pm so we waited in the pre-op room. Dancing between the denials of the situation with the nursing staff, sometimes in lonely banter, some half-hearted, my wife lay there; The shape of her belly is distinct, as I could see the contours of our baby, motionless, still the whole time.

While I was conversing with others, and while my wife was shivering with shock and feverishness from infection, I massaged her stomach; The shape of my son’s left side, hip and thigh are recognizable. I found myself strangely aware of all that was going on; Oddly quiet considering my son had passed away hours earlier. In fact, when I faced those endless moments I found God, with me, who gives me the strength to be real. And it wasn’t hard to be real. Through it all, my wife has been very real, despite the high fever that has set in.

and “Through It All” was our anthem, while this period might have been rather a curse to the enemy of God who would seek us on earth; A time when God’s presence exceeded any narcotic housing. “Through her all my eyes are upon you… well…” were the words of the song we played twice, in the process of childbirth, through the tears of longing for eternity and through the frightful anticipation of what was just before. us as an unprecedented experience.

I will never forget the moments before Nathanael was born. It was a long caesarean section (compared to my previous four children being born this way). The mood inside the theater was harsh. Silence, apart from Christine DiMarco’s ethereal voice and music. Nobody wants a little elephant in the room. My response was to issue a blessing — heaven knows, we all needed spades.

Every time we notice the movement of my wife’s belly, while the surgeons manipulate the tissues, we prepare ourselves for the moment of the actual arrival of Nathanael. There seem to be as many iterations as we have prepared ourselves for. The medical team was struggling to get Nathanael in a position where they could extract him. When I finally delivered him, my midwife gave me the cue. I covered my hands in a towel. When I got up from the stool I was sitting, I was greeted by the surgeon who gave me my son. As with the births of all my children, nothing could prepare me for the emotions I was feeling right now. But this moment was different in the world. There was no feeling of positive pressure amidst the joy of taking care of the baby. There was no eye contact or interaction from the surgeon. The moment was asleep. free of anything. It was an incredibly sad moment for which Courage was made.

I held Nathanael in both hands—my son, each piece nearly 8 pounds, who was healthy at 36 weeks 2 days of gestation—and immediately kissed his forehead; longing kiss His skin had a distinct scent. He had a frown on his face. He looked like his older brother was just asleep. I just wanted to hold it. I took it to Sarah and we both cried for a while. The operating crew has just gone about their jobs, leaving us alone. We didn’t rush. We spent the initial 3 hours with Nathanael, including bathing him and taking him back to my wife’s maternity ward.

Moments like this life and time stand still. nothing else matters. and you get the distinct impression that your life has changed forever; A very surreal feeling that demands surrender. However, oddly enough, I was very glad that I had met Nathanael in this way. God was so good at providing for me and us when we could have been too overwhelmed to take advantage of the moment.

Later that morning – just five hours later – the whole family was in attendance while Heartfelt took pictures of us. It was a difficult experience for many of our family, but everyone did the best they could and that’s all anyone could ask for. We were very proud of our family the entire period.


One thing I learned in my darkest hour,

I am certainly not the one with the power,

Only by faith did you get the grace of God,

For I walked obediently and sought his face.

© 2015 SJ Wickham.