The Least of These

[Guest guest]

The

Least of These

The cardiologist

walked into the room, glanced at my chart and asked, " So you didn’t

get an abortion? " . As I was 34 weeks pregnant, it seemed an unnecessary

question.

For one agonizing

night we actually considered it. Twenty-two weeks into my second pregnancy we

learned the boy I was carrying had Down Syndrome and a serious heart defect.

Though my husband and I detested the idea of abortion, we wondered if we were

cruel to let him live. On April 17, 1996 we sat in our living room, numb with

shock. " What if sparing him suffering is the only thing we can do for

him? " asked our minister, Duke Vipperman, who had come by to talk to

us.

" You sound as

if you believe it is you who are causing his suffering, " Duke replied.

Then he explained that we do not cause suffering, it just happens. Those

closest to God, who are most at peace, are often those who have suffered the

most. " If you try to ease his suffering by denying him life, " Duke

told us, " you are in essence saying you can do God’s job better than

God. "

For this

settled the issue. He had never wanted to abort, but as a physician he wanted

to " fix the problem " --to make sure he was doing all he could for our

baby.

I knew I could

never go through with an abortion, but it was not just because of my moral

objections. I had felt him kick. Even though he was small, I sensed him

fluttering at only 14 weeks, and he just kept growing more active. I could

never abort him. I loved him. He was my son.

arrived

eleven days early on August 6, 1996. Suddenly he was no longer a medical

problem but a tiny bundle who breathed a little too fast, and who stared into

my eyes with recognition and, I think, love.

His first two weeks

were peaceful ones, as he was healthier than we expected, and we learned all

the facets of his personality. He enjoyed being cradled and listening to

singing, but would kick and scream in indignation if he lost his soother. When

our 1 ½ year old daughter visited him, she would lean over the

bassinet, pat his blond fuzzy head and say, " My baby? " . I would nod,

and promise that we would take him home soon.

But we

couldn’t. As his heart began to fail grew increasingly tired

and lost weight instead of gaining it. He was transferred to Toronto’s

Hospital for Sick Children to await surgery.

During the evening,

as I sat alone with him in his room, I would hold him and whisper, " Do you

know how much Mommy loves you? " . Babies, so tiny and helpless, inspire a

purer love than most. It is an unselfish love, since babies--and especially

those who are sick--cannot promise anything in return. I am a goal oriented

person, yet with , I learned to sit and just " be " . I had

no choice. And in the quiet, I sensed God whispering His own unconditional love

to me, too. " Thank you, God, " I whispered, " for the chance to

know this precious boy. "

Usually his room

was bustling with visiting friends, relatives, and ’s colleagues. We

even held a dedication service there. The event was somber, for though we were

celebrating his life, we all could see how tiny he was for the battle that lay

ahead. The doctors gave a 25% chance of post-operative survival,

for he was only 4 ½ pounds.

On the morning of

his surgery I was terrified I wouldn’t hold him again. " I want so

much more for you, honey, " I said. " But I am glad to have the chance

to love you. No matter what happens, I will see you again. "

For five days he

recovered well, and the doctors grew optimistic about his chances. But on

September 3 ’s breathing again grew rapid. That night my

mother watched , and and I visited him together. " Mommy loves

you, sweetheart " , I whispered as we left his room. It was 9:30 p.m.

He was only 29 days

old when he died later that night.

The number of

people at the funeral amazed us. Along with family and friends, many from the

hospital attended, too. We asked Duke to talk about the importance of ’s

life, as we felt so many had discounted him because of his disabilities.

" We must not look down on little children, for they are our model of

God’s kingdom, " Duke preached. Jesus Himself chooses to identify

with them, for whoever welcomes them, welcomes Him ( 18:5).

" was what we are to be: a little one, utterly dependent on

God, struggling against apathy and everything that would deny us the sweetness

of life. "

The two years since

his death have been full ones. I have shed many tears, but I also smile now

when I remember him. We have a new baby girl, and is establishing his own

pediatric practice. I often think about how different life would be had I

aborted him. I would have no memories and no peace. And how do you talk about

your pain? People understand my pain when I say I had a baby who died. Would

they understand if I had aborted a baby at 4 ½ months? I can visit him at his

grave. But most of all, I can look my girls in the eyes and tell them with

conviction that I love them unconditionally. And they believe me, for I loved

him.

Many may think his

was a wasted life. He never came home from the hospital, he never smiled, and

he was rarely even awake. But they didn’t watch the faces of his

grandparents when they held him, the nurses as they watched us, or the people

we have comforted since. They do not know how changed us. And so

they cannot see that his life is much more than those 29 days. Recently

told me not to be sad, because is in heaven, and he is happy now. I

think she is right. And one day we will meet him again, and the blessing that

was his life will be complete.

Sheila's book How Big Is Your Umbrella: Weathering the Storms of

Life, deals more fully with this story. Find out more here.