I waited for you for 9 months

Oliver,

Your arrival changed my world.

I waited for you for nine long, beautiful, and difficult months, and today marks nine months since I lost you, only to find you again. I watched you be reborn like a phoenix, the one who rises from its ashes and transforms into a being stronger, greater, and more beautiful.

1. The Beautiful Wait

2. Proud Mom

3. The day we said goodbye to your brothers to go to the hospital to welcome you

   
   

It was October 2nd when the pregnancy test came back positive. We had been trying for you for a few months, and mommy was already feeling desperate not to find you. Finally, that day, I smiled. The smile didn’t last long, because just a few days later the doctor told us there was a high risk of losing you, that I had to stay in bed 24/7, in complete rest, if I wanted you to be okay. There were no guarantees.

It was very hard to tell your little brothers, who were only two years old, that mami could no longer carry them, that I couldn’t play on the floor with them or even put them to sleep at night. It was my first great pain: seeing their sad and disappointed little faces.

How ironic that today the situation is similar. They have had to accept once again, without having asked for it, that most of my attention goes to you, my baby, and not to them, even though they are still so small and going through such big changes.

The first three months passed, and you held on to life. Soon, that pregnancy became the joy of our family, and we learned you would be a boy, our third musketeer. Oliver.

I saw you be born, take your first breath, and cry. I watched you open your eyes and calm down when you heard my voice. I held you in my arms and told you I had been waiting for you my whole life, that I promised to always take care of you… and you fell asleep.

Nine months ago, you stopped breathing for such a long time that no one can explain how you came back. I was close to death too, but even today I don’t fully grasp how serious my situation was. From the moment I knew I had to say goodbye to you, my love, the sun disappeared from my days. I didn’t care whether I lived or died, and I know that isn’t fair to your siblings, because they were still there, trying to understand what was happening. I hope one day they will know that my words and my feelings would have been the same for any of them.

You were born, you fed from my breasts, and we shared the intimacy of those hours, pressed close to each other. Since then, I have prepared each of your meals with the same love and dedication. Today, that food enters through your stomach and nourishes your body. For me, it is the last trace of that dependence and that bond, and that is why I have refused to feed you with prepared formulas or hire services to prepare food for your feeding tube. It is still something that belongs to you and me.

When you turned six months old, after weeks of planning, you tried solid foods for the first time. It was a total failure: you made faces and cried as if what I was giving you were poison. I still remember your little face when you saw the spoon coming closer.

Today I hold in my hands the oral feeding protocol that we will begin with you. After all this time, the doctors believe you are ready to learn to eat orally again. I am as nervous as I am excited, just like that first time. I promise to do it with the same love and patience with which we began.

I heard you cry on that June 1st, 2023, and my tears flowed like a spring, not from sadness, but from joy. It was the climax of my happiness. Today we are planning and consulting the best specialists so that someday, not too far from now, you can take your second first breath: without the help of a ventilator, with your lungs inhaling the oxygen that keeps you alive. Today we know that this possibility is real.

And I am sure that one day I will see you take your second first steps again. I don’t know anyone more stubborn than you, and no one who believes in you more and is your number one fan like I am.

Nine months ago you had eight teeth, and today your little mouth is full and decorated with a row of beautiful, precious white teeth that you kindly show us with each one of your smiles, the kind that make everyone fall in love.

Nine months ago, I experienced the greatest fear of my life, when for a few minutes I didn’t know if I had lost my entire family and if it had been my fault. What was supposed to be a day at the beach, enjoying ourselves, turned into a nightmare. I saw your siblings with blood on their faces, wearing neck braces, fear in their eyes. I saw my father, your grandfather, trying not to break down in front of me, pretending to be strong to give me strength. I heard my husband, your dad, telling me he loved me and that everything would be okay, even when he knew nothing was okay. Nine months ago, I lost you, I let you go, and I asked you to leave if you had already fulfilled your mission here. I told you that mommy would be okay — the biggest lie I have ever told in my life — and that you should be at peace wherever you.

Nine months ago, a part of me died as well. Plans and dreams died. But today I can see that on that same day, new goals were born: the desire to live with purpose, to leave behind what only distracts from what truly matters, to let go of the material to see what is essential. Gold is best appreciated when it is discovered in the mud.

Would I change that day if I could turn back time?

Yes, absolutely. I would give my life to give you back your health.

I can’t.

There is something strange and profound in knowing that I waited for you nine months, and that today exactly the same amount of time has passed since I lost you and found you again.

I will keep moving mountains for you, for you and for your brothers.

My love for you all is infinite and inexhaustible.

I said goodbye to a baby

and welcomed a hero, a warrior.

With love,

Mami