“Did you know that glacier ice is pink?”

Before my eyes open for the day I generally learn something new. One day may be pretending to be a lizard. Today it was glaciers. Yesterday, dinosaurs. The day before it was Wesley’s favorite planet at the moment (Mars, because of the volcanos). These are the moments I was waiting for from the moment that second line on the test turned up, although, sometimes I do wish they’d come after a bit more sleep.

It’s summer so right now we spend our days playing catch in the backyard, going to the pool, 

Wesley turns five this year, but I became a mom two years before he was born. And I hug him a little tighter as I think about the older brother he’ll never get to meet. I hug him differently, I savor moments differently, I lose my patience differently. 

I believe I am a very different mom to Wesley because I first became a mom to Caleb. My heart is different than it would have been without first losing Caleb. 

Baby Caleb Akin

I will never forget the sweet doctor trying to carefully tell me that something may be wrong and needed another scan. At twenty weeks pregnant we began what felt like a never ending tour of bad news. Specialist after specialist confirming and expanding on each other's findings. Sometimes with slivers of hope but ultimately always landing on three words that will forever haunt me “incompatible with life”. In three weeks my world had changed from planning a nursery to trying to see if my unborn son may be able to be an organ donor.

My sweet boy was diagnosed with Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome, congenital diaphragmatic hernia, and transversion of the major arteries. Lots of big, scary words, that can be less scary on their own but unfortunately together made each other so much worse. My son’s probability of survival dwindled with each appointment.

On January 22, 2018 I became a mom as I held my son, Caleb James Akin, in my arms for the entirety of his forty minutes alive on earth.

Being a mom is an absurd mixture of emotions at any given time. As a mom with part of my heart missing there is a constant bittersweetness to that mix. Grieving a child is living with a lifetime of “what ifs”. What would he look like? What would his laugh sound like? Would he also like robots? Who would his friends be? 

Grief under any circumstances is such a unique and personal thing. Many people will relate through their own experiences of loss but the thing about losing a child is you have that lifetime of “what ifs” that come long after the tsunami of grief. This year Caleb would have been starting kindergarten as Wesley finished pre k. 

Wesley’s year of firsts was heavily recorded and photographed; each moment awed over and celebrated. But I spent a lot of that first year with Wesley also mourning the loss of each and every first with Caleb all over again. Experiencing what we actually missed made the hurt all the more real. I think that will always be with me; constantly back and forth between celebrating my son on earth and missing and wondering about my Caleb.

2018 version of myself was a shell. Missing my son every day, going through a miscarriage, then trying to get through my third pregnancy with any sanity and, most importantly, a healthy baby boy. I would have never been able to believe that the crippling grief of missing my son would subside enough to be able to get through the day let alone be able to find joy even in the moments of missing my son. 

“Mommy why is Caleb’s lip like that?” Wesley once asked while looking at the print of his brother hanging next to his in the living room. I laughed at his little curiosity when noticing Caleb’s cleft lip. Everyone knows toddlers have no filter so I expected nothing less. Along with the random “Mommy, do you remember Caleb?” and asking if I miss him, Caleb is a normal part of our lives and conversations. I love these small moments when the pieces of my heart get to connect even if it’s just in remembering him.

For me, it has been important that Wesley knows about Caleb. He sees evidence of him in my house, hears his name, and knows I miss him. Every year we get a little sweet treat to celebrate his birthday together and Wesley has started to request sending some balloons to him up in heaven as well. When we get photos done I bring one of my NILMDTS images on a canvas to include Caleb in some. 

Being a mom in general can be really hard and losing my son is absolutely the most indescribable pain I have ever experienced. For me being able to connect with other moms (both that have experienced loss and not) and remembering him with my family and friends has been a small solace to have others with me in the “what ifs”.

I know this grief and pain will never go away but I am thankful that time really has allowed me to carry it differently. I can not only function through the day but try to be the best I can for Wesley and make Caleb proud of us.

I miss Caleb daily, that will never change, but I have found a sweet peace in telling Wesley about his brother.

He knows him. He knows I hurt, he knows I love and miss him, and one day I hope he’s thankful for the impact he’s had in our lives.

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, a dedicated 501(c)(3) non-profit, offers families experiencing pregnancy and infant loss with complimentary remembrance portraits, capturing precious moments with their babies. Your generous donation can help us extend this heartfelt service to more families in need. Please consider supporting us here.